“You bet,” he says, “but just so you ladies know, we close at nine.”
I have even less time than I thought, but I give the waiter a chance to move away before I lob my first question.
“What do you mean by ‘should have seen it coming’?”
“When Riley called me earlier this week, she sounded like a total wreck. She said she was proud about finally going to the police, but I could tell it was going to bring everything to the surface for her again—in the worst way possible.”
“Things got even more complicated since I talked to you last,” I say. “You know how I asked if Riley might have misinformed us about the date of the attack? Well, it turns out she did. She was actually raped the previous Monday night, almost a week before she spoke to you.”
Morgan straightens in her seat, clearly taken aback. “What makes you so sure now?”
“She more or less admitted it to me over the phone, and she told her lawyer straight out.”
“But what about the bruises she showed me?”
“I did a bit of research, and it might have been hard for you to tell they were nearly a week old.”
“Fuck. Why would she lie about which night it was?”
“Because of my daughter, I assume—not wanting to be blamed for her death.”
Morgan’s Diet Coke has arrived, along with the check, and she stirs the straw around and around in the glass, making the ice clink. “Wow, I got played for a fool, didn’t I?”
The bitterness in her tone surprises me.
“Don’t think that way, Morgan. Look, I’m furious about Riley keeping quiet, but I get the reason for it. She was frightened and ashamed.”
Based on her expression, I’d say my comment hasn’t mollified her.
“Are you worried again that this might blow back on you professionally?” I ask.
She keeps stirring her Diet Coke.
“Yes, because itcouldblow back,” she says finally. “I couldn’t have saved your daughter, but if I’d convinced Riley to report the crime or gone to the police myself, I might have saved that second girl in Plattsburgh.”
“Surely people will understand why you made the choice you did.”
“Only time will tell, won’t it?”
She stuffs a hand in her jeans pocket and fishes out a few dollars, obviously eager to split. I can’t let her go without asking the question I came with.
“Please, here’s the reason I wanted to see you, and then I promise—you never have to hear from me again.”
She drops the bills on the table and leans back in her seat.
“Shoot.”
“When I spoke to Riley today, she admitted someone else knew about the real date, someone she told right afterward, but she didn’t say who it was. Did she give any hint who it might have been?”
Morgan shakes her head. “Like I think I mentioned, she said she’d been alone the night before, so I figured I was the first to know, but I suppose she might have told someone—especially if there was all that time in between.”
“Can you picture her telling Jeffrey Handler?”
“Handler?Why in God’s name would she go to him?”
“Maybe she went by the English department the next day—therealnext day—to ask about extensions and ended up running into Handler and telling him what happened, then dropped by the following Mondayto check in with him again, but she ran into you instead. So you were the second person to hear the story.”
She shakes her head. “I can’t imagine her sharing the story with him, even if she’d been locked in a room with the man. You just have to read his poetry to know that the only thing he gives a shit about is stuff like crows and rock croppings.”
