Page 27 of 44.1644° North
“Especially if it was driven by a woman or someone her own age.”
I was still considering Pat’s comment as I texted Rory after leaving the Blue Bear Lodge.
He answered immediately and sent directions to a small restaurant called Kathy’s Korner in the heart of Woodlark.
I was feeling less rocky by that point, and the idea of coffee that didn’t come from a motel mini drip was all the incentive I needed. Also, I was looking forward to, er, jousting with Rory again.
Kathy’s Korner turned out to be a large and comfortable family restaurant filled to capacity at ten thirty in the morning.
Rory, now shaved and showered, looked his usual calm and capable self as he left the cluster of people waiting outside the large cabin-style building and came to meet me. He held up one of those restaurant beeper things.
“We’ve got about a ten-minute wait.”
“That’s fine.”
“Want to see the sights while we wait?”
“Why not?”
As it turned out, there were not a whole lot of sights to see. To the south was a hydro and aquatic therapy studio, and to the northwest was Woodlark Elementary School. And nothing but empty lots and trees in between. But maybe that was the idea. No prying eyes, no pricking ears.
“What did Pat have to say?” Rory asked as we hiked along the wide, largely empty highway. The sun was shining, the snow was melting. The air was crisp and cold and invigorating. It felt good to be walking. It felt good to be alive.
“Nothing unexpected. The same things he’s been saying for nearly twenty years: that Hastings PD seriously screwed up the investigation from the start, and that people on the internet are assholes and someone should do something about Peter Weber. And he believes Deirdre is dead.”
Rory nodded thoughtfully.
I said, “I mean, at this late date it’s unlikely he’s going to remember some vital clue or put together some connection he never made before.”
“No, true, though I’m sure it’s never far from his mind.”
“You have to go on and live your life, but you can never take a full breath again because that knife is in your chest.”
“No. Even if he wanted to forget, this case took on a life of its own on social media.”
No comment from Rory.
“I really do believe that most of us who engage in online sleuthing want to help, that we have the best intentions. And I do believe that web sleuths have been helpful in cracking a number of cases that might not have been solved otherwise.”
“Sure, there are exceptions to every rule.”
“I know you disagree.”
He gave me a sideways look. “I think it’s possible that online sleuthing can be helpful in some cases. It’s probably less helpful when it comes to high-profile investigations, investigations that have attracted huge media attention. Deirdre’s case attracts a disproportionate number of trolls and nuts.”
As much as I wanted to argue, what Rory said was true. Unpleasant but true. But it was also true that online sleuths had helped to generate a lot of the media attention that had pushed law enforcement to pursue avenues they might have otherwise ignored or failed to notice. No, none of those leads had ultimately panned out, but eliminating possibilities was helpful in its own way.
When I didn’t respond, Rory gave me another of those sideway glances. “I’m not lumping you in with the nuts and the trolls.”
“Sure about that?”
“No. I mean,yes. You’ve got a degree in criminal justice. You teach courses in criminology, you’ve consulted with your local police and sheriff’s departments on cases, you’ve published a couple of well-received papers, and your podcast is highly regarded by law-enforcement professionals.”
I stopped walking. “Somebody sure did his homework.”
Rory stopped walking too. His gray eyes met mine unwaveringly. “Hell yes, I did my homework. You think the Bureau sends agents jetting around the country because some random guy on the internet receives a nasty letter? I’m here because of who you are. You’re a known quantity. You’re a professional. You’re credible.” He added, “I—we—take you seriously.”
Rory sounded sincere, which went a ways toward smoothing my ruffled feelings. Even when you’ve got nothing to hide, being investigated without your knowledge leaves a bad taste.
