Dr. Johnson looked relieved. It was clear that he wanted this over and out of his territory as soon as possible. He looked at his watch. “It’s last period. Ms. Grady, can you have the front desk pull the schedules for those students?”

Ms. Grady left and came back a moment later with two printed class schedules. Dr. Johnson consulted them and then took a yearbook down from the shelf and began to page through it. He pointed to a black-and-white headshot of a pretty young woman wearing pearls. “This is June Jeffries. She’s a senior. You can find her in the cafeteria. Study hall. And here is Brendan Sullivan.” Dr. Johnson indicated a kid whose face was still holding on to its baby fat under curly dark hair. “He’s a junior. Looks like he should be in the technology lab.”

Dr. Johnson glanced at his watch again. “Now, gentlemen, I’m afraid that I have parents waiting to meet with me. If there’s anything else I can do . . .”

Jake and Murray thanked Dr. Johnson and Ms. Grady for their time, and left the office.

“This complicates things,” Murray said to Jake. “Think she was telling the truth?”

“A version of it, at least. She didn’t give us much to go on.”

“I think we can use it, though,” Murray said. “Kids might be more willing to talk to us if they think we’re just investigating an assault, and not the party itself. Starting with June Jeffries.”

In the cafeteria, Jake scanned the room, looking for June. His eyes lit on a familiar face, a slender girl with dark brown hair who was sitting at a computer. She looked surprised to see him, and gave a little wave. He waved back, wracking his brain. Of course, it was Rosanne. Or Rosie, that was it. Her dad owned the restaurant where Jake ate dinner a few nights a week. She waited tables, and he had seen her studying there, her books propped up on the bar. He had assumed that she must be a college student.

Murray followed his gaze.

“She waits tables at Al’s,” Jake explained.

“Oh, right, I think I’ve seen her there,” Murray replied, then pointed to a girl reading a magazine, her long black hair spilling over it like a curtain. “Hey, there’s our girl.” June Jeffries was wearing a T-shirt and shorts that were so short Jake couldn’t help wondering if schools had given up on dress codes. He spoke to the study hall proctor in the hallway, who then called June over. Her manner was polite, and she frowned in a way that was meant to convey that she understood the seriousness of their presence, if not the reason. “What can I help you with?” June asked, biting her lip and sounding concerned.