“Yeah, she said she’d been all alone for the rest of the night, going out of her mind. By the way, I hope she explained that I tried like crazy to convince her to call nine-one-one or let me drive her to an ER. But she refused and swore me to secrecy.”
“Yes, she told us. You must have felt in a terrible bind.”
“That’s putting it mildly.” She picks up the saltshaker and absentmindedly draws a couple of circles on the table with the bottom of it. “She made clear she’d kill herself if anyone else found out, so I didn’t dare go to the police. It turned out she’d lost her phone in thecreek, but she was planning to get a new one right away, so I took down her number and called her over the next couple of weeks. She knew by then she wasn’t pregnant, thank God, but I still couldn’t talk her into going to the cops. And then, all of a sudden, Calvin Ruck was arrested, and she convinced herself there was no need to come forward.”
“How sure was she that he was the guy?”
“Very.”
It seems that every detail Riley shared with Logan and me was the truth. So where did my unease spring from?
“Is something the matter?” Morgan asks, and I realize I’m frowning.
“No, I guess I’m just feeling a tad guilty. When Riley spoke to us, I found myself struggling to accept everything.”
“Why’s that, do you think?”
I shrug. “She seemed evasive at times, but I guess it was just torturous for her to describe the experience ... I suppose I’m also distressed by how long she waited to tell the police. If I put myself in her shoes, I can understand her reluctance years ago, but it would have made a big difference if she’d come forward in real time.”
“And now it’s too late to do anything with the information, right? I just read online that this man Ruck died in prison, so he can’t be prosecuted for additional crimes.”
“Right” is all I say. I’m not comfortable offering her any more than that.
Morgan checks her watch. “I should get going. I promised to pick up my partner, and I don’t want to keep her waiting.”
“Before you leave, can I ask a quick question on an entirely different subject? I assume your college uses Blackboard or a similar system. I was hoping to find some of my daughter’s writing assignments on the Blackboard system that Carter uses, but I was told classwork is deleted after five years. Do you think there’s any chance it’s still in the cloud somewhere?”
“I doubt it. We use a similar system at HRCC, and far as I know, once material is deleted, it’s gone for good.”
“Damn.”
“But wait,” she says, stuffing an arm into the sleeve of her coat. “There’s a digital archive at Carter specifically for creative work that students might want to upload there. Handler started it himself to encourage kids to think about possibly publishing one day, and I assume it’s still active. Perhaps your daughter opted in with some of her work.”
Okay, this is interesting. But why hadn’t Handler himself mentioned it?
“Great, I’ll look into it,” I say.
Morgan is clearly eager to split, but I can’t resist lobbing one more question now that a certain name is on the table. “What was your impression of Handler back then?”
She pauses what she’s doing, letting the coat sag behind her again, and her lips curl infinitesimally in displeasure.
“The acclaimed Jeffrey Handler?” she says. “Well, thestudentsseemed to be in awe of him.”
“Not you?”
“If you don’t mind, I’d prefer not to discuss him. It was a long time ago.”
So, not a fan at all.
“Well, thank you again for your time. It’s been a huge help.”
She resumes putting on her sweater coat and loops her bag over her head.
“You’re welcome, and I’m sorry for being a bit brusque earlier,” she says. For the first time since we’ve sat down, there’s a trace of warmth in her voice. “It’s just that I’ve been worried that if this stuff about Riley gets out, my failure to alert the police myself could blow back on me professionally somehow. But if I can be of more help, let me know.”
It’s not what I’ve been expecting from her—leaving a door open.
“That’s very kind of you,” I say.
