CHAPTER 22
THAT EVENING, AFTER A shower and a change of clothes, Bree and Alex head down to the Grotto Tavern, one of the oldest bars in Chapel Hill. The walls are covered with posters of past UNC star athletes, and four wide-screen televisions hang from the ceiling.
At the rear of the tavern, Melissa is sitting with a woman and two men, all apparently grad students in their early twenties, just like Damon. A half-empty pitcher of beer sits in the center of the round wooden table.
Alex thinks back to his own student years, first as an undergrad at Georgetown and then at Johns Hopkins, where he earned his PhD in psychology.
He remembers knocking back beers in bars like this and trying to solve the problems of the world.
But tonight, he and Bree are trying to solve one problem and one problem only.
Melissa makes the introductions as Alex pulls out a chair for Bree. They both sit down.
“Thank you all for coming,” says Bree. “We really appreciate it.”
“Glad to do it,” says Roger Walker, who has an intense academic look and wears wire-rimmed glasses and a blue button-down shirt.
“Anything for Damon,” adds Nia Williams, a striking young woman wearing bright red lipstick and a black-and-red BLM jersey.
“How can we help?” asks Carter Harris, a tall guy in a Tar Heels T-shirt. His bald head gleams under the bar lights as he picks up the beer pitcher, fills two glasses, and passes them over to Alex and Bree.
Melissa speaks up first, talking to the grad students. “Everyone is connected to Damon in a different way. I was thinking that maybe one of you remembered some conversation or detail that would give Dr. Cross and Chief Stone a clue about where Damon might be.”
Carter shakes his head. “Not me, sorry. I know Damon through volunteer coaching at the YMCA youth basketball camp. I’m sure you know what a great player Damon is.
He’s also a great coach, always focused on more than just improving the kids’ basketball skills.
He also wants to show them how important it is to be on time and be helpful. ”
Carter takes a sip of beer and continues.
“I asked him once why he didn’t try out for some of the local leagues.
He just laughed and said he was taking a break from making basketball the center of his life.
But Damon’s always first in, last out at practice.
He helps scoop up the loose balls and sweeps the gym afterward.
I mean, who’d want to hurt a guy like that? ”
Across from him, Roger drains his beer. “I feel the same way. I’m one of the leaders at SALE—Student Action in Literacy Equality. We help kids with reading problems. Damon’s one of our best tutors. He’s always upbeat, never misses a session. He’s great with the kids.”
“He’s always been good at helping out with his little brother, Ali,” Alex says.
Under the table, Bree slides her hand into Alex’s and squeezes.
“What about you, Nia?” Alex asks. He can tell that she’s been holding back something. Nia pushes her napkin around for a few seconds, then looks up.
“Me and Damon, we work together in the Students of Color Movement.” Nia offers a shy smile. “I’m sure you two know this, but Damon’s a wonderful public speaker. He told me he had no training, he just learned it from growing up around opinionated people.”
Well, Alex thinks, that’s one thing you can definitely say about the Cross family: We’re opinionated.
Bree leans in. “Nia, do you think Damon’s activism might have attracted attention from the wrong kind of people?”
“The Young Freedom Fighters, for example?” says Alex.
Nia purses her lips. “I don’t know. Damon’s given some speeches in group meetings and at a couple of equal-rights protests, speaking truth to power. But I wouldn’t call him inflammatory or anything.”
“Could there have been someone who heard him speak who didn’t like what he was saying?” asks Bree.
“I guess,” says Nia. “There are a lot of crazies out there these days. We’ve got a bunch of ’em on campus.”
Alex looks around the table, from one face to the next. “So none of you can think of any reason why Damon would disappear for three days?”
Nia is playing with her napkin again. Carter and Roger are looking down at the table.
Finally, Melissa looks around at her friends. “We need to tell them,” she says.
“We don’t know anything for sure,” says Roger curtly.
“Tell us about what?” asks Alex.
“Professor Darius Lucas and Amy Tyne,” says Melissa.
“Who are they?” asks Bree.
Melissa leans forward. “Professor Lucas teaches social psychology. We’re all in one of his grad seminars. Damon too. Amy Tyne is Professor Lucas’s TA for his undergrad classes. She and I were in orientation together.”
Nia looks up, ready to add to the story. “A week ago, neither one showed up for class. No warning. No announcement beforehand.”
“We went to the department head, Dr. Chase, and he told us that Professor Lucas and Amy were off doing some kind of research project,” adds Carter.
“What kind of research?” asks Alex.
“Dr. Chase wouldn’t tell us,” says Melissa. “He said it was confidential. But one of the other TAs said she heard they were looking into a recently discovered enslaved people’s burial site in Tennessee.”
“Sounds like a worthwhile effort,” says Bree.
“Except that it’s not true,” says Roger.
Nia speaks up again. “Damon and I made some phone calls, talked to bloggers and history junkies all over Tennessee. The story was fake, debunked six months ago. The site was a cemetery for a white family that was plowed under in the 1800s.”
“We think the trip was a cover story,” says Carter.
“So where do you think they really went?” asks Alex.
“No clue,” says Nia. “They just … disappeared. Like Damon.”
Suddenly, the front window shatters. As patrons scream and duck, a brick lands with a thud on the wood floor.