“Of course not,” Regina said.
“Looking back, I should’ve called them right away. I know that now, and I feel sick when I think about it. I want to throw up. I was a mess. I didn’t know what to do.”
Regina nodded.
“When did you first speak to the police?” I asked.
“I think it was the day after Adam’s parents got back from Italy.”
“Thursday the twenty-fifth.”
“I guess that’s right. Or maybe Friday? It’s a blur... His mom texted me that they were flying home. I offered to meet them at the police station but they said not to.”
“Now it’s been five or six days since you’ve seen Adam,” I said. “What were you doing in the interim?”
“Anything I could think of. I put it on IG and Facebook, I was driving around nonstop.”
“His father told me you organized a search.”
“I did my best. Our friends were really helpful, we made a grid of the neighborhood and put up posters.”
She’d spoken to detectives three times: once in San Jose after the discovery of the body and twice at the Regional Parks PD headquarters in Castro Valley, before and after the discovery of the car. In one respect, at least, she agreed with Rick Valois.
“They just decided to blame Adam.” Her fists were clenched. “Like it’s his fault he’s dead.”
I asked about the toxicology.
“I told the police about the wine and the edible,” she said. “The rest of it, I don’t know. I don’t even remember what it was.”
“Ketamine, plus three prescription drugs: Lexapro, Versed, and Flexeril.”
“Okay, Lexapro, he takes that.”
“What for?”
“Just regular stuff.”
“Like?”
“Anxiety. I take it, too.”
“Adam’s parents told us he was hospitalized in college,” Regina said.
“He went through a rough patch. He didn’t like to talk about it, I respected that.”
“Did you ever sense he was struggling with his mental health?” I asked.
“No. But — hang on. You said Versed.”
I nodded.
“Okay,” Olivia said. “He had a dentist appointment.”
“When?”
“The week before. He goes to the practice where I work. I forgot till you reminded me.”
“Did they give him a sedative?”
“Probably. It’s what they give me. Adam hates doctors’ offices, he gets super nervous. I could check with Dr. Rangchi. I’m not sure she’d tell me, but I can ask.”
“Did you mention this to the police?”
“I don’t know. It may have slipped my mind. There was a lot going on.”
“Ketamine?” I said.
Olivia shook her head. “I’ve never seen him use it.”
“How about with other friends?”
“No. That’s not who we... It’s not us, all right?” A beat. “It’s upsetting to think about. You know? Him keeping that from me.”
Regina nodded. “Tell us about his social circle.”
“Me, mostly. Honestly, it wasn’t healthy. I told him he needed to get out more.”
“What about the people who helped you look for him?”
“Those are my friends, through work and stuff. We did have some couples we went out with, but not often. I can make a list for you.”
“That’d be great, thanks,” Regina said.
“Anyone else?” I asked.
“A gym buddy?” Olivia said. “Wes something.”
“Rick and Liz mentioned Trevor Vogel,” I said.
“...yeah.”
“You know him.”
“Adam’s been friends with him forever. He’s kind of... sketchy.”
“Rick said Adam used to visit Trevor in Oakland.”
“Well, yeah,” Olivia said. “He was making a movie about him.”
“About — Trevor?”
“This is the project Adam worked on in his spare time?” Regina asked.
Olivia nodded.
“It’s what,” I said. “A documentary?”
“Kind of?” she said.
“How would you describe it?”
“I’ve only seen bits and pieces. Adam wanted me to wait till it was done. Basically they’d just sit around and talk while the camera ran.”
“Talk about what?” Regina asked.
“Random stuff. Their friendship.”
“Was there conflict between them?”
“Conflict...? Not really. I mean, I think Trevor must have resented him at least a little. ’Cause their lives turned out so different, you know?”
“Do you have Trevor’s contact information?” I asked. “Know where he lives?”
Olivia shook her head. “I didn’t, like, hang out with him.” Another beat. “Adam used to loan him money.”
“What for?”
“I don’t... It wasn’t much, a couple hundred dollars at a time.”
“Loan,” Regina said. “Or give?”
“Yeah. Give.”
“Before Adam went missing,” I asked, “did he say anything about intending to see Trevor in the coming days?”
“No.”
“Did Trevor call or text him?”
“I don’t know.” Olivia fretted. “Look, I don’t want to get someone in trouble for no reason.”
“We understand,” Regina said.
“Any chance you can send us the footage of their conversations?” I asked.
“I don’t have it. Everything was on Adam’s computer, the cops took it when they searched his apartment.” Olivia checked her watch. “Sorry. I need to get going.”
“Thanks for your help,” Regina said. “We’ll be in touch.”
As we headed for the door, Olivia spoke behind us: “Hey you.”
We turned back. She was addressing Owen the cat, who had reappeared in the living room and was staring at us with copper-colored eyes.
Olivia knelt to gather the animal against her chest.
“He can tell.” She ran her fingers along its neck. “When I’m upset.”
Chapter 6
East Bay Parks Public Safety was headquartered, fittingly, in a park. Lake Chabot Regional bordered San Leandro, where I was born and raised and where I still live. Regina and I caravanned up. Signs guided visitors to the decommissioned Nike missile battery. Our destination was more prosaic: a low-slung, sunstruck building wearing the taupe and green of a ranger’s uniform. The facility was itself soon to be decommissioned in favor of a more modern campus. Until then the park cops would have to make do.
We checked in at the lobby desk, sat in hard plastic chairs. Matching fans clacked in opposite corners, disturbing the bulletin boards without relieving the stuffiness. No sense paying to upgrade the HVAC — not when salvation lay just over the next hill.
“You know this dude?” Regina asked.
I shook my head. Kat Davenport had emailed an introduction to both detectives, but only Gary Kinney had responded.
Cop-terse: date and time.
Regina cleaned her glasses on her shirt. “Remind me what you’re good for.”
“Getting items off the top shelf, Elf.”
A door buzzed open. Out stepped a man in his early fifties; gray crew cut, acne-scarred forehead, wrinkled chinos, and a paunchy deep-blue departmental polo.
He appraised us with wide-set, protuberant eyes.
Wary, but who could blame him? Case review is criticism. It’s bad enough coming from a fellow cop. Worse from a PI. Worst of all from a PI who’s an ex-cop. You’re not just a poser. You’re a traitor.
I stood up. “Detective Kinney.”
He broke into a grin. “Clay.”
He pumped my hand, waited for Regina to replace her glasses before introducing himself and pumping hers. “Great to meet you both. Come on back, I got a buncha crap for you.”
He led us to a conference room blessed with an asthmatic window AC. On the table were a pair of banker’s boxes and a laptop connected to a whiteboard projector.