I ignore his question. “Would you like to go down the hall to Preston’s office? We can explain all of this to him. And he can sort it out. For all we know, there’s more to the story. He wants me to go to the police. I’m sure he’d want the same for you. And maybe it’s a misunderstanding. Right?”

Lance takes a step toward me. He lowers his voice and speaks in a conspiratorial whisper, one meant to convey that he and I aren’t that different. That we’re a couple of guys who understand each other and wouldn’t do anything foolish to harm the other. Not if we could help it.

“Connor, you’re being narrow here. And warped by the reactionary politics of this whole backwater state. You were with Madeline that last night before she disappeared. We all know that. We’re all adults here. Not children. What happened to Madeline is terrible, but we don’t know what she was mixed up in. Her family life was awful. She wasn’t like us. She wasn’t as . . . refined. She carried a lot of baggage along with her. It doesn’t have to be our baggage.” He comes closer and pats me on the upper arm and then flicks the papers in my hand with a dismissive index finger. “Let’s just let this all go. Okay? It’s not worth ending anyone’s career over.”

I step back, out of his reach. “She talks about writing her thesis in here. The way you helped her. Isn’t that true, Lance? You helped her with her thesis. A lot.”

But Lance is shaking his head. And now he’s backing away. “I had to because you were AWOL.”

“It’s not just about the harassment, Lance. It’s about the book. The book you were helping her with. The details in the book you gave her . . .”

His face is ashen. But it looks like I’ve reached him in some way.

He starts to nod, as though he agrees with me.

“Lance, we all have things we have to admit to. None of us is coming out of this unscathed.”

I take a step in the direction of Preston’s office. Then another.

I hold my hand out, indicating he should follow.

“Seriously, Lance. This story makes you look bad. Really bad. But if there’s something you can explain . . .”

He says, “I have to tell the students I’ll be . . . I’m stepping out. . . .”

“Do that,” I say. “I’m going to get Preston.”

I get twenty feet down the hall before I turn and look back. Lance has opened the door of the classroom, but he doesn’t go in. When he sees me look back, he starts the other way.

Running.

CHAPTER SEVENTY

MADELINE

WINTER, TWO YEARS EARLIER

She agreed to meet at Troy’s again.