press; in this world, public recognition for anything other than academic, arts or sports achievement, or major donations was to be avoided. Mom and Dad didn't ante up 30K or more a year to send junior to a tony school whose campus scandals made the nightly news.
"Believe me, a fight about what the truth is is something you want to avoid. And I bet it wouldn't be hard for Shondra Jones to find a lawyer who's dying for the publicity a fight with St. Matthews would generate." I steered him back to my question. "So... your investigation?"
Dunham's unguarded face veered between puzzled and annoyed. He looked longingly at a stack of waiting papers. "But I don't see..."
"Please." I gave him an encouraging smile.
If I lived a thousand years, I'd never understand why schools hired me to do jobs and then stalled, second guessed, or disagreed at every step. But people had a habit of keeping the difficult questions and bad news from themselves and therefore, also, from me. Self-deception was a common thing. At the management level, it took the form of policy. The US military weren't the first to practice forms of don't ask, don't tell.
I practiced Andre's skill of maintaining an opaque cop's face while I waited for his detailed explanation. When I left this room, he should still be thinking of me as a pleasant woman who was helping him solve a problem, not a cynical witch who was beginning to sympathize with Shondra Jones.
He ran me through it. It was as slipshod, cursory, and conclusory as I'd feared. Their "thorough inquiry," to quote the language from their letter, had consisted of interviewing the resident advisors and a few of the girls on her hall, plus two girls who lived downstairs near the entrance, as well as Shondra herself. On the basis of this, they had concluded that it was impossible for anyone to have come into the dorm unobserved, never mind making it to the third floor and Shondra's room. The prior year's resident advisor, to whom Shondra had reported the harassment, hadn't been contacted, nor had the former roommate who'd allegedly lived through it with her.
When I asked if anyone had spoken with Alasdair MacGregor, his "of course not," was as sharp and dismissive as though Alasdair was a taboo subject.
"Are there written reports?"
"We didn't think that was necessary."
I thought of matters I'd dealt with at other schools, of the comings and goings that actually took place, and wondered whether they were being impossibly naïve, simply lazy, or deliberately dishonest in the interest of protecting a major donor's family.
I pulled out my campus map and laid it on his desk, standing beside him so I could see it from his point of view. "Can you show me where Shondra's dorm is?"
He pointed. "She's in Cabot Hall." I circled it in red.
"And where her room is?" He looked puzzled, but complied, and I marked the place where her window would be.
I pulled out a blue marker. "Now, can you show me where Alasdair MacGregor's dorm is?" He circled another building, Pearsall Hall, directly across from hers. "And where his room is?"
Dunham balked. "I'm afraid I have no idea," he said.
And I was born yesterday. I let it go. I'd find out eventually. "Now," I began, and realized that I was beginning too many sentences with the word 'now.' I took a deep breath and forced the inquisitive tone out of my voice. "I don't envy you, having to deal with so many adolescents. It must be a challenge." He smiled and nodded. "Do you have Shondra's file available?"
He patted a thick folder sitting on his desk. "Got it right here."
"Let's double-check the dates she reported finding those pictures in her room. All I've seen is Todd's letter, and they weren't in there."
I peered eagerly over his shoulder as he rifled through, finding the papers he wanted and running his blunt finger down the pages, searching for dates. He read them to me and I jotted them down, wishing there were a way to get him out of the room so I could see what else
"Believe me, a fight about what the truth is is something you want to avoid. And I bet it wouldn't be hard for Shondra Jones to find a lawyer who's dying for the publicity a fight with St. Matthews would generate." I steered him back to my question. "So... your investigation?"
Dunham's unguarded face veered between puzzled and annoyed. He looked longingly at a stack of waiting papers. "But I don't see..."
"Please." I gave him an encouraging smile.
If I lived a thousand years, I'd never understand why schools hired me to do jobs and then stalled, second guessed, or disagreed at every step. But people had a habit of keeping the difficult questions and bad news from themselves and therefore, also, from me. Self-deception was a common thing. At the management level, it took the form of policy. The US military weren't the first to practice forms of don't ask, don't tell.
I practiced Andre's skill of maintaining an opaque cop's face while I waited for his detailed explanation. When I left this room, he should still be thinking of me as a pleasant woman who was helping him solve a problem, not a cynical witch who was beginning to sympathize with Shondra Jones.
He ran me through it. It was as slipshod, cursory, and conclusory as I'd feared. Their "thorough inquiry," to quote the language from their letter, had consisted of interviewing the resident advisors and a few of the girls on her hall, plus two girls who lived downstairs near the entrance, as well as Shondra herself. On the basis of this, they had concluded that it was impossible for anyone to have come into the dorm unobserved, never mind making it to the third floor and Shondra's room. The prior year's resident advisor, to whom Shondra had reported the harassment, hadn't been contacted, nor had the former roommate who'd allegedly lived through it with her.
When I asked if anyone had spoken with Alasdair MacGregor, his "of course not," was as sharp and dismissive as though Alasdair was a taboo subject.
"Are there written reports?"
"We didn't think that was necessary."
I thought of matters I'd dealt with at other schools, of the comings and goings that actually took place, and wondered whether they were being impossibly naïve, simply lazy, or deliberately dishonest in the interest of protecting a major donor's family.
I pulled out my campus map and laid it on his desk, standing beside him so I could see it from his point of view. "Can you show me where Shondra's dorm is?"
He pointed. "She's in Cabot Hall." I circled it in red.
"And where her room is?" He looked puzzled, but complied, and I marked the place where her window would be.
I pulled out a blue marker. "Now, can you show me where Alasdair MacGregor's dorm is?" He circled another building, Pearsall Hall, directly across from hers. "And where his room is?"
Dunham balked. "I'm afraid I have no idea," he said.
And I was born yesterday. I let it go. I'd find out eventually. "Now," I began, and realized that I was beginning too many sentences with the word 'now.' I took a deep breath and forced the inquisitive tone out of my voice. "I don't envy you, having to deal with so many adolescents. It must be a challenge." He smiled and nodded. "Do you have Shondra's file available?"
He patted a thick folder sitting on his desk. "Got it right here."
"Let's double-check the dates she reported finding those pictures in her room. All I've seen is Todd's letter, and they weren't in there."
I peered eagerly over his shoulder as he rifled through, finding the papers he wanted and running his blunt finger down the pages, searching for dates. He read them to me and I jotted them down, wishing there were a way to get him out of the room so I could see what else
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