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“Two girls who took your class are now dead,” Raisa said, to make sure he picked up on exactly what she was saying.
His eyes narrowed, and she remembered then that they were in a mostly empty building and she hadn’t brought a weapon.
“They were my students, yes, but I have hundreds of students a year,” O’Brien said. “And Lindsey was virtual, which meant I pretty much checked to make sure she was attending. Beyond that, I didn’t know much about either of them.”
“Did you have any interactions with them outside of class?”
“No,” O’Brien said, his brows collapsing into an insulted vee. “Should I have a lawyer?”
She stared at him. “It’s your right to.”
He sighed and ran a palm over his jaw. “I don’t know what happened to either girl. They showed up for class, did assignments on time, and rarely talked to anyone else. That’s about the extent of what I can tell you.”
Raisa had a feeling that he was telling the truth, no matter how damning this connection was. “Okay. Can you tell me more about the class?”
O’Brien reached for one of his desk drawers, and a minute later she had a syllabus in her hands.
“That goes over everything,” he said. “But broadly speaking we cover the A-listers in every part of the industry. And then we touch on more niche celebrities as well. The chefs, the reality TV show stars. And at the end we wrap up with the gray-area celebs.”
“Gray-area?”
“The ones who only have a career because of their parasocial relationship with the audience,” O’Brien said. Raisa thought about Essi at that, because what better way to sum up the woman? “So the social media influencers mainly, who pay their bills by making their followers think they’re best friends. The Flik dancers who’ve monetized their accounts. People like that.”
The words might have been harsh—people like that—but his tone wasn’t. Raisa glanced down at the syllabus and tried to skim it quickly. She paused when she caught sight of the title of one of the sections, but she didn’t want to lead him into an answer.
“Did Emily seem engaged in any one section more than others?”
O’Brien squinted in thought, his face serious. He probably could have run for office and been touted as a JFK look-alike. “She did write her final paper on the true crime boom, drilling down on the rise of armchair detectives and their relationships with law enforcement.”
Raisa flexed her fingers to keep them from gripping the papers too tightly. “Do you remember what her thesis statement was in that paper?”
“Even better,” he said. He stood and crossed to the bookshelves lining one whole side of the room. Then he pulled down an accordion file folder. “She never picked it up.”
Raisa couldn’t believe her luck. “What?”
“The day she turned it in was the last day she attended class,” he said, handing the paper over.
Play-Along-At-Home Sleuths: Distractions or Godsends?
“She makes a fairly convincing argument that bringing in more people—hobbyists who don’t need to be paid, at that—to help solve cold cases is a net positive for society,” O’Brien said. “She even cites statsthat show how successfulUnsolved Mysterieswas. Half the cases profiled on that show were eventually solved. Statistically, that’s the average solve rate for detectives across the country.”
“And the net negatives?”
“Revictimizing the families,” O’Brien said. “A breakdown of the fourth wall, especially with podcasts. And then a muddling of timelines and evidence and suspects, of course.”
“Did you ever listen to Jenna Shaw’s podcasts for class?”
Jenna had been Isabel’s cover for the time right before she’d been caught. She’d even established a podcast for “tinhatters” who wanted to listen to discussions about conspiracy theories.
His brows rose. “You mean Isabel Parker’s podcast?”
“Yes.”
“No, I didn’t,” he said. “Though plenty of my students have been interested in her, I didn’t want to encourage anyone to get ideas about trying to visit her.”
That was a pleasantly thoughtful take, which she probably shouldn’t have been surprised at coming from a professor who taught about responsibly engaging in celebrities’ lives.
“Okay, thank you,” Raisa said, standing. “Can I ask where you were the night of the fifteenth?”