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“I’ve got a bit of a problem.” He paused and carefully chose his words, keenly aware that the call could be recorded. “That dinner we were planning…the one we canceled. I talked to everybody and they were fine with shutting it down, except Chris.”
“What was his problem?”
“He said he’d put too much effort into it to just call it off, and he felt like he was nearing a breakthrough.”
“So he’s still on the job?” Rapp said casually.
“Yeah, except there’s a slight problem. We had coffee yesterday, and he said he would check in with me last night and this morning.”
“And?”
“Nothing so far.”
“That’s not good. What are you doing about it?”
“I called Scott. He’s trying to track him down.”
Rapp didn’t answer right away and then said, “Irene said you had a family thing to attend to.”
“Yep.”
“When will you be done?”
“If all goes well, I’ll be back up there by one.”
“All right. If you hear anything, call me.”
“Will do.”
“And when you get back here, we might have to make a trip over there.”
“Over there?” Nash asked a bit anxiously. He wondered if Rapp meant the mosque.
“Yeah, I don’t like this. Chris is no flake. If he hasn’t called you back, we’ve got a problem.”
“I agree, but who in the hell are we going to bring it to?”
“We’re not. That’s why you and I are going over there. Get back here as soon as you can.”
“Will do.” Nash hit the end button and set the phone down.
Traffic eased up as soon as he crossed Rock Creek. A few minutes later he was turning on to Wisconsin Avenue and passing the National Cathedral. He checked the clock on the dashboard and swore. It was 11:51. Sidwell was the type of place where things ran on time, so there was no telling what kind of damage his wife had already done. Nash parked the van in the small lot in front of the school and raced in. He knew where the administration office was located, but not the dean’s office. A student pointed him in the right direction and a moment later Nash found himself standing in front of the dean’s door. He could hear people talking on the other side, but they weren’t clear enough for him to know what they were saying.
Nash tapped on the door lightly and then opened the door. He stepped into the room and said, “Sorry I’m late.” Nash gave his wife a fake smile and then approached the neat, organized desk of the dean. Sticking his hand across the desk he said, “I’m Mike Nash, Rory’s father.”
A serious woman with short salt-and-pepper hair offered Nash her hand and said, “I’m Peggy Barnum Smith, dean of students here at Sidwell. Please have a seat.”
Nash noted that there was no warmth in the woman’s voice. He grabbed a chair that was sitting near a bookcase and set it down next to his wife, who made no attempt to look at him. He glanced over at Todd and Kristy De Graff, whom he barely knew, and noted the tissue in Mrs. De Graff’s hand, as well as her red eyes and nose. “What have I missed?”
Dean Barnum Smith leaned forward and folded her hands, placing them atop her leather desk blotter. She tilted her head toward Nash and in a solemn voice said, “Kristy had just finished explaining to us the extent of Derek’s injuries. Your wife,” the dean said while gesturing to Maggie, “is hoping that we can find a middle ground short of expulsion. She has offered to pull your son off the lacrosse team and thinks that one hundred hours of community service, either here at Sidwell, or an organization of the De Graffs’ choosing would be fair.”
Nash took the anger that he felt toward his wife at that moment and set it aside. He looked back at the dean and said, “That’s not going to happen.”
“You would prefer he be expelled?” The dean asked sincerely.
“No.”
“I’ll be honest,” Barnum Smith said, “my hands are tied. We have a zero tolerance policy against fighting.”
