Chapter 30
The day after Curtis talked to me about Benjamin’s diagnosis, I met with Dean Duplass, who said the school would be giving me two weeks of compensation as an apology for my confusing dismissal and for replacing me as the summer skills counselor.
That afternoon, I returned my signed contract to Grove and got an email outlining the summer schedule.
The killer had been found. The police didn’t seem interested in talking to Benjamin anymore.
My life was being mended, one piece at a time. So why did it still feel so tattered?
On Friday, I drove Willa to a Home Depot so she could look for a replacement screen door for her mobile home.
When news about the criminal investigation came on the radio, we stopped chatting to listen.
The reporter explained that Weber’s car was frequently spotted around the North Shore.
Briefly, the twenty-two-year-old worked as an assistant in a mechanic’s shop, where he spent his free time fixing up the ailing MG he’d bought for a few thousand dollars.
Then he got a stint as a pool and tennis club janitor, but only for about six weeks.
“At Dartmoor,” I said to Willa. “I don’t know why they won’t name the club. That’s where he worked. That’s where he met the girls.”
The newscast carried on with the expected quotes from the few people who were willing to talk about Weber—how normal he was, how unexceptional.
“Yada yada,” Willa said. “You said Sidney’s mom had a pill problem. Maybe he was her dealer and that’s how they met. And if he worked at the pool, he could have delivered them right to her lounge chair. Nice, right?”
“Maybe.” I sighed. “But then again, if he had such a good supply of fun drugs, what was he doing giving Izzy something so weak? The pill she took was a mild sedative. They’re not common date rape drugs. Unless he knew she had that allergy—and how would he?—he would have tried something different.”
The news had transitioned to music. Willa turned it off, then twisted further in her seat to face me. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m not saying he wasn’t in the motel with her.
I mean, he took inappropriate photos. And he was obviously thinking of doing something violent, something that required subduing his victims, given all that stuff in his car.
Wouldn’t he have given her something stronger, if he meant to knock her out? ”
“What’s gotten into you?”
“Nothing.”
Willa narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips, deepening her wrinkles. “So what if he didn’t plan to knock her out? Maybe he just wanted to relax her enough to go along, and he thought she would, unlike that other girl.”
“But isn’t that a different criminal profile?”
“Different criminal profile? What are you, now—one of those characters on those TV crime shows, with the wall of pictures and string?”
“You watch those shows, not me.”
“That’s right. I do. And let me tell you—some guys tiptoe into the shallows first. So maybe Izzy was the shallows.”
“Okay,” I said, trying to ground myself again.
Dr. Campbell had said the same thing about a hesitant and inexperienced killer like Weber.
He hadn’t refined his methods yet. On top of that, he’d chosen a compliant victim.
He might have thought he didn’t need strong, fast-acting drugs, necessarily. “You’re right. It makes sense.”
Willa touched my shoulder. “Abby. What’s up with you? Everything all right at home?”