Thought
herself much too worldly for most of the kids she met here."
"Didn't you get the police involved when she disappeared?"
"Certainly we did. You must know how it is. They won't even consider
a missing person's report until forty-eight hours have elapsed. Nobody
noticed Charlotte was gone for most of that time. The girls in the dorm
assumed that she'd gone off to party with her drug crowd, and the
professors had grown used to her cutting classes. The Twenty-sixth
Precinct has a record of the report we filed. I made the notification
myself, after I called her father."
Chapman looked up. "What'd he have to say about all this?"
Foote lowered her head. "He didn't even come to New York. Not then,
or later. He had just remarried, which engaged most of his emotional
interest, and seemed to believe that Charlotte would show up
eventually, when she needed his money or his help. He thought it was
just a gimmick to get his attention."
"Anybody check out her room?"
"Yes, the detectives from the precinct. Undisturbed and
unremarkable. Her credit cards were never used, her bank account was
never tampered with—"
"Make a list, Coop, when you do your subpoenas for Dakota. Let's get
bank records, credit card information, and phone records for Voight,
too. Her computer still around?"
Foote shrugged. "I imagine when the semester ended in June that all
of her belongings were shipped back to her father in Peru, but I'll
check that for you."
"And line up some of her classmates for Monday, some of the kids
that she lived near in the dorm or hung out with in class. The former
boyfriend, too."
Recantati knew that he was in over his head. "Can we slow this down?
I think you're making some quantum leaps here that will serve no good."
"Welcome to the real world, Professor. Wake up these
it-can't-happen-here nerds and make them get involved in all this. You
do it, or I will." Chapman slapped his steno pad against the palm of
his hand to drive home his point.
The sharp buzz of the intercom startled me. Foote's secretary's
voice came through the speakerphone intercom. "Professor Lock-hart is
here for his four o'clock meeting with you. He thinks you might want
him to join you now."
"No, no. Tell him I'll leave him a message and reschedule for early
next week." She turned her attention back to us. "What else do you need
by Monday?"
I spoke before Mike could. "Every detail about every criminal
incident that has occurred on this campus and to your students, whether
here or wherever they're living in the city."
"That's hard to put together quickly. There's no, well ..."
Recantati was stammering.
"I guess you're not familiar with the Cleary Act, Professor?" I
asked.
This was Sylvia Foote's territory, and she stepped in to spare
Recantati the embarrassment of his ignorance about an important
administrative function. "We're in the process of putting together that
information now, Alex. I can certainly give you whatever reports and
referrals we have."
"Then we'll see you here, on Monday. We've each got a beeper," I
said, handing my business card to both Foote and Recantati. "If you
need us for anything at all, or want to bring something to my
attention, just give a call."
As we walked out of Foote's office, her secretary told us that
Detective Sherman and his partner from the Crime Scene Unit were on
their way up to Dakota's office. Mike nodded to me to follow him up the
staircase to watch them get to work.
"So what's the Cleary Act?"
"About fifteen years ago, a student named Jeanne Cleary was raped
and strangled to death in her dormitory at Lehigh University in
Pennsylvania. The bastard who killed her was also enrolled at the
school. He was a drug addict with a history of deviant behavior who had
broken into her room to burglarize it while she was sleeping. Her
parents fought a long, tough battle to get federal legislation to make
it mandatory for every campus official to report the statistics of
criminal occurrences at their
herself much too worldly for most of the kids she met here."
"Didn't you get the police involved when she disappeared?"
"Certainly we did. You must know how it is. They won't even consider
a missing person's report until forty-eight hours have elapsed. Nobody
noticed Charlotte was gone for most of that time. The girls in the dorm
assumed that she'd gone off to party with her drug crowd, and the
professors had grown used to her cutting classes. The Twenty-sixth
Precinct has a record of the report we filed. I made the notification
myself, after I called her father."
Chapman looked up. "What'd he have to say about all this?"
Foote lowered her head. "He didn't even come to New York. Not then,
or later. He had just remarried, which engaged most of his emotional
interest, and seemed to believe that Charlotte would show up
eventually, when she needed his money or his help. He thought it was
just a gimmick to get his attention."
"Anybody check out her room?"
"Yes, the detectives from the precinct. Undisturbed and
unremarkable. Her credit cards were never used, her bank account was
never tampered with—"
"Make a list, Coop, when you do your subpoenas for Dakota. Let's get
bank records, credit card information, and phone records for Voight,
too. Her computer still around?"
Foote shrugged. "I imagine when the semester ended in June that all
of her belongings were shipped back to her father in Peru, but I'll
check that for you."
"And line up some of her classmates for Monday, some of the kids
that she lived near in the dorm or hung out with in class. The former
boyfriend, too."
Recantati knew that he was in over his head. "Can we slow this down?
I think you're making some quantum leaps here that will serve no good."
"Welcome to the real world, Professor. Wake up these
it-can't-happen-here nerds and make them get involved in all this. You
do it, or I will." Chapman slapped his steno pad against the palm of
his hand to drive home his point.
The sharp buzz of the intercom startled me. Foote's secretary's
voice came through the speakerphone intercom. "Professor Lock-hart is
here for his four o'clock meeting with you. He thinks you might want
him to join you now."
"No, no. Tell him I'll leave him a message and reschedule for early
next week." She turned her attention back to us. "What else do you need
by Monday?"
I spoke before Mike could. "Every detail about every criminal
incident that has occurred on this campus and to your students, whether
here or wherever they're living in the city."
"That's hard to put together quickly. There's no, well ..."
Recantati was stammering.
"I guess you're not familiar with the Cleary Act, Professor?" I
asked.
This was Sylvia Foote's territory, and she stepped in to spare
Recantati the embarrassment of his ignorance about an important
administrative function. "We're in the process of putting together that
information now, Alex. I can certainly give you whatever reports and
referrals we have."
"Then we'll see you here, on Monday. We've each got a beeper," I
said, handing my business card to both Foote and Recantati. "If you
need us for anything at all, or want to bring something to my
attention, just give a call."
As we walked out of Foote's office, her secretary told us that
Detective Sherman and his partner from the Crime Scene Unit were on
their way up to Dakota's office. Mike nodded to me to follow him up the
staircase to watch them get to work.
"So what's the Cleary Act?"
"About fifteen years ago, a student named Jeanne Cleary was raped
and strangled to death in her dormitory at Lehigh University in
Pennsylvania. The bastard who killed her was also enrolled at the
school. He was a drug addict with a history of deviant behavior who had
broken into her room to burglarize it while she was sleeping. Her
parents fought a long, tough battle to get federal legislation to make
it mandatory for every campus official to report the statistics of
criminal occurrences at their
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