“No, I don’t.” I held his stare.
“Fair enough,” he said, smiling a little, as if enjoying our push-and-pull. “I suppose that would be inappropriate. I’m afraid it would also be inappropriate for me to answer.” Thomas Price narrowed his eyes, considering, then turned to face his computer. “But because you have been so nice, and because you are part of the university family, as it were, let me see what I can find out for you here.” He turned to point a finger at me. “This is off the record, however. I’ll claim you broke into my office and rifled through my files before I admit to having told you.”
“Understood,” I said. Erik probably wouldn’t have agreed to “off the record.” But what choice did I have?
We sat in silence for a minute as Price clicked through various screens on his computer. “Ah, here it is. VW,” he said finally. “Voluntary withdraw. That doesn’t tell you much, I’m afraid; it could be for personal reasons, socioeconomic, almost anything. But it does mean that Ms. Gowan would be welcome back at Ridgedale University anytime. She wasn’t asked to depart for academic or behavioral reasons.”
“And is there any record of her filing any complaints against another student?” I asked.
“Not here,” Price said. “But there wouldn’t be. This is solely her academic record. Complaints like that are handled confidentially. The security office would have those records, not that they should be disclosing them.”
I waited for him to ask why I wanted to know. He didn’t. Instead, he looked down at his watch. “And now, unfortunately, our time is up. I assure you, I’d much rather stay and chat with you, but the president is expecting me.” He held my stare again, long enough that I felt another little twinge. He was . . . well, not quite flirting—noticing me. Price smiled almost bashfully, as though he knew I’d noticed his noticing. “Feel free to send an email with more questions.”
Respectful, too. Not come see me again. Because that would be inappropriate. He knew I was married.
“I definitely will. Thank you,” I said as he showed me out.
“Good,” he said. When he shook my hand, he held it for an extra second. “And send my best to Justin. The three of us should get together. I used to live in the city, too. We could reminisce.”
When I came out, Deckler was waiting for me in the hall.
“The director of Campus Safety will see you now,” he said, as if we’d had a whole conversation about my wanting that very thing. “Ben LaForde. His office is right there.”
“Meet with me about what?”
Deckler was blocking my way, pointing to an office a few doors down from Price’s. I did need to speak to LaForde. Still, I had the distinct impression that I was being sent to the principal’s office.
“You had questions about campus crime reporting. He’s the one who should answer those. He’s waiting for you.”
Indeed, Ben LaForde seemed to be. He jumped right up when I peeked in his open door. A small man in his sixties with a thick head of salt-and-a-little-pepper hair and a trim matching mustache, he made his way over with an outstretched hand. He had a decidedly unfancy way about him.
“You must be Ms. Sanderson,” LaForde said. “Come, have a seat. Deckler said you had some questions for me?”
“I just wanted to confirm the university’s procedure when there’s a crime on campus, particularly how these crimes are reported to the local police.”
I braced myself for a defensive “Why?” or “What are you suggesting?” But LaForde’s face remained relaxed.
“When the victim comes to us?” he asked, as though he wanted to be sure he’d gotten the question right so he could be as helpful as possible. “Because they can go directly to the police if they want. That’s always their right. They’ll come to us if they want the incident reported as a disciplinary violation in addition to or instead of a crime. Students are entitled to confidentiality, however. We report the crime to the police as a courtesy, but we don’t disclose the students involved. In the case of a sexual assault, no such disclosure would be made at all unless a student requested it.”
“‘As a courtesy’ sounds as though it isn’t legally required.”
“It’s not mandated, but we do typically let the Ridgedale Police know about crimes on campus in real time. Can I promise that it happens with every single missing-iPhone report that later turns out not to be a theft? No, and I’m sure the local police wouldn’t want that.” The procedure sounded a lot more vague than he was making it out to be. “There are federal reporting requirements as well. Some things are so serious that we also handle them as a disciplinary violation even if they were only reported to the police. And in some circumstances, the police are going to get involved regardless of what we do—like this situation with the baby. Confidentiality, though, is always critical. Students need to feel protected.”
Especially the guilty ones, I wanted to add, but didn’t.
“There was another death on that same part of campus years ago, is that right?” I asked instead. It was too early to be getting that aggressive no matter how much I would have liked to. “A high school student?”
He shook his head. “It was a real tragedy. An accident, not a murder, just to be clear, but a terrible coincidence nonetheless. A shame for the boy’s parents if that gets dragged back up.”