Kramer’s visit on Saturday.
She nodded a little, tentative, vague. “Don didn’t always tell me every detail of his schedule. But he told me he was going to speak with someone else. Someone who had been recommended to him by someone he knew.”
I told her I had known her husband years earlier when he worked in Montgomery.
She shook her head. “I know I sounded foolish the other day, maybe even belligerent. I should not have treated you in that manner. After all, ‘What use is it for a man to say he has faith when he does nothing to show it?' Don told me later you were a person he’d been told had – helped – several people with – missing children. It’s just that I thought I should have been consulted.”
“ Well. Helping people with interesting problems – including missing children – is something I’ve done, a little, in the last few years. And no, you don’t sound foolish, Mrs. Kramer. You sound like a woman who. . . .”
Tears began to well in Susan Kramer’s eyes before I finished a sentence I wished I hadn’t begun.
“I’m sorry, I. . . .”
She shook her head and dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. “I’m just trying to hold together right now, and I’m not sure I can handle this discussion and talk to the police on the same day. Maybe if we talked a little later?”
“I understand. I’ll check in with you tomorrow. In the meantime I’ll make some inquiries on my own.”
“ Is that really necessary? I mean, with the FBI already looking, and now the police investigating, and so long as my faith is strong, it seems to me that, I don’t know, is this really necessary?”
“ I don’t blame you for asking. Don seemed to think so, and sometimes it helps to have someone outside law enforcement in these matters.”
Mrs. Kramer stood. “Thank you, Mr. Slate. I’m sure Don had his reasons. We appreciate your help.”
“Just one more thing before I go.”
“ What is it?”
“ I’d like to see Kris’s room.”
Susan Kramer shrugged, a gesture that seemed to fortify her. “All right. I’ll show you. Right this way.”
She led me to the stairway in the foyer. “Kris’s room is to the left at the top of the stairs, straight down at the end of the hall. The door is closed, and the FBI agents already looked through it, but go on in. I don’t know if it will help. She was only here on visits, really, since she moved to the campus.”
I waited. “Oh. I’m not going up with you. I don’t like to go in there since she . . . since she went missing. Was there something else?”
“Yes. Your husband and I didn’t talk about any facts. I know only that Kris is missing. I know it’s difficult, but could you tell me how you learned. . . .?”
“ Kris’s roommate, or suitemate, at school. She called my husband at his office in the morning. Said that Kris told her she was going to the library to study the night before. Her suitemate said she stayed up reading and then went to sleep. When she woke up the next morning, Kris wasn’t there and her bed hadn’t been slept in. She tried her cell phone and didn’t get an answer. That’s not like Kris. She was an athlete. She wasn’t into parties or anything. She treasured her sleep. Always, since she was little. . . .”
“ Thank you, Mrs. Kramer. What is Kris’s roommate’s name?”
“ Akilah. Akilah Ziyenge. One of her soccer teammates.”
“ Okay. I’ll just go up and look at the room now. I can let myself out.”
The door to the room was closed. I opened it, went in, and closed the door softly behind me.
The air inside was still, the room silent. It was the room of a typical teenage girl post-Title IX, a girl consumed with active sports, not music or drugs or boys.
A sleigh bed, framed by windows, stood in the center of an outside wall. A net bag half-filled with scuffed soccer balls occupied one
She nodded a little, tentative, vague. “Don didn’t always tell me every detail of his schedule. But he told me he was going to speak with someone else. Someone who had been recommended to him by someone he knew.”
I told her I had known her husband years earlier when he worked in Montgomery.
She shook her head. “I know I sounded foolish the other day, maybe even belligerent. I should not have treated you in that manner. After all, ‘What use is it for a man to say he has faith when he does nothing to show it?' Don told me later you were a person he’d been told had – helped – several people with – missing children. It’s just that I thought I should have been consulted.”
“ Well. Helping people with interesting problems – including missing children – is something I’ve done, a little, in the last few years. And no, you don’t sound foolish, Mrs. Kramer. You sound like a woman who. . . .”
Tears began to well in Susan Kramer’s eyes before I finished a sentence I wished I hadn’t begun.
“I’m sorry, I. . . .”
She shook her head and dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. “I’m just trying to hold together right now, and I’m not sure I can handle this discussion and talk to the police on the same day. Maybe if we talked a little later?”
“I understand. I’ll check in with you tomorrow. In the meantime I’ll make some inquiries on my own.”
“ Is that really necessary? I mean, with the FBI already looking, and now the police investigating, and so long as my faith is strong, it seems to me that, I don’t know, is this really necessary?”
“ I don’t blame you for asking. Don seemed to think so, and sometimes it helps to have someone outside law enforcement in these matters.”
Mrs. Kramer stood. “Thank you, Mr. Slate. I’m sure Don had his reasons. We appreciate your help.”
“Just one more thing before I go.”
“ What is it?”
“ I’d like to see Kris’s room.”
Susan Kramer shrugged, a gesture that seemed to fortify her. “All right. I’ll show you. Right this way.”
She led me to the stairway in the foyer. “Kris’s room is to the left at the top of the stairs, straight down at the end of the hall. The door is closed, and the FBI agents already looked through it, but go on in. I don’t know if it will help. She was only here on visits, really, since she moved to the campus.”
I waited. “Oh. I’m not going up with you. I don’t like to go in there since she . . . since she went missing. Was there something else?”
“Yes. Your husband and I didn’t talk about any facts. I know only that Kris is missing. I know it’s difficult, but could you tell me how you learned. . . .?”
“ Kris’s roommate, or suitemate, at school. She called my husband at his office in the morning. Said that Kris told her she was going to the library to study the night before. Her suitemate said she stayed up reading and then went to sleep. When she woke up the next morning, Kris wasn’t there and her bed hadn’t been slept in. She tried her cell phone and didn’t get an answer. That’s not like Kris. She was an athlete. She wasn’t into parties or anything. She treasured her sleep. Always, since she was little. . . .”
“ Thank you, Mrs. Kramer. What is Kris’s roommate’s name?”
“ Akilah. Akilah Ziyenge. One of her soccer teammates.”
“ Okay. I’ll just go up and look at the room now. I can let myself out.”
The door to the room was closed. I opened it, went in, and closed the door softly behind me.
The air inside was still, the room silent. It was the room of a typical teenage girl post-Title IX, a girl consumed with active sports, not music or drugs or boys.
A sleigh bed, framed by windows, stood in the center of an outside wall. A net bag half-filled with scuffed soccer balls occupied one
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