Page 7 of 44.1644° North
That threw me, largely because I couldn’t imagine anyone caring if I attended or not. “Why wouldn’t I show?”
“You know Peter’s here, right?”
“Who?”
“Peter Weber.Weber.He’stheexpert in the case.”
“Ah.” I tried to look impressed, but…not so much. According to my family, I’m probably the worst poker player on the planet. Which is kind of much, since I’m the only one in my family who actuallyplayspoker.
Blake said, “Youhadto have readUnusual Suspect: The Real Story of What Happened to Deirdre O’Donnell. It’s the definitive analysis of the case.”
“Right. No. I haven’t read it.” As much as I wanted to keep things civil, I wasn’t going to lie. Weber, a problematic investigative-journalist-turned-author-of-fiction’s reputation preceded him, and I’d skipped the book. I felt like everyone should have skipped the book.
Come to think of it, Weber had accompanied Blake and Tony on that pointless junket to Montreal. If he hadn’t been the first to come up with the runaway theory, he’d certainly been the one to push it to prominence.
Blake and Tony exchanged looks again.
Tony said meaningfully, “Well, Weber’s looking forward to meetingyou.”
What did that mean? More to them than me, that was for sure.
I said, “Great. He can buy me a drink.” I pointed at the steps leading off the porch. “I’m just going to stretch my legs.”
I was pretty sure these guys rarely wandered much farther than their sofa, and sure enough, they nodded, stepped back to let me pass, then snapped back together as though magnetized.
As I went down the short flight of wooden stairs, I could hear them whispering.
Whatever. My days of worrying about what people I didn’t know and didn’t care about thought were long behind me. Even at Deirdre’s age, I’m not sure I cared as much as she had. That poor kid had been a high-performing people pleaser.
I started briskly up the road, passing a long line of parked cars glowing in the moonlight as their windshields slowly iced over.
It was a relief to be outside, to be able to take a full breath without inhaling the stifling scent of too many people having too many drinks and sharing too many secrets they would later regret. There was bound to be a lot of that this weekend. For whatever reason, the Deirdre O’Donnell community was one of the most toxic on the internet. In fact, the antics of Weber and others were one reason for a growing backlash against true-crime shows.
One reason. Another reason was understandable revulsion for sensationalizing other people’s tragedies for one’s own profit.
The full moon was so big, it seemed to fill the entire night sky, blurring the stars and casting cold, steely light over the scene below. The Swiftwater Pub and adjacent guest cabins were the only structures on this desolate stretch of road. The crash site was a mile farther up, around the bend and out of sight.
On the far side of the highway was a nearly impenetrable wall of thick forest.
That was another—probably one of the more rational theories—for what might have happened to Deirdre: in an effort to avoid the scrutiny of law enforcement, she’d hidden in the woods but then got lost and died of exposure.
Which was not impossible, although given how often these woods had been searched, it seemed likely her remains would have been discovered by now. My problem with that theory was: A – she wasn’t an idiot, and B – if her intention had been to avoid the sheriffs, she only had to step a few feet into the tree line to be virtually invisible. Why wander in so far, she couldn’t find her way out?
Panic?
Were girls who attended West Point, even briefly, subject to panic attacks?
Hard to imagine.
But then so much of what had happened to Deirdre was hard to imagine.
In between thecrunchof my boots on the old snow carpeting the side of the road, I could hear voices and laughter falling farther and farther behind me. Woodsmoke mingled with the scent of pine and snow. I felt a lot better. I didn’t mind crowds, but until I’d received that disturbing email from [email protected],my interest in the O’Donnell case had been academic.
I wanted to know Deirdre’s fate. I wanted her family to have closure and for her to have… Was justice a possibility?
Realizing I was walking farther than I’d intended, I slowed my steps. I wasn’t far from the pub, but despite the parked cars and lights gleaming distantly through trees, it suddenly felt a long way away from civilization. From the safety of other people.
My nerves flared at thechompof boots on snow behind me, and I turned, walking backward a few steps, keeping space between me and whoever was coming. Someone trying to find their car, I assumed, but you don’t spend your free time poring over cold cases and not learn to be cautious of your fellow man. And fellow woman.
