Mary celebrated Caitlin’s entrance with a full glass of wine and another vise-like hug. Scott’s pot kept Caitlin social enough to shake a dozen hands and forget double the number of names. The Dean of Students popped by twice, once with a provost, again with the chancellor—all female. Each expressed their regrets for Caitlin’s hard-to-believe-it-happened-here assault and pledged their support for an open dialogue. Their intentions felt noble, though Caitlin caught the subtle protective feelers.

The university takes every complaint seriously …

… complex issue all colleges deal with . . .

Will you be writing about the experience?

Caitlin assured those concerned she had no intention of making the school or herself poster children for campus abuse. She wasn’t on assignment, nor did she have a deadline. The story she’d mentioned unintentionally would be a personal journey only, ending Sunday morning.

During a respite an hour in, the student with the slight British accent from the Q&A cornered her on a couch, with a full wine glass in each hand. “You’re drinking the red blend, correct, Miss Bergman?”

“You certainly do your homework.” Caitlin tapped the nearest cushion. “Lakshmi, right?”

The girl smiled, sat. “Lakshmi Anjale. I’m one of Dean Lubbers-Gaffney’s students.”

Caitlin took a glass. “What’s on your mind? Looking for a mentor, perhaps a grad school reference? We can talk about anything you want as long as it’s not sexual assault.”

Lakshmi leaned closer. “I wanted to know if you had any theories about what happened to Angela Chapman.”

Again, the name sounded familiar, but Caitlin didn’t remember the context. Lakshmi reached into a bag, came up with an iPad. Caitlin took the tablet, saw a compilation of news articles and links to broadcast clips.

“Student Goes Missing, Presumed Dead.”

“Statewide Search Underway for Missing Indiana Girl.”

“Reward Offered for Information Leading to Missing Student.”

Caitlin looked up, saw hope in the girl’s brown eyes. “Your friend?”

“My best friend.”

Caitlin knew she meant it, no hyperbole. “How long has she been gone?”

“Since our sophomore year, two years in May.”

“I remember something about this, Lakshmi, but I’m sorry to say I haven’t paid attention. If you’ve read my book—”

“Several times.”

Caitlin smiled. “Then you understand I’ve had my hands full the last two years.”

Lakshmi’s shoulders dropped. “I knew it was a long shot.”