The Case of the Disappearing Co-Eds - 2. Chapter 2

Ellen’s parents abandoned their vigil and went back to Spring Valley. All they could do in Binghamton was to wait for any kind of news, and they could do that at home. After they left, Robyn returned to campus and resumed her shattered life. She was trying hard to put all the pieces back together again, but she was losing the battle.

One evening, as she, Tom and George ate the bland institutional food in the cafeteria, Tom asked her if she could gather together her other two roommates, Carol, and Joy. He said that he and George would like to speak to them, hoping against hope that they could ferret out even the tiniest of clues.

The boys could not study in their room. It smelled too bad, so they took to using the library more and more. Tom’s phone was set on ‘vibrate’ when he got the call. Robyn told them to come right over. The three girls were waiting for them.

The brothers entered the dorm room, and the three co-eds looked scared. Tom and George began their interrogation immediately.

“Did any of you notice anything different about Ellen before she disappeared?” Tom asked. The girls shook their heads.

“Was she dating?” George directed the question at Robyn.

“Just one guy, Alan Cohen. He’s our next-door neighbour back home. We’re more like brother and sisters.”

“What about that Arab guy?” Carol asked.

“She never went out with him as far as I know,” Robyn said. “I hate to sound racist, but she was afraid to date an Arab and a Muslim to boot.”

“Well, he sure is hot. I’d date him if he asked me,” Joy interjected.

“Who is this guy? Does anybody know him?” George asked.

‘I know that his name is Ahmed, and he’s an exchange student from Saudi Arabia. Someone told me that his family has millions,” Carol said.

“All the more reason I’d date him,” Joy laughed.

George wondered how Joy would feel if she knew how rich he and his brother were.

Tom asked a few other meaningless questions, and when that was over, the five students just sat around socializing. It was just a ploy. The brothers hoped that in the midst of meaningless chatter, one of them might reveal something meaningful and significant, without being aware of it.

When they left the girls, George said, “Well, at least we learned that there’s a rejected suitor out there somewhere.”

“You bet, and that’s something to think about. I’m going to line up interviews with Cheryl Ann’s roommates as soon as possible. After that, we’ll interview Nancy’s roommates.

Two nights later, shortly after dinner, they were chatting with Cheryl Ann’s three roommates. They pretty much asked the same questions.

“Did anyone notice anything different about her just before she disappeared?”

“No,” one of them said. “When she left the room before she went missing, she was her usual smiley self.”

“Was she going on a date?”

“If she was, she didn’t tell us, “Another roommate said.

“Do you know if she was dating anyone, anyone at all?” George asked. They were coming up against brick walls. No wonder the police were getting nowhere.

“She was dating a couple of guys. Cheryl Ann is a beautiful woman. I wish I knew who they were,” one of them said.

“Did she ever brush off a guy or guys?” Tom asked.

“Only one that I know of. He’s a foreign exchange student from some Arab country. She told me that he was drop dead gorgeous, but she wasn’t comfortable with an Arab.”

“Is his name Ahmed?” George asked.

“I honestly don’t know.”

Whatchya think?” Tom asked George, after they left the girls.

“As Ken would say, “Ahmed is certainly a person of interest.”

The following evening, they interviewed Nancy’s roommates, but this time they cut right to the chase.

“Did Nancy ever date a foreign exchange student named Ahmed?” Tom asked.

“Why yes,” one of the girls said, “but she told me that all he talked about was his wealth, ad infinitum, and she wouldn’t date him again. She said that it was a real shame because he was so handsome.”

“Thank you, girls,” George said, and they left quickly.

Now all they had to do was find Ahmed Something-or-Other.

******

Armed with a search warrant, Ken and his men descended on 417 E 33rd Street. The neighbourhood was a fairly good one, and the apartment building looked well-maintained. Ken found the super, who informed him that all the residents were long-time renters, except one, apartment B1.

