Promise You Won't Tell?

Chapter 30

Saturday.

As expected, the media loves the story of “the seventeen-year-old female student from Carson Collegiate.” 

I turn my TV on in time to see the camera zooming in for a close up of our enthusiastic, but somber-faced local TV anchor, Gwen Jeffries, who says, “Channel eight has just learned the photos were taken after the seventeen-year-old female honor student passed out after an evening of binge drinking at the home of Mitchell and Lydia Underhill, on Carriage Town Park, here in Nashville. 

“The student had been attending a slumber party a week ago today, with four other teenage girls at the Underhill residence. 

“According to sources obtained by our news department, sometime before midnight the girls opened the door to a number of fellow male students. Two of the boys allegedly found the student passed out in an upstairs bedroom, removed her clothing, and photographed her. They sent the photos to fellow students, who apparently forwarded them to others. 

“A week after the incident, an unknown person posted the photos to an internet porn site. The photos were removed by the owners of the site upon discovering the student was a minor, however, authorities have filed for an injunction against the site and charged the owners with violating the Child Protection and Obscenity Enforcement Act.  

“School officials have asked the student to refrain from attending classes. According to sources related to the story, the student is currently on a suicide watch, under a doctor’s care. 

“In a related story, Mitchell Underhill was found dead in his bedroom this afternoon, around four p.m. Underhill, who owned the home where the slumber party took place, is the apparent victim of a self-inflicted gunshot wound. Police say no one has been charged in the shooting at this time, pending the results of an autopsy. Viewers having additional information about either of these incidents are being urged by police to call the number on our screen.” 

As the anchor moves on to other stories, I receive a phone call from the last person on earth who should be asking me for help.

 “Ms. Ripper?” he says.

 “Yes?”

“I’m Gavin Clark. I’m—”

“Ethan’s father.”

“Yes. I’m calling to ask if you’d consider meeting me for a candid discussion?”

Curiosity helps me resist the urge to blow my whistle in the mouthpiece. 

“When and where?”

“My office? Tonight?”

“Tonight’s fine, but I don’t trust your office. How about mine?”

“Same issue. Would you consider my country club? I can get us a private room.”

“I’d prefer my country club.”

He pauses. “Very well. Which club is that?”

“Actually, I don’t have a country club.”

“Excuse me?”

“I only said that to impress you. I thought you’d decline.”

He sighs. “I’ll come to your office if you give me your word there will be no recording devices.”

“You’ll have to promise the same.”

“Fine. When I get there, we can remove our shirts to prove we’re not wearing a wire. That’s a joke, by the way.”