Page 12 of No Safe Place

“Colleen Doherty from Alston Brantwood,” Colleen said, placing her law firm’s card on the desktop.

“Do you have an appointment?” the guard said, glancing at it.

“I don’t,” Colleen said as the guard turned and mumbled into the phone.

“If you will have a seat,” the guard said as she hung up the phone, “Director Travers will see you in a moment.”

Sitting in the hard plastic chair opposite the console, Colleen felt a little like a bad schoolgirl sent to the principal’s bench. Especially after several minutes had gone past and no sign of the director.

But she had to expect some pushback, she knew. This had to be a real puzzler for them, thinking that the incident had been put to bed. Which was the point of driving all the way up here. To use the element of surprise and confront them without warning. Get them back on their heels. See how they reacted. See how much they would scramble.

Director Travers arrived at the other side of the console desk a long five minutes later. He was short and wiry with a clean-shaven, tight muscular face. It looked like his cheeks were doing a push-up as he smiled.

“Hi. Colleen, is it? I’m Roy,” he said as they shook. “Please come back into my office.”

Through the heavy door he closed behind her, his inner office was dimmer than the precinct desk area. The sole light besides the little lamp on Travers’s desk came from an eyebrow window along the top of the painted cinderblock wall.

“So, you’re all the way up from Alston Brantwood in New York City?” Travers said as he slowly sat down behind his desk. “Did you drive up this morning? Must have left early.”

“Crack of dawn,” Colleen said, taking out her notebook. “I’m here concerning the death of Olivia Ramos. I saw from my records you live in the next town over, Director Travers. What time did they call you in that night? Or were you already here?”

The door suddenly opened then and a tall, thin middle-aged woman entered the room. Her wire-rimmed glasses and dry auburn hair screamed cat lady to Colleen, yet she was smartly dressed in an elegant, expensive-looking navy pinstriped jacket.

“This is Dean of Students Elizabeth Darwell,” Travers said as the woman shut the door and pulled over a chair to sit beside Colleen.

“I thought I’d sit in on the meeting,” Dean Darwell said, smiling as she offered a gaunt hand. “If you don’t mind.”

“Certainly,” Colleen said, smiling weakly back as she shook.

“So, this is about poor Olivia,” Dean Darwell said, squinting sympathetically.

“Yes,” Colleen said. “I’m here on behalf of Olivia’s father, Emilio Ramos, who as you can imagine is interested in finding out the details of his daughter’s death.”

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“Are you aware,” Dean Darwell asked as she tilted her head at Colleen condescendingly, “of the nondisclosure agreement that Olivia’s mother, Dana D’Ambrose, signed concerning the death? By that legally binding agreement and generous settlement, the tragic matter, I believe, was firmly resolved. Olivia sadly died of a drug overdose in her dorm. Regrettable as it is, and as sympathetic to Mr. Ramos as we truly are, that’s really all there is to it.”

“Not only am I aware of the agreement,” Colleen said calmly, “I’ve actually read it over several times. But let me repeat in order to be perfectly clear, I’m not representing Olivia’s mother but rather Emilio Ramos, Olivia’s father. He signed no such contract and wishes to learn more details about what exactly transpired with his child’s death.”

Dean Darwell pursed her lips as she considered Colleen’s statement. She sat up even more stiffly in her seat if that were possible.

“I see,” she said. “I believe Mr. Ramos also was offered a similar agreement with a generous sum of money attached to it. I hate to speak in such frank terms concerning the loss of a young life, but would your presence here perhaps be in relation to a negotiating tactic of some sort on Mr. Ramos’s part, perhaps an attempt by Mr. Ramos to receive a larger sum? Again, I don’t mean to be insulting or callous in any way. I am merely trying to get a feel for everyone’s concerns and interests.”

“Mr. Ramos seeks one thing, Dean Darwell,” Colleen said, staring at the woman steadily with her serene gray eyes. “Merely the truth. That’s why I would really appreciate it if you would share with us all incident reports of the night in question and all follow-up reports as well. Also, I would formally like to request at this time permission to conduct interviews with all security and staff involved. And as I see out there that you have an elaborate security camera system, I would like to formally ask for an opportunity to view video from the night of October 11 of last year from any and all campus-wide security cameras.”

“That security array out there is brand-new,” Director Travers said calmly.

Colleen turned to him.

He stared back at her steadily, not blinking.

In fact, he hadn’t moved a muscle since the meeting began, had he?

Quite a cool one, Colleen thought.

“From the old system, then,” Colleen finally said. “The one that was in use at the time of Olivia’s death would be perfectly fine.”

“But those tapes are—” Director Travers began.

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