He chuckled. “Early.”
“Maybe we could—”
“Haven!” Rue’s sharp tone snapped in the cold air, effectively dousing the flames licking through the phone line. “Let’s go.”
“Goddammit,” I muttered under my breath. “Mother calls. I gotta run. I’ll text you when I know better what time I’m coming over.”
“Take care, Kobe.”
We hung up. A text landed on my phone.Maybe we could.A full sentence in response to my unfinished one from a moment ago.
I couldn’t temper my smile, and Rue noticed.
She yanked open the door and ushered me inside. “You’re like a lovesick teenager. No wonder you can’t focus.”
“For the last time. Iamfocused. Quit saying I’m not.”
“I saw you two ogling each other last night. I assume it’s going well with the doctor?”
“It is. Very well, but since we are completely case-oriented today, we aren’t talking about my budding love life.” Besides, I jealously wanted to protect the newness of my and Dominique’s relationship and wasn’t in the mood to share my happiness with my partner.
16
Kobe
Laurent St. Pierre invitedus into his luxurious, overly warm office. The spacious room boasted of the man’s elevated position within the university. Dark wooden shelves lined one wall, holding a clutter of manuals and leatherbound books. Expensive leather furniture filled a nook next to a sideboard. Photographs of family vacations dotted the room—a few adult children, a fluffy poodle mix, and a gorgeous wife. Diplomas and framed art hung on the walls. A generous window showed a partially obstructed view of the river.
Two guest chairs awaited our arrival.
Laurent swiveled in an oversized desk chair, back and forth, fingers steepled under his chin. His sharp gaze took us in as we sat. Laurent appeared to be a respectable sixty, but I was never good at judging a person’s age. His thick, salt-and-pepper hair was neatly combed. Heavy brows and a bushy mustache shared space with wire-framed glasses on his deeply lined face.
I unzipped my bulky department jacket and fanned the sides before sitting. Rue introduced us and didn’t waste time getting to the reason for our visit.
“Mr. St. Pierre, we have some questions about Jesse Vargas, Ford Carrigan, and Navid Kordestani. I’m sure you’ve heard the news.”
“I have. A terrible tragedy. The university is up in arms. How can I help?”
I scanned the family photographs on display as my partner controlled the interview. Three adult children. Two daughters, midtwenties or thereabouts, and a son. Older. Thirty, maybe?
“We understand Jesse was expelled for drug trafficking last year.”
“That’s correct.”
“Is it true that prior to his expulsion, the university received multiple complaints about his behavior toward women on campus?”
I eyed Laurent as a flash of irritation crossed his face. His jaw ticked. Somehow, he maintained a pleasant smile as he answered, but it lost its authenticity. “I can’t speak to that.”
“Why not?” I asked, interrupting. “It’s a simple question. Were there reports made against him or not?”
Laurent St. Pierre’s lips flattened as he seemed to consider. “Yes. Unofficially.”
“The reports were unofficial, or your answer is unofficial?”
“My answer. They were deemed insufficient, and action was not taken. It would be unbefitting to further besmirch a student’s reputation based on unproven complaints.”
“That sounded rehearsed,” I mumbled under my breath.
“What about the petition declaring Jesse was an ongoing problem with the female students?” Rue asked. “Did that cross your desk?”
