“From what I could gather,” Ben says softly, “Colin frequently missed class.”

She shakes her head. “He’s a good student—he graduated high school with a three-point-nine GPA. Has a HOPE Scholarship—” Another glance at her husband. “And even if,” she taps her finger against Ben’s desk, “even if he missed class—to stop going entirely?” Another shake of her head. “There must be some kind of alert system, or notice, or—” Again that helpless look that turns angry at its edges. She’s twisting her wedding band around her finger, and every spin casts furious reflections across the wall.

“You would think so,” Ben says diplomatically. “If someone doesn’t show up for work, it’s likely their employer would call their house—”

“Exactly.” Florence throws up her hands. Her husband flinches.

Ben shifts in his chair. “—but these days, students only list cell phones on their contact sheets. They leave for week-long vacations with their families and don’t tell their professors. They drop out without filing paperwork. It happens so often that few professors think to sound the alarm. FERPA prohibits the university from sharing student information with parents. And few administrators would consider an absence before a holiday reason for concern.”

I’m nodding without realizing it—I’ve heard stories like this over dinner, my mother’s frustration that there’s nothing she can do, and anyway she’s so busy, and it’s not as if she can hunt X or Y student down herself—that I’m surprised to meet Florence’s angry stare.

“Well, they should,” she says bitterly. “Once we find him”—another unreturned look at her husband—“we should sue.”

“Let’s focus on locating Colin first.”

His name sends something sharp across her face. Another glance at the file.

“What—” She clears her throat. “—what have you found?”

“As I said on the phone, Colin did not appear to have a stable residence. The last two known addresses we have for him were on the north side. One at Water Oaks and one on Marlin Drive.”

“No,” Colin’s father says, addressing Ben for the first time. “He was a member of Kappa Phi Omicron. He lived at the house.”

Pride, I think. It’s out of place but unmistakable. There’s pride in his voice as he says this.

“I spoke to the fraternity president earlier this afternoon,” Ben says in that delicate way of his. “Colin is not a member, has never been a member, or lived at the house.”

Mr. Haines’s mouth hangs open and then twists unpleasantly as he closes it.

“He pledged last fall. He sent us photos of the house and everything.” Florence Haines’s voice has softened. She puts a hand on her husband’s arm. His shoulders stiffen, but he doesn’t move away. “There must be some kind of misunderstanding.”