Page 33 of 44.1644° North
“So no. The answer is no.”
“Before you get too outraged on Pat’s behalf, keep in mind that Hastings’s prime suspect is just that. The case never went to trial. No one was ever convicted.”
“What’s that have to do with anything? Pat deserves to know a suspect was at least identified.”
“Pat’s a controversial figure in all this. While there’s a lot of local sympathy for him, there’s also resentment, even anger at his allegations of incompetence and corruption and conspiracy. And those charges weren’t only aimed at the police. I watched some of Pat’s interviews, and for a few years there he sounded like he thought Woodlark was Salem’s Lot.”
I wrinkled my nose, but couldn’t really argue. A decade into Deirdre’s disappearance, Pat’s grief had turned to rage. He’d mellowed since then, but for three or four years, he’d never missed an opportunity to say some pretty horrible things about everyone and everything related to the entire state of New Hampshire.
Rory asked, “If that information were to be shared with Pat, what do you think the chances are he’d go public with it?”
I said wryly, “One hundred percent.”
“Yeah. I think so too.”
“How long ago did HPD decide they had identified a suspect?”
“Ten years ago.”
“Ten— Jesus!”
Rory sighed.
I considered everything he’d told me. “There should be some way to share with the O’Donnells law enforcement’s belief that Deirdre’s killer is dead. They deserve to know that much, even if it comes with the caveat that this person’s guilt isn’t certain. You know, Pat’s in his eighties now. He’s not going to be around forever. The man deserves some comfort.”
Rory’s gray eyes were sympathetic, even kind. “I agree. But it’s not my call. It’s not your call.”
I pushed my plate away, stared out the window.
“It likely won’t be too much longer before local authorities share their theories,” Rory offered. “The current chief is retiring this year, the sheriff retired last year. Maybe the family will have some news before next year’s vigil.”
“Is that what you think or what you hope?”
“Both.”
Neither of us had anything to say for a few minutes. Rory finished his omelet. I drank my coffee. Weber and his crew departed, as noisy and boisterous as a high-school football team heading out for practice. The dining room felt a lot emptier after they left.
Finally, I said, “If the prevailing opinion is that Deirdre’s case has already been solved, I’m not sure what you’re doing here.”
Rory prayer-styled his napkin across his mouth. Then he neatly laid the napkin and silverware on his plate and moved the plate out of the way. “Because sending death threats, whether through email or phone or the goddamned pony express,isa federal crime. My boss looked over every single piece of information you sent us, and he felt that the threat was credible. He also felt that, while the person making the threats might not be Deirdre’s killer, it’s someone with a powerful, even vested interest in the case.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning that person might or might not be local, but there’s a high probability they’re going to be here for the vigil.”
Chapter Eight
“Is Jason your boyfriend?”
We were in the archives, a.k.a. storage room, of theWoodlark Weekly, viewing microfiche slides of local obituaries. Simon Overhiser had not been in the office, but the young woman at the front desk was friendly and helpful and showed no hesitation in giving us access to the fifteen-years’ worth of back issues.
The newspaper had one scanner and reader designated for public use, so Rory and I had been sitting shoulder to shoulder on hard wooden chairs, peering at the computer monitor for what felt like hours.
Probably because it hadbeenhours.
I had learned a couple of things about Rory during that time. He wore reading glasses—the kind with retro, square, black frames—and he made little faces, shook his head, and made murmurs of amusement as he read, which he did more slowly than me. His phone rang, well, vibrated,a lot.
I liked how engaged he was in the process of absorbing information. I liked how patient he was with the constant interruptions. And I liked his aftershave.
