SEEKING ABSOLUTION

Part I: THE INCIDENT Chapter 1 In the spring that Lou Ann and I were married, we met early to gather bridal wreath for the arch in our little Iowa church. Lou Ann was killed twenty-two years later when an inebriated truck driver crashed into her as she was driving to her school. After a service in our church, our children, Harry and Sarah, Reverend Crist, and I flew from University City, Illinois, in a Cessna 310 to Iowa with Lou Ann’s ashes. Touching my shoulders, Harry and Sarah sobbed, as I poured her ashes into a small hole I dug into the black Iowa loam in my family’s plot. Reverend Crist repeated the prayer for the dead. My tears moistened her ashes. I covered them with the loam and with bridal wreath. This is my story of how I dealt with the loss of my wife, not always admirably, and it is the story of my response to tragic events that occurred at Great Rivers University (GRU). Those thoughts flashed through my mind after the ringing telephone interrupted my sleep--a call foreshadowing a terrifying year. I tried to ignore the ringing. I called to Lou Ann--a routine followed when she was alive. She’d answer while I’d grab a pad to take notes--usually about events on the campus of the 35,000 students of GRU. It wasn’t the first time I’d called-out to her ghost. She was killed nearly a year ago. With waking reality, I felt the squeeze--the pressure like a full-body mourning band--I barely managed a facade of control. Calls at odd hours were common. We’d kept our numbers listed. Lou Ann, principal at University South Elementary, wanted to know of anything affecting her students or teachers. As a graduate professor I could be more oblivious, but since becoming Vice President for Student Affairs, I wanted to be kept informed of emergencies at GRU. My calls usually came from families, students, or one of the lieutenants at security. “Damn,” I muttered, finding the light and picking up my pen and a pad to write on. “Mike Noble.” “You all right, Noble?” The talking-through-a-pipe sound from an antiquated radio- telephone, and the voice of Security Director Robert (Bob) (Bear) Drummer, the last person on campus to resist cell phones, told me this was not routine. “I’m fine,” I lied. “You always tell me you want to be kept informed.” “What’s up, Bob?” “We’ve got a dead girl--apparently murdered--may be a GRU student. No ID.” “No ID, damn.” On a 35,000-student campus, I anticipate alcohol-related automobile crashes or suicides. I don’t anticipate murder. “Lynn Bosen found her--you know her--she was checking the Lakeside Family Housing area.” “She all right?” “She needs a little time. She was there looking in on a domestic disturbance.” “Lot of stress there.” “Lynn started to return to Lincoln Square. She saw a big black plastic bag at the edge of the road--big lawn and garden bag.” “South side?” “Yes. Family housing residents adopted that stretch of road. It’s usually pristine. Lynn knows procedure, and she should’ve radioed for backup--she was Lynn being Lynn--pissed that someone had dumped trash there. It felt heavy. She opened it and discovered the dead girl.” “Surely not related to the housing incident?” “We don’t know anything, yet.” “I’ll be right down. Where exactly are you?” “I knew you’d come, but you don’t have to. I’m 100 yards west of the entrance to Lakeside Park--between the family housing entrance and the park entrance. Lots of lights.” “Be there in twenty minutes.” I switched the coffee pot from automatic to on, dressed, grabbed my Marine Corps flight jacket, my iPhone, and took off with a thermos of coffee and four cups on the seat beside me. Streetlights emitted a golden haze through the fog scrim as I accelerated out of the neighborhood.