any specific concerns.”
Riley realized that she had to choose her words carefully. She wasn’t here on an assigned case—in fact, her superiors at Quantico wouldn’t approve of this visit at all. But maybe she could manage to keep Autrey from finding that out.
“Another family member has expressed misgivings,” she said.
She figured there was no need to tell him she meant Lois’s teenaged sister.
“How unfortunate,” he said.
He seems to like using that word—unfortunate, Riley thought.
“What can you tell me about Lois Pennington?” Riley asked.
Autrey was starting to seem bored now, as if his mind were elsewhere.
“Well, nothing that her family hasn’t told you, I’m sure,” he said. “I didn’t know her personally, but …”
He turned toward his computer and typed.
“She seems to have been a perfectly ordinary first-year student,” he said, looking at the screen. “Reasonably good grades. No reports of anything untoward. Although I see that she did get some counseling for depression.”
“But she’s not the only suicide at your school this year,” Riley said.
Autrey’s expression darkened a little. He said nothing.
Before leaving home, Riley had done a little research into the two suicides that Tiffany had mentioned.
“Deanna Webber and Cory Linz both allegedly killed themselves last semester,” Riley said. “Cory’s death was right here on campus.”
“‘Allegedly’?” Autrey asked. “A rather unfortunate word, I think. I’ve not heard anything to the contrary.”
He turned his face slightly away from Riley, as if to pretend she wasn’t even there.
“Ms. Paige—” he began.
“Agent Paige,” Riley corrected.
“Agent Paige—I’m sure that a professional such as yourself is aware that the suicide rate among college students has increased over recent decades. It’s the third leading cause of death among people in the undergraduate age group. There are more than a thousand suicides on college campuses each year.”
He paused, as if to let those facts sink in.
“And of course,” he said, “some schools experience clusters in a given year. Byars is a demanding school. It’s unfortunate but rather inevitable that we should get somewhat more than our share of suicides.”
Riley suppressed a smile.
The figures April had researched a couple of days ago were about to come in handy.
April would be pleased, she thought.
She said, “The national average of college suicides is about seven point five out of one hundred thousand. But just this year, three of your students out of seven hundred have killed themselves. That’s fifty-seven times the national average.”
Autrey raised his eyebrows.
“Well, as I’m sure you know, there are always—”
“Outliers,” Riley said, managing again not to smile. “Yes, I know all about outliers. Even so, the suicide rate at your school strikes me as exceptionally—unfortunate.”
Autrey sat looking away in silence.
“Dean Autrey, I’m under the impression you’re not happy to have an FBI agent poking around here,” she said.
“As a matter of fact, I’m not,” he said. “Should I feel otherwise? This is a waste of your time and mine, and of taxpayers’ money as well. And your presence here might give the impression that something is amiss. There’s nothing amiss here at Byars College, I assure you.”
He leaned across his desk toward Riley.
“Agent Paige, what branch of the FBI are you with exactly?”
“The Behavioral Analysis Unit.”
“Ah. Right nearby in Quantico. Well, you might want to keep in mind that many of our students come from political families. Some of their parents have considerable influence over the government—the FBI included, I imagine. I’m sure we don’t want this sort of thing getting back to them.”
“This sort of thing?” Riley asked.
Autrey swiveled back and forth in his chair.
“Such people might be prone to register complaints with your superiors,” he said with a significant look.
Riley felt a tingle of unease.
She sensed that he’d guessed she wasn’t here in an official capacity.
“It’s really best not to stir up trouble where no problem exists,” Autrey continued. “I’m only making this observation for your benefit. I’d hate for you to run afoul of your superiors.”
Riley almost laughed aloud.
Running “afoul” of her superiors was practically routine for her.
So was getting suspended or fired and then getting reinstated again.
It didn’t scare Riley in the least.
“I see,” she said. “Anything not to taint your school’s reputation.”
“I’m glad we see eye to eye,” Autrey said.
He rose to his feet, obviously expecting Riley to leave.
But Riley wasn’t ready to leave—not yet.
“Thank you for your time,” she said. “I’ll be on my way as soon as you give me the contact information for the families of the previous suicides.”
Autrey stood glaring at her. Riley glared back without moving from her chair.
Autrey glanced at his watch. “I have another appointment. I must go now.”
Riley smiled.
“I’m in a bit of a hurry too,” she said, looking at her own watch. “So the sooner you give me that information, the sooner we both can get on with things. I’ll wait.”
Autrey frowned, then sat down at his computer again. He typed a little, and then his printer rumbled. He handed the sheet with the information to Riley.
“I’m afraid that I’ll have to register a complaint with your superiors,” he said.
Riley still didn’t move. Her curiosity was mounting.
“Dean Autrey, you just mentioned that Byars gets ‘somewhat more than its share’ of suicides. Just how many suicides are we talking about?”
Autrey didn’t reply. His face reddened with anger, but
