Chapter 16 Kobe
Kobe
Laurent St. Pierre invited us into his luxurious, overly warm office.
The spacious room boasted of the man’s elevated position within the university.
Dark wooden shelves lined one wall, holding a clutter of manuals and leatherbound books.
Expensive leather furniture filled a nook next to a sideboard.
Photographs of family vacations dotted the room—a few adult children, a fluffy poodle mix, and a gorgeous wife.
Diplomas and framed art hung on the walls.
A generous window showed a partially obstructed view of the river.
Two guest chairs awaited our arrival.
Laurent swiveled in an oversized desk chair, back and forth, fingers steepled under his chin.
His sharp gaze took us in as we sat. Laurent appeared to be a respectable sixty, but I was never good at judging a person’s age.
His thick, salt-and-pepper hair was neatly combed.
Heavy brows and a bushy mustache shared space with wire-framed glasses on his deeply lined face.
I unzipped my bulky department jacket and fanned the sides before sitting. Rue introduced us and didn’t waste time getting to the reason for our visit.
“Mr. St. Pierre, we have some questions about Jesse Vargas, Ford Carrigan, and Navid Kordestani. I’m sure you’ve heard the news.”
“I have. A terrible tragedy. The university is up in arms. How can I help?”
I scanned the family photographs on display as my partner controlled the interview. Three adult children. Two daughters, midtwenties or thereabouts, and a son. Older. Thirty, maybe?
“We understand Jesse was expelled for drug trafficking last year.”
“That’s correct.”
“Is it true that prior to his expulsion, the university received multiple complaints about his behavior toward women on campus?”
I eyed Laurent as a flash of irritation crossed his face. His jaw ticked. Somehow, he maintained a pleasant smile as he answered, but it lost its authenticity. “I can’t speak to that.”
“Why not?” I asked, interrupting. “It’s a simple question. Were there reports made against him or not?”
Laurent St. Pierre’s lips flattened as he seemed to consider. “Yes. Unofficially.”
“The reports were unofficial, or your answer is unofficial?”
“My answer. They were deemed insufficient, and action was not taken. It would be unbefitting to further besmirch a student’s reputation based on unproven complaints.”
“That sounded rehearsed,” I mumbled under my breath.
“What about the petition declaring Jesse was an ongoing problem with the female students?” Rue asked. “Did that cross your desk?”
“Not mine personally, but I’m aware of it.” Laurent’s smile held, but fractures threatened its integrity.
“And yet nothing was done,” I observed. A statement, not a question.
Laurent shifted upright. Any pretense of a relaxed interview vanished. “It’s my understanding that Mr. Vargas was spoken to.”
I huffed. “Thank god for that. ‘Don’t peek up the girls’ skirts, Jesse. They don’t like it. Now go off and be a good little boy.’ In my experience, that would make him more cautious the next time he felt like getting his dick wet.”
Laurent St. Pierre flushed—with embarrassment or anger, I couldn’t be sure.
Sensing my partner’s ire, I let her take over before she kicked me out of the room and reported me to Golding. But I’d gotten what I wanted. I’d ruffled Laurent’s feathers. Flustered people lost the ability to filter their comments.
“Can you explain why the petition didn’t lead to Jesse’s expulsion?” Rue asked.
“I was not part of the discussion. It was out of my hands, but every student has the right to defend themselves. Jesse must have given a viable explanation.”
Rue waited. He hadn’t answered the question.
Laurent continued. “So far as I understand, the school requires proof or a police report before they can take further action. Otherwise, it’s circumstantial.”
“Blaze Freely made a police report,” Rue reminded him.
“I’m aware, and the board was looking into the matter when she withdrew the charge. Against the better judgment of several faculty members, the case was dropped. If we expel a student without legitimate claim and evidence, we could end up in court.”
“Are you one of the faculty who was against it?” I asked.
His nostrils flared. “I was.”
I indicated a nearby photograph. “Are those your daughters?” It depicted Laurent with his arms around two trim women with matching dark hair.
One wore a graduation gown. I recognized the grounds as the same place I’d celebrated my graduation after getting my degree.
It was on the University of Ottawa campus.
“They are. Abigail and Jenny. Abigail graduated last year.”
“Is your other daughter a student still?”
“Not here. Jenny transferred to Laurier when her sister left.”
“Why is that?”
“She didn’t say. It was something she insisted on doing.” A pronounced crease appeared in Laurent’s brow as he stared fixedly at the photograph. I had more questions, but Rue cut in.
“Jesse was caught dealing drugs on campus. Is that correct?”
Laurent cleared his throat and turned away from the framed picture. “He was. Campus security detained him. The police were called.”
“And you’re in charge of the committee that decided on his expulsion?” Rue asked, referencing a small notepad.
“I work for student affairs. I was in charge of forming the committee. Names are drawn to avoid prejudices.”
“Why wasn’t he automatically expelled?” I asked.
“It’s procedure. A charge isn’t a conviction, and convictions can take upwards of a year to happen with our court system as slow as it is.”
“Can you share who was on this committee?” Rue asked.
“Yes, but I can’t share how they voted. Votes are done anonymously.” Laurent plucked a printed piece of paper from a pile, sliding it across the desk.
I snagged the paper before Rue could pick it up and scanned the list. Ten names. Navid Kordestani was indeed part of the committee, but he wasn’t the only name I recognized.
“You were on this committee.” I glanced at Laurent.
“Yes.”
“How did you vote?” I asked with indignation, not expecting an answer.
An unreadable expression crossed the man’s face like he was gazing into the past and reliving something unpleasant.
Minutes passed.
Rue, clearly impatient—with me or Laurent, I couldn’t tell—stood and thanked the distracted man before ushering me to the door.
I didn’t move and continued waiting, wishing I could invoke an answer with willpower alone.
Laurent St. Pierre shifted his gaze to the photograph of his two daughters. Strain pulled at his weary eyes. When he spoke, his words were barely audible. “I wanted that man gone long before he was shown the door, Detective. He was a menace.”