“No offense taken,” Steve said finally, working his jaw to the side. “And to be clear, you are all absolutely free to consult your attorneys or your accountants or your spiritual advisers before deciding whether or not to help. You can look inside yourselves and decide that having a Q-tip wiped across the inside of your cheek or your kid’s cheek is wrong on principle. It’s a free country, and that’s the meaning of voluntary: You get to choose.” The crowd was utterly still now. “But I would say this: When we found the baby floating in a creek like a piece of trash, she was stuck there, her neck hung up on a stick. I pulled her out myself, weighed almost nothing.” He was quiet again, this time like he was trying to gather his composure. “Principles are a luxury that baby’s never going to have.”
It was good theater. Impassioned, persuasive. And genuine. Steve obviously believed what he was saying. Of course, that didn’t make it true. The dragnet did sound unconstitutional, or at least potentially so.
Nonetheless, Steve’s speech had—as intended—succeeded in silencing public opposition. For an hour and a half afterward, people steered clear of queries about the DNA sweep. Instead, someone wanted to know more about Simon Barton. As he had with me, Steve dismissed the connection out of hand. Others wanted to know about some men on the local sex offender registry. Someone else agitated for precautionary fingerprinting in the schools, and another for an investigative neighborhood watch, focusing—it seemed—largely on Ridgedale Commons, the apartment complex that was the town’s de facto low-income housing. Thankfully, several others dismissed that idea as appallingly discriminatory. Steve brought the hammer down on it anyway. Dangerous and irresponsible vigilantism, he called it. And not long after that, he called a stop to all of it.
“Looks like we’ll have to wrap this up for now.” Steve’s voice was hoarse from all the talking as he pointed to a huge clock high on the wall. “University was kind enough to let us use their facilities, but I did promise we’d be cleared out by nine p.m., and we’ve already gone twenty minutes past that.”
There was some displeased grumbling as people stood and slowly began to disperse. Some didn’t get very far, settling into large pods dotted across the gym floor, presumably to exchange theories and complaints. Others shuffled toward the doors. I turned to make my way over to Stella, whom I’d spotted in the distance, embedded with a group of high school moms and dads. I was hoping she’d give me a ride to my car. I wasn’t going to cross back over that dark campus alone, not with Deckler lurking out there.
“Stella!” I called as she and her group started to drift toward the door. She kept on chatting with a mother as she walked on; she hadn’t heard me. A second later, she had disappeared, lost to the crowd.
“Molly Sanderson,” someone said then. “Nice to see a friendly face.”
I was relieved to see Thomas Price walking toward me with a hand clasped around the back of his neck. He looked absolutely exhausted.
“Oh, hi,” I said, wondering how I could ask Price to walk me to my car without seeming needy or ridiculous. “How are you?”
“I’ve been better.” He motioned to the dispersing throng. “I wish the university president were here to see this—all these people. Maybe then he’d understand that this isn’t going anywhere anytime soon.” Price shook his head. “Anyway, other than that, I am very well, thank you. Yourself?”
“Okay. But can I ask you a question?”
“For you, anything,” Price said, then glanced away as though he’d inadvertently shown his hand. But when he met my eyes a second later, his expression was so guileless I wondered if I’d imagined it. “However, do consider yourself forewarned: my actual answers seem in maddeningly short supply today.”
“I ran into one of the Campus Safety officers on my way here—Officer Deckler?” How to accuse Deckler of sexual assault without accusing him, that was the question. Because not even Rose had put it in such distinct terms, and the files weren’t proof of anything in and of themselves; they were merely a compelling clue. A strong opening salvo. My strongest evidence was my overwhelming instinctual suspicion, exacerbated by Deckler’s incessant creepiness—hardly incontrovertible, either. “Deckler seemed overly interested in my conversation with you about Rose Gowan and the status of my investigation in general. Do you know why that might be?”
“Wait, Deckler was on campus tonight?” Thomas Price looked uncharacteristically alarmed. “Where did you see him?”
“Outside the Athletic Center, walking on the path toward the main campus.” My stomach tightened. I had been so sure Price would tell me what a great guy Deckler was. “He wasn’t in uniform. I don’t think he was on duty.”
“No, he wouldn’t have been.” Thomas Price was looking toward the doors as though making some kind of calculation. “Deckler was suspended earlier today. He was also barred from campus, pending an investigation. Which means he shouldn’t have been here at all.”
Deckler hadn’t been off-duty. He was off the job.
“What is he being investigated for?”
“Let’s just say overzealousness.” Price shook his head and exhaled. “Among other things.”
“What does that mean, ‘overzealousness’?” I could hear myself sounding panicky. I couldn’t help it. It sounded like a euphemism for something far more ominous.
“The details are confidential, I’m afraid. Our internal investigation is ongoing. Running afoul of employment law by making a premature allegation to the press about an employee with a contract will not win me any points with the president.”
“I’m not asking as a reporter,” I said. “I think Deckler might be— Right now I’m concerned about my safety, my family’s. I have some information and I—well, I don’t even know what it means yet. But I need to know how worried I should be about Deckler.”
Thomas Price’s face softened. He nodded but crossed his arms. “Between us, there have been complaints from female students. Deckler made a number of them uncomfortable, on more than one occasion. He’s unnecessarily persistent.”
Just like he had been with me. Just like he probably was with Rose Gowan.
“I know Deckler’s been here for a while. But do you know if he worked here back in 2006? Or if he left for a time between 2008 and 2012?” It was one piece of the puzzle that I could confirm. Deckler’s absence during that period of time would explain the substantial gap in the files.