Kiss the Girls and Make Them Cry Page 2

  Charlie continued. “Gina, your investigations usually run several months to completion. That’s why I invited Geoff here for the initial meeting.” Clearing his throat, he said, “So, Gina, what do we want to write about next?”

  “I have a couple of ideas,” Gina said as she pulled a small notebook from her purse, “and would like to hear what you think.” The statement was addressed to both of them. “I’ve exchanged a series of emails with a former aide to a New York State senator. The aide and the senator are currently retired. The aide claims she has evidence of bid rigging and granting contracts in exchange for cash payments and other favors. But there’s a problem with this one. The aide wants twenty-five thousand dollars upfront to go on the record and tell her story.”

  Geoff jumped in first. “My experience is that people who want to be paid to share what they know are not generally reliable. They embellish and sensationalize the story because they want the money and publicity.”

  Charlie chuckled. “I think even the most avid fans of Albany corruption are starting to find the subject tiresome. And I agree that paying a source is rarely a good idea.”

  Gesturing toward Gina’s notebook, Charlie asked, “What else have you got?”

  “Okay,” Gina said while flipping the page. “A longtime employee in the Admissions Office at Yale reached out to me. He claims that the Ivy League schools are sharing with each other the amount of aid they plan to offer individual applicants.”

  “Why is that a problem?” Geoff asked.

  “Because it’s right on the edge of price fixing and collusion. The student is the loser. It’s similar in some ways to when Silicon Valley companies made a gentleman’s agreement to not poach each other’s engineers. The result was that companies profited because they did not have to pay more to keep their top talent. The engineers earned less than they would have if they could have sold their talents to the highest bidder.”

  “I believe there are eight Ivy League schools, is that right?” Geoff asked.

  “Yes,” Charlie said, “and they average about six thousand undergrads. So that’s forty-eight thousand of the country’s twenty million college students. I’m not sure many of our readers are going to care about a handful of Ivy Leaguers who might have gotten stiffed on their aid package. If you ask me, I think they’re wasting their money on those overpriced places.”

  Charlie had grown up in Philadelphia and gone to Penn State. His allegiance to state schools never wavered.

  What a great way to make an impression on the new boss, Gina thought while flipping the page. Trying to sound animated, she said, “This next one is literally at square one.” She told them about receiving the email about the “terrible experience” at REL News and the response she had sent.

  “So it’s been ten days since you answered the email and you haven’t gotten a reply?” Charlie asked.

  “Yes, eleven counting today.”

  “This CRyan who sent the email. Have you been able to find out anything about her? Is she credible?” Geoff inquired.

  “I agree with your assumption that CRyan is a woman, but we can’t be sure of that. Of course the first thing that came to mind when I read this is that it may be a MeToo situation. No, I don’t know anything more about her than she put in the email. My instinct tells me this is worth pursuing.”

  Geoff looked at Charlie. “What do you think?”

  “If I were you, I’d be very interested in finding out what CRyan has to say,” Charlie answered. “And it will be much easier to get her to tell her story before she reaches a settlement agreement.”

  “Okay, Gina, get to work on it,” Geoff affirmed. “Wherever she is, and I’m also confident we’re dealing with a ‘she,’ go meet with her. I want to hear your personal impressions of her.”

  As Gina walked down the hallway to the elevator, she whispered to herself, “Please don’t let CRyan turn out to be a psycho!”

  3

  Ordinarily Gina would have taken time to absorb and appreciate the sights and sounds of the city she loved. Stepping into the subway car, she smiled as she remembered her freshman year roommate. Marcie was from a small town in Ohio. She asked if it had been “hard” growing up in New York City. Gina had been shocked by the question; she had mastered the subway and bus systems and loved the freedom of navigating them alone by the time she was twelve. She asked Marcie if it had been hard growing up in a place where you had to depend on your parents every time you wanted to go somewhere.

  She stopped at the small grocery store on the corner of Broadway and picked up milk and some sandwich makings. Surprised that there was no line at the Starbucks next door, she popped in and ordered her favorite, a vanilla latte. As she walked the block and a half to her apartment, her mind was on the daunting task ahead of her.

  After putting away the groceries, she carried the latte to the kitchen table and tapped her computer to rouse it from sleep mode. She clicked on the CRyan email. It had been sent from a Google account, but that really didn’t matter. After numerous violations the tech companies were under extreme pressure to safeguard the privacy of their users. There’s no way Google will lift a finger to help me find CRyan, she thought.

  Gina reread the only part of the email that offered a clue; I don’t believe we ever met when we were at Boston College. I finished a few years apart from you.

  CRyan obviously knows the year I graduated, Gina thought, and we were on campus together at some point. A few means more than one, but it has to be less than four or we would never have been in school at the same time. So that means CRyan graduated either two to three years before me or two to three years after me.

  Gina sat back in her chair and took a sip of her latte. When she was working on the branding iron story, the Southern university had gotten wind of her investigation. They had fought her every step of the way when she sought contact information for fraternity members and faculty advisors.