“It’s funny,” he said. “I never see anyone come or go from that apartment. They seem to move around only at night. Wait! I saw a food delivery man recently. He ran out so fast, he was a blur. I figured they over tipped him, and he wanted to get away before they discovered their error.”

That struck the super funny, and he broke out laughing.

Something more serious went through Ken’s mind. The anonymous note said that the writer had seen the bound-up girls in error. Could it have been the delivery man?

The super let the cops into the apartment. It smelled awful. The place reeked of leftover food and the cartons the food was delivered in. Whoever had rented the apartment gave no thought to sanitation and hygiene. From the paper bags and cartons left strewed around, it was evident that all the food had come from a Mid-Eastern Restaurant on 34th Street.

As for the rest of the apartment, it appeared that the inhabitants had recently vacated the premises. The closets were empty and only the furniture remained. The apartment had been rented furnished.

Ken left his men to brush for fingerprints and any other possible forensic evidence, while he went to visit the ethnic restaurant. He flashed his badge, and the owner came right out of the kitchen.

“Do you deliver food to 417 East 33rd Street, Apartment B1?” Ken asked him.

“Yes,” he admitted, “we deliver to that apartment often.”

“Do you have the name of the apartment owner?” Ken asked.

He really didn’t need an answer because he was sure that the name the super gave him was a phony. The name the restaurant owner gave him was the same phony name. Nevertheless, Ken determined to check it out at the station house.

“Do you have a phone number for him?” Ken asked.

“I don’t really, but he ordered just last night. It was the last order of the day. I might find it in my phone log.”

He proceeded to look in the phone log and found a strange number.

“I think this is it,” he said.

Ken examined it. It was a European cell phone number. He jotted it down.

“Do you think I could talk to your delivery man?” Ken asked.

“I wish. Maurie disappeared two days ago, and I haven’t been able to reach him. Last night I delivered the food myself. It was funny. They wouldn’t let me in the apartment. We conducted our business in the hall.”

“Do you know how many people were in the apartment?”

“I don’t know, but they ordered for six.”

“Why don’t you give me Maurie’s full name and address, and we’ll investigate his disappearance.”

******

Tom and George went to the registrar’s office. It was time for Tom to put on his cute little boy act. It had served him well in the past, and he hoped he hadn’t outgrown his baby charm.

He lucked out. There was a woman in the office. Women could never resist his boyish charms. Too bad he was gay.

“While studying in the library the other day, I struck up a conversation with a foreign exchange student. I believe his name is Ahmed,” Tom began his act.

He paused and smiled at the registrar. “Anyway, when he said goodbye, I didn’t notice at first, but he left his attaché case on the table. It’s quite heavy. It might have some books in it.”

Another pause. More smiles.

“I was wondering if I could get his address and phone number so I can return the case.”

More boyish grins.

“Why certainly,” the woman said, “but it would help immensely if I had his last name.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t get it, but I figured it wouldn’t be hard to find a foreign exchange student named Ahmed.”

“You figured right,” she said. “I’ll be right back.”

Moments later she returned with Ahmed’s last name, Mossan, and the information Tom requested written on a pad.

“This is strange,” she said. “I don’t have a local telephone number or address, but I have an address in New York: 417 E 33rd Street, Apartment B1.”

“Do you have a telephone number where I can reach him?”

“I do, but it’s a foreign cell number, European, I believe.”

She wrote what information she could on a piece of paper and handed it to Tom.

He smiled at her, took her hand, and leaned down to kiss the back of it.

“Thank you, pretty lady,” he said. “Do you think you could find out what his last class of the day is today? I’d like to be there to return his case?”

Again, she returned in seconds and handed a note to Tom with the information he requested. Tom and George left as soon as possible. When they were away from the registrar’s office, Tom glanced at the class information she had given him. He stared in disbelief.

“What’s wrong?” George asked.

“Ahmed Mossan is in my calculus class. Now I’m really confused. If he’s as handsome as all the girls said he was, why don’t I remember ever seeing him?”