Free Summer Session by Merry Jones

desk, ready to go to the police. But she didn’t tell Larry that. Instead, she said, ‘Why?’
    Larry looked away. ‘He was my room-mate.’ As if that answered it. ‘Do you have it?’ He tried to sound casual. Failed.
    ‘It’s right here.’ Harper reached under her desk, pulled the bag out.
    ‘Oh, good – I have some stuff in there.’ He eyed it, one hand a fist at his hip, the other against his flat belly. ‘Can I look inside?’
    ‘What stuff?’ A gun maybe? Or money?
    ‘Just stuff.’ Larry stared at the bag. ‘Actually, some money.’
    ‘Money?’
    ‘Yeah. Graham owed me for rent.’ He met her eyes. ‘Is it in there?’
    ‘What’s going on, Larry?’
    ‘What? Nothing.’ Larry watched her with unblinking, innocent eyes. ‘He said he’d stop at the bank and bring it to class.’
    ‘How much did he owe you?’
    Larry rolled his eyes. ‘Like, six hundred thirty.’
    Bingo. The amount matched. Graham must have been carrying his rent money. Otherwise, how would Larry have known how much was there?
    ‘What am I supposed to do, Loot? The rent’s due, and I need his share.’ He blinked at her with large, pleading eyes.
    Harper studied Larry. Neither handsome nor homely, he was average in height, light in weight. A wiry, dark-haired, Brooklyn-raised kid with mild acne and eyes so sad they tore your heart. She glanced at the clock. Almost time to meet Detective Rivers.
    ‘Problem is, Larry, I can’t help you. I don’t have the right to disperse Graham’s possessions—’
    ‘But Loot. The money was mine—’
    ‘If you want something from the bag, you’ll need to talk to the police. Meantime, talk to your landlords. With Graham’s death, I’m sure they’ll give you a break.’
    Larry crossed his arms and gazed resolutely at the bag.
    ‘Is there something else?’
    ‘Not really.’ Still, he lingered, didn’t leave.
    Poor kid, Harper thought. She should encourage him to talk about what happened. Maybe he had an idea about why Graham killed himself. Or why he was taking those pills.
    ‘Larry, was Graham healthy?’
    ‘Yeah, I guess. Why?’
    ‘Was he taking any medication?’
    ‘Medication?’ Larry chewed his lip. Stalling? ‘Well, just for work.’
    ‘Work?’
    ‘He worked on a drug trial at Cayuga. The Neuro Bureau. You get paid to test drugs. You take some pills, give some blood. Fill out some questionnaires. Graham and I are – were – subjects there. That’s how I met him.’
    ‘So you take the drugs, too?’
    ‘For the trials. Sure. Lots of us do. It’s easy money.’ He scratched his head, dark eyes wavering. ‘Loot. Here’s the deal. Graham was our section leader. He kept all the pills and gave us our weekly doses. So it’s not just the rent – I’m looking for the pills, too.’
    Larry cracked his knuckles again. Loudly. Shifted his weight. Couldn’t stay still. Harper wondered if the experimental drugs were addictive. If Larry needed a fix. But that was ridiculous; the Center wouldn’t run drug trials that created addicts.
    ‘So, did you find any pills in his bag? Or a record of where he kept them?’ Larry’s sorrowful eyes tugged at her. ‘Because I’ve looked everywhere. You know, for the subjects in our group. So, we can continue to work. Did you—’
    ‘Sorry. No.’
    He glanced at the bag. ‘Can you look again?’
    ‘I need to leave everything as it is, Larry. For the police.’
    ‘But you’ve already looked inside. What harm would it do?’
    ‘Sorry.’ Why was he so insistent?
    ‘Man, Loot—’ Larry ran a hand through his hair, stifling a curse.
    ‘Look, I’m sure the Center will replace the pills. What study were you involved in?’
    Larry’s face went blank. ‘Oh. They don’t tell you. You’re just divided into groups.’
    ‘But you must have some identifying code numbers or something.’
    ‘I don’t know. I was in Graham’s group. That’s all I know. Graham was in charge of it.’ Larry’s weight moved from leg to leg, an