  But those were different circumstances. Boston College was not a target. This was not about them. And she was only asking them to identify the owner of one email address.

  If it were only that easy, she thought. If they didn’t have that CRyan email address on file, she would be forced to make a much bigger request. Privacy rules being what they were—“Oh well,” she said out loud. “Only one way to find out.”

  4

  “Boston College Alumni Affairs, how may I help you?” The male voice on the other end of the line sounded crisp and efficient. Gina guessed she was speaking to someone in his fifties.

  “Hello, my name is Gina Kane. I graduated BC ten years ago. May I ask who I’m speaking to?”

  “My name is Rob Mannion.”

  “It’s nice to make your acquaintance, Mr. Mannion—”

  “Please call me Rob.”

  “Thank you, Rob. I’m hoping you can help me with some information.”

  “If you are seeking the arrangements for the reunion classes, they are posted on our website. I can give you the address.”

  “No, that’s not why I’m calling. I’m trying to get in touch with someone who was at the college around the time I was.”

  “I might be able to help you. What is that person’s name and what was the graduation year?”

  “That’s where I’m having a problem,” Gina said. “I don’t have the person’s full name. All I have is an email address. I’m hoping you can—”

  “Why don’t you send the person an email and ask for the name?”

  Gina tried to keep her frustration out of her voice. “I assure you I did think of that.” She was uncertain about how much to share during this conversation. Some people were excited by the prospect of talking to a reporter; others clammed up. “My question is, if I give you an email address, can you tell me if you have information about the owner of that email address?”

  “I don’t believe our policy permits me to share that type of information.”

  “I understand that,” Gina said, “but that’s not what I’m as
king. Even if you can’t share it with me, I only want to know if you have that information in your possession.”

  “This is very unusual,” Rob said, “but I’ll check. Give me a moment to get into that database. What year did the person you’re asking about graduate?”

  “I’m not sure,” Gina replied, “but I have reason to believe it was in one of the following six years.” She read him the years CRyan most likely graduated.

  “I’ll have to look up each year individually,” Rob sighed, his level of irritation apparent.

  “I really appreciate your help,” Gina said warmly.

  “Okay, it’s coming on my screen now. No to the first year, no to the second, no to the third, no to the fourth, fifth, and sixth. I’m sorry. It appears I won’t be able to assist you.”

  “Generally speaking, do you have current emails for alumni?”

  “We try our best to maintain updated contact information. But for the most part we are reliant on the individual alumnus or alumna to keep us informed. If they begin using a new email address and discontinue the one we have, then the answer is no. The same applies for addresses and phone numbers.”

  “Do you still have the last year I asked you to check on your screen?”

  “I do.”

  “Can you tell me how many students with the last name ‘Ryan’ graduated that year?”

  “Ms. Kane, a large percent of our students are of Irish ancestry.”

  “I know,” Gina replied. “I’m one of them.”

  “This call is taking an awfully long time, Ms. Kane.”

  “Please call me Gina. And Rob, I really appreciate your patience. Before we hang up, I want to talk to you about the mailings I received regarding this year’s fundraising campaign.”

  “How kind of you,” Rob replied with more enthusiasm.

  * * *

  Fifteen minutes later Rob had emailed her spreadsheets of the last name “Ryan” from the six years she had requested. A $3,000 contribution had been charged to her MasterCard.

  5

  Gina combed through the spreadsheets Rob had sent her. To the right of each student’s name—Last, First, and Middle—there were columns for different pieces of information: Date of Birth, Home Address, Employer, Email, Phone Number, Spouse’s Name. She quickly verified that Rob had been correct when he told her none of these students listed the email address she was seeking.

  Using the Cut and Paste tools she put the names on a new spreadsheet. Across the six graduation years there were seventy-one, with slightly more females than males.

  She then selected each Ryan whose first name began with “C” and moved them to the top of her list. There were fourteen: Carl, Carley, Casey, Catherine, Charles, Charlie, Charlotte, Chloe, Christa, Christina, Christopher, Clarissa, Clyde, and Curtiss.

  Gina printed the list and used her highlighter to accentuate the women’s names. Not sure about “Casey,” she checked the middle name. It was “Riley.” That one could also go either way, she thought. She added “Casey” to her list of women.

  She paused a moment as a troubling thought went through her mind. Her friend Sharon’s email address was “S” followed by her last name. But “Sharon” was her friend’s middle name; “Eleanor” was her first name. If she were searching these records for Sharon, she would be looking under the wrong name. “Please let your first name begin with ‘C,’ Ms. Ryan,” she whispered to herself.

  Gina wondered if Facebook could help narrow her search. She tried the first name on her highlighted list: Carley Ryan. Predictably, there were dozens of women and a few men with that name. She typed in “Carley Ryan, Boston College.” There were four matches, but none appeared to be in the age range she was seeking. She tried again, using “Carley Ryan, REL News,” but nothing came up.

