When I arrived at Ridgedale University’s main administration building, I spotted Deckler, the Campus Safety officer from down at the creek. He still looked weirdly muscular, now in a long-sleeved lemon-yellow spandex shirt and the same snug black bike shorts. He was standing next to the building’s front steps, hands on his hips, like he’d been expecting me. Or maybe he’d just been expecting someone like me. There were several news vans parked around the green, and I’d seen notepad-carrying people milling around in town, pointedly avoiding eye contact. Like if they pretended they were the only one covering the story, they’d beat everyone to the headline-grabbing punch. Surely this was only the beginning. How big the story became depended entirely on how salacious the details.
“I wondered when you’d get here,” Deckler said.
“Oh, hi,” I said, hoping I sounded glad to see him even though I was not. “Deckler, right?”
“Yes, Molly Sanderson from the Ridgedale Reader,” he said in this odd robotic way that was maybe supposed to be funny but was extremely creepy.
“Yes, that’s right.” I forced myself to smile. “That’s me, Molly Sanderson. And what did you mean that you wondered when I’d get here?”
He shrugged. “You’re a reporter who’s going to cover all her bases. Campus property and all that.”
That wasn’t it. He’d meant something else that he wished he hadn’t hinted at. He was wrong anyway. Coming to campus hadn’t been my idea. Erik had suggested it after I’d updated him about Rose.
Univ. student in the hospital. New mother. Hospital refusing release, I typed away, wanting to tell someone, not fully considering the implications. Might be related.
Okay, came Erik’s quick reply. Follow up on campus. Get her story. Try dean of students. He usually comments without referring to Communications Department.
As a reporter who’d stumbled onto a lead, I knew that was the natural thing to do: follow up. But I did feel conflicted. It had been easy to say that I wanted to find out what had happened to the baby, to get at the truth. But what if that truth implicated the baby’s mother? And what if she’d been one of those desperate terrified women I knew all about? Not to mention that it felt wrong pointing a finger at Rose when I didn’t know for sure that she was an official police suspect. That was one thing the arts beat had going for it: no moral complications.
But asking a couple questions about Rose on campus was hardly the same thing as running a headline calling her a baby killer. It seemed likely that the police already knew about her, and soon others would, too, including the press. I could at least poke around, see what there was to find out, and commit to reporting whatever it was, if and when the time came, with great care.
“I’m surprised they let you leave the creek,” I said, trying for friendly chitchat with Deckler, even though there was something about him—the weirdly intense way he had of looking at me, perhaps—that made me genuinely uncomfortable. “With all that ground to cover, I’d think they’d want every available set of hands.”
“Let me leave?” Deckler asked. “I’m surprised they didn’t run me over with one of their ‘cruisers.’” His fingers hooked the air dismissively. In the Ridgedale Police’s defense, I found it hard to take Deckler seriously, with that baby face and tight bike-cop outfit.
“Sounds like you don’t think much of the local authorities.”
Deckler shrugged. “It’s a club, and some of them have been in it a long time.” He stared at me pointedly. “They treat all of us on campus like we’re second-class citizens, even though we’ve had the same training and passed the same damn tests. Plus, we get paid about twice as much and get free housing.”
“Sounds like a good deal to me.” So why do you seem so pissed off about it?
“It is,” Deckler said, eyeing me like he was trying to figure out if I was mocking him.
“Okay, well.” I took a step past him toward the building. “The dean of students’ office is in here, right?”
“Why?” Deckler asked protectively.
Why, indeed. I shouldn’t have mentioned where I was going. It had been something to say, an excuse to leave. “I have some questions about a former student.”
“Who?”
Why did I keep saying things that led to more questions? I wanted to tell Deckler that it was none of his business, but there was a chance I might need his cooperation later. A change of subject seemed a better tactic than confrontation. “Actually, there’s something I was hoping I could clarify with you first.”
“Oh yeah?” Deckler looked intrigued. “What’s that?”
“You mentioned there were some crimes that you dealt with entirely on campus. Did you mean they don’t get reported to the local police?”
I suspected whatever gap there was between Steve’s assertion that all crime on campus got reported to the Ridgedale Police and Deckler’s implication that the opposite was true had everything to do with the enormous chip on Deckler’s shoulder. But I did wonder whether Rose Gowan, whose last name Stella had given me somewhat reluctantly, could have been sexually assaulted by the father of her baby—maybe the baby—and whether Campus Safety would have a record of it even though the police did not. Ridgedale certainly wouldn’t be the first university to prioritize the confidentiality of an accused student over a full and fair investigation.
“Life on campus can be complicated that’s all. These are all just kids,” he said, and with this look like I was supposed to get what he meant. “But if you want details about our procedures, you’ll have to talk to our director.”