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CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

THE KELLERS

The task force predictably was frenzied over the new leads. Agents took turns questioning Alice Goffman in the interrogation room, techs raced to analyze the sweatshirt, government lawyers pressured the Rizz site to reveal who posted the Creep Lists. In the tumult, Keller decided to focus on the most unusual aspect of the Rizz posts: the allegation that a professor was a campus predator.

She knocks on the door of the small home. It has a 1970s vibe, but Keller doesn’t know anything about architecture. It’s a modest house for a full professor—a PhD, according to his bio on the SCU website—a testament to housing prices in the area. She worries for a moment that she shouldn’t have come alone, should’ve coordinated with the task force. But McCray warned that SCU requires faculty interviews to go through the dean’s office. And once the dean is contacted, McCray said, university lawyers will be involved. Wagons circled.

A man in his late thirties answers the door. He’s bookish and wears a collared shirt and khakis.

Keller can hear a crying baby inside. The man has that frazzled look Keller recognizes from early parenting. For a brief moment she wonders how the young mother from the airplane is doing.

“Professor Turlington?”

“Yes,” he says suspiciously. “Can I help you?”

Keller displays her badge, and he turns and looks over his shoulder into the house. “I’ve got it, honey,” he calls out like he doesn’t want his wife to overhear. “You’re here about the missing students?”

“That’s right,” Keller says. “Why did you think it’s about the students…?”

“Well, why else would an FBI agent be at my door?”

She gives him a fair enough expression.

“I’d like to help, but I didn’t have any of the students in my classes.”

Keller already knows this; McCray checked for her. “Did you know any of them? Outside of classes, I mean.”

He shakes his head. The kind of definitive gesture that has the ring of truth.

“Look, I want to help,” the professor continues, “but as you can hear, we have our hands full. Twins.”

Keller smiles. “I know too well—I have twins. When one is happy, the other…”

He nods politely, but it’s clear he wants to get back to it.

“One quick thing,” Keller says. She opens a file folder that contains copies of the Creep List posts.

When Professor Turlington sees the first printout—the logo for Rizz at the top of the page—he appears crestfallen.

“You’ve seen this?”

He exhales, looks at the ground.

Keller waits for him to explain.

“I didn’t see it, but I heard about it.” He swallows. “You know what’s worse than being formally accused of something?”

“What’s that?”

“Being the target of a whisper network after a faceless online report with no accuser, no details, no nothing. Just vague accusations.” He swallows. He’s trying to hold it together, but he’s upset. “I teach government. And I try to teach these kids about why we have a right to confront our accusers in the Constitution. Try to teach them what happened in common-law England when defendants were deprived of the right to cross-examine those whose words were used against them. How it was so harmful our founders thought it important enough to include in the Bill of Rights, even before the internet and social media.”

“So it’s not true?” Keller asks, more to gauge his reaction than his answer.

“What? That I’m a ‘creep’?” He uses air quotes. “That I’m ‘problematic’? Make students ‘uncomfortable’?” He accentuates each word with disdain.

Again, she doesn’t know why. But he’s convincing her. Then again, people who abuse their power are often convincing.

“Here’s the thing,” she says. “Whoever posted that about you on Rizz also referred to the missing students.”

This gets his attention. Like he’s connecting the dots, didn’t realize previously that the posts mentioned The Five. That’s plausible if he really didn’t see the posts.

The front door opens. A young woman pushes her head out.

“Everything okay, honey?” she asks.

“Yeah,” he says. “I’ll be right in. It’s about the missing students.”

She gives Keller a weak smile, then ducks back inside.

“Any idea who might have posted this about you?”

“I assume you’ve identified who it is from Rizz,” he says.

“Not yet. The good folks at Rizz aren’t going to just hand that information over. According to the site, they will fight disclosing the identities of their users. A court battle will take some time.” She looks him in the eyes for a long beat. “You have any idea who posted the Creep Lists?”

“I don’t have an idea,” he tells her. “I know who did it.”