  She was about to try the same exercise with the next name on her list, Casey, when she paused. CRyan by her own words had a “terrible experience” while working at REL News. If that had happened to Gina, would she include a mention of REL on her Facebook account? Probably not. And someone who had a bad experience might just want to disappear. Or she might be one of those people who just don’t like using social media.

  Gina debated but then dismissed the idea of sending an email to each of the nine women. CRyan for whatever reason had chosen not to respond to the email Gina had sent a week and a half ago. Why would she answer if she sent her one today? She picked up her phone and began dialing the phone number for Carley Ryan.

  “Hello.” The woman who answered the phone sounded middle-aged.

  “Hello, is this Mrs. Ryan?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “My name is Gina Kane. I graduated Boston College in 2008.”

  “Did you know my daughter, Carley? She was class of 2006.”

  “Honestly, I don’t recall meeting Carley. I’m researching for an article about Boston College graduates from that time period who went on to work in the news business. Did Carley ever work for one of the TV networks such as REL News?”

  “Oh, not my Carley,” the woman said with a small laugh. “Carley believes watching TV is a waste of time. She’s an instructor with Outward Bound. She’s currently leading a canoeing trip in Colorado.”

  After scratching Carley from her list, Gina looked at the remaining names and phone numbers. There was no way to tell which numbers were those of the graduates versus the parents.

  She dialed again. Casey answered on the first ring and explained she had gone straight to law school and then been hired by a firm in Chicago. Another dead end.

  She next left a message for Catherine.

  Charlie turned out to be a male who was an accountant.

  The number for Charlotte was preceded by 011. The address column listed a street in London, England. Gina checked her watch. England was five hours ahead. Not too late to call. The phone was answered on the second ring by a middle-aged woman with a British accent. She explained that immediately after graduation her daughter Charlotte had accepted a position with Lloyd’s of London and had been at the firm ever since.

  Gina left a message for Chloe.

  Clarissa’s mother explained in agonizing detail that her daughter had married her high school sweetheart, had four beautiful children, and had only worked for one year in Pittsburgh before becoming a stay-at-home mother. She added that this was in stark contrast to her experience. “I worked for almost ten years before I decided to have a family. Even though it worked for Clarissa, don’t you agree that it makes more sense for women to work at least five years to establish their careers, to build their self-confidence before rushing into a commitment? I tried to tell Clarissa, but do you think she would listen to me? Of course not. I—”

  A return call from Chloe gave Gina a merciful excuse to end the conversation. Chloe had gone straight to medical school and now had a fellowship at the Cleveland Clinic.

  The number for Christa had been disconnected.

  Courtney answered while on her lunch break. She had gotten her master’s and gone straight into teaching.

  Trying not to feel discouraged, Gina looked at the only two remaining names, Catherine and Christina. Not sure what to do next, she got up and made herself a sandwich.

  6

  Feeling invigorated after lunch, Gina looked at the address information for each of the former students. The most recent for Christina was Winnetka, Illinois, an upscale suburb about fifteen miles from Chicago. She checked the telephone area codes for Winnetka, 224 and 847. Christina’s phone number on the spreadsheet began with 224.

  Hoping against hope, she dialed that number. A cheery voice answered with a robust hello. Gina’s now practiced opening explained the reason she was calling.

  Christina’s friendly tone quickly morphed into an angry rant. “So you’re calling me to help you write a story about how wonderful Boston College is. Skip your stupid story and write about this. My parents met when they were undergrads at BC. You couldn’t find two more loyal alums. They gave money every year,
volunteered for a slew of committees. I did the same after I got out. And then five years later my younger brother applies. Top ten percent in his class. Captain of the lacrosse team. Involved in every activity. An all around great kid and they turn him down. ‘We had so many qualified applicants from your area’ was all they would say. After all my parents and I did! Do me a favor. Lose my number.”

  The sound of the phone being slammed down signaled the end of the call. Gina chuckled to herself. If Christina had stayed on the phone a moment longer, she could have given her Rob Mannion’s number. I’m sure the two of them would have a wonderful conversation, she thought.

  * * *

  Gina stared out the window. She was hitting nothing but blind alleys. Peachtree City, Georgia, was the address Rob had provided for Catherine Ryan. But when she searched the online databases for that area, none of the Catherine Ryans she found matched the age of the woman she was looking for.

  She wasn’t sure what to do. If Catherine Ryan was the “CRyan” she was searching for, she could give her a little more time to respond to the voice mail message she had left. But something told her to press on, to try to figure out another way to get in touch with Catherine.

  It occurred to her that Rob had said they updated their records as the graduates kept them informed regarding new addresses and phone numbers. Did that mean they deleted the old addresses? Or might BC still have Catherine’s parents’ address?

  She was put through to Rob’s line, and he answered on the first ring. When she identified herself, his voice became terse. “In less than a minute I have a conference call.”

  Gina knew she had to be quick. “Catherine Ryan’s most recent address showed her living in Georgia. Trying to find her was a dead end. I’m hoping to locate her parents. Would you have her original address, her home address when she was an undergrad?”