Six Years

He stopped again. I picked up the hint.

“What was the worst part?” I asked.

“Todd Sanderson nearly choked the other student to death. It took five people to pull him off. The other student was unconscious. He had to be resuscitated.”

“Wow,” I said.

Eban Trainor shut his eyes for a moment. “I can’t see how this matters anymore. We should let him rest in peace.”

“I’m not asking out of some kind of prurient interest.”

The thin smile crossed his lips again. “Oh, I know, Jacob. You are, if nothing else, a righteous man. I’m sure your interest here is nothing but the healthiest and most well-meaning.”

I let that pass.

“So why was Sanderson let off?” I asked.

“You read my decision.”

“I did,” I said. “Something about ‘highly unusual extenuating circumstances.’”

“That’s correct.”

I waited again, figuring my follow-up question was obvious. When Trainor didn’t say anything, I gave the proper prompt: “What were the extenuating circumstances?”

“The other student—McCarthy. That was his name. I remember now.” Trainor took a deep breath. “Mr. McCarthy made derogatory comments about a certain incident. When Sanderson heard the comments, he more or less—yet understandably—lost control.” Eban held a hand up in my face as though I were about to object, which I wasn’t about to do at all. “Yes, Jacob, I know that we do not excuse violence under any circumstances. That would be your stand, I am certain. But we looked at this unusual case from every level. We heard from several Todd Sanderson supporters. One, in particular, defended him with great gusto.”

I met his eyes and saw something mocking in them. “Who would that be, Eban?”

“Hint: He used to own this house.”

That surprised me. “Professor Hume defended Todd Sanderson?”

“What’s the word attorneys always use?” He rubbed his chin again. “Vigorously. He even helped him set up a charity when the case was over.”

I tried to put it together. Hume detested violence in all forms. He was one of those people who felt too much. Cruelty on any level made him cringe. If you hurt, he hurt.

“I confess,” Eban continued, “that I was surprised too, but your mentor has always understood extenuating circumstances, hasn’t he?”

We weren’t talking about Todd Sanderson anymore, so I brought the topic back to him.

“And what were the extenuating circumstances in this case?”

“Well, for one thing, Todd Sanderson had just come back from a long leave. He had missed the prior semester for personal reasons.”

I had just about had enough. “Eban?”

“Yes?”

“Could we stop dancing around here? What happened to Todd Sanderson? Why did he leave campus? What were the extenuating circumstances that would cause a man as anti-violence as Malcolm Hume to defend such an extreme assault?”

“It’s not in the file?”

“You know it’s not. Everything but the decision was kept off the record. So what happened to him?”

“Not to him,” Trainor said. “To his father.”

He reached behind him for a glass and handed it to me. He didn’t ask; he just handed me the glass. I took it and let him pour the wine into it. It was still not yet noon, but I figured that this would be the wrong time to comment on morning drinking. I accepted it and hoped that it would loosen his tongue.

Eban Trainor sat back and crossed his legs. He stared into his wineglass as though it were a crystal ball. “Do you remember the Martindale Little League incident?”

Now it was my turn to look at the wine. I took a sip. “The pedophilia scandal?”

“Yes.”

It had to be fifteen, maybe even twenty years ago, but I remembered because it was one of the first cases that received a lot of press. “The coach or head of a Little League was raping young boys, right?”

“That was the accusation, yes.”

“It wasn’t true?”

“No,” Eban said slowly, taking yet another deep sip. “It wasn’t true.”

We just sat there.

“So what does that have to do with Todd Sanderson?”

“Not him.” There was a slur now in Eban’s voice. “But the coach or head of the Little League, as you just described him.”

I saw it now. “It was his father?”

Eban pointed at me. “Bingo.”

I didn’t know what to say to that.

“Todd Sanderson skipped that semester to help his father,” Eban said. “He supported his family financially —his father was fired as a schoolteacher, of course—offered moral support, did whatever he could.”

I was surprised and confused, but it all just raised the central question in this whole line of questioning: What could any of this possibly have to do with my Natalie?

“I don’t remember the case that well,” I said. “How did it end? Did Todd’s father serve any time?”

“No. He was found innocent.”

“Oh?” I said.

“The outcome didn’t really get much press. That’s part of our process. The accusation gets page one. The retraction not so much.”

“So he was found not guilty?”

“That’s correct.”

“Big difference though between not guilty and innocent.”

“True,” Eban said, “but not in this case. During the first week of trial, it came to light that a vindictive parent made it up because Todd’s father wouldn’t let his son pitch. The lie just snowballed. But in the end Todd’s father was cleared of all charges.”

“And Todd returned to school?”

“Yes.”

“And I assume the derogatory comment had something to do with the accusations against Todd’s father?”

Eban raised an unsteady hand in mock toast. “You are correct, sir. You see, despite the new evidence, many believed, as you did, that where there was smoke there was fire. Mr. Sanderson must have done something. Maybe not this. But something. Especially after what happened after the trial.”

“What happened after the trial?”

He stared at his glass again. I was losing him.

“Eban?”

“I’m getting to it.”

I waited, gave him his space.

“Todd Sanderson came from a small Southern town. His father had lived there his entire life. But now, well, you could imagine. He couldn’t get a job. His friends wouldn’t talk to him. See, no one had truly believed him. You can’t unring that bell, Jacob. We teach that here, don’t we? Only one person still believed in him.”

“Todd,” I said.

“Yes.”

“Weren’t there other family members? Todd’s mother?”

“Long dead.”

“So what happened?”