Page 47 of What Boys Learn

“No, like an old typewriter maybe.”

I tried to imagine the sound he was describing. It came to me, the thing Benjamin had often said about why he preferred to bike to the pool rather than being dropped off. My janky car embarrassed him.The only other person with a crap car who visits the pool. . .

A jolt of adrenaline cut through my mental fog. “The janitor. There aren’t many older cars in that part of town—especially not at the Dartmoor. Our car is a 2002 Mazda. It’s in bad shape. There’s another car, maybe one owned by the pool janitor. That’s what you’re saying, right Benjamin?”

“I’m notsayingit was the janitor’s car. I’m just saying it had trouble starting and even after it got going, it was still noisy, and Izzy went off with that person. So maybe that’s a place to start. Figure out who she’s been spending time with and see what kinds of cars they have. But it’s not Manny. He drives a Tesla and that thing is silent, and anyway, he was out of town. But if she was dating another guy—”

Hernández interrupted. “We already know the other guy Izzy was dating, Benjamin. That person was you. Or was you at some point, based on the underwear story. From the diary, it’s muddier. She called you the Shrimp. She made fun of you. You’re aware of that?”

He nodded with the barest movement of his chin.

“Let the record show that Benjamin knows he was called ‘the Shrimp,’ the same one Izzy talked about in her diary. An object of scorn.”

Benjamin muttered something.

“Sorry?” Hernández asked.

Benjamin cleared his throat. “Sometimes, she was nicer.”

“Girls are like that, right? Fickle. Secretive. Manipulative.” Hernández smiled. “Let the record show that Benjamin has been nodding his head. Okay. Let’s finish up with the car business. If we had a color, or any other detail—”

“I told you I didn’t see it.”

“Even though you were just starting to bicycle away just as it was coming up to that half-circle drive under the—what did you call it?—the portico. Do you think, with time, you might remember?”

When Benjamin shrugged, Hernández looked to me. “Hypnosis works for things like that, doesn’t it?”

It was the first time he’d asked me something without using a snide or sarcastic tone.

“Maybe,” I said. “I’ve never hypnotized clients. That’s not something you do in a high school counseling office, obviously. But yes, it’s done in private therapeutic settings.”

He nodded, interested. Maybe flattering me. Maybe honestly asking. The longer I talked, the less Benjamin would have to say.

“I’m assuming,” I added, “that something said in a hypnotized state can’t be used as evidence in court. You’d have to independently verify anything that comes up, because people under hypnosis still get things wrong. But as a way to generate leads? I don’t see why not.”

I didn’t mention learning in a grad school forensic psychology unit that there can be problems introducing a witness if that person has already been hypnotized in pursuit of information. I didn’t care if Benjamin was discounted as a future witness. My focus was on eliminating him as a suspect. Let Hernández continue to screw up his case. He’d been doing it from the start.

The detective said to Benjamin, “If you were willing to try hypnosis, it would demonstrate cooperation. And who knows, maybe you’d remember some other interesting things about the last time you saw Izzy.”

Benjamin pulled a face. “I don’t want to let someone mess with my head.”

Hernández smiled. “No, I wouldn’t want that, either. Because you never know what you’ll find in there, right Ms. Rosso?”

I looked away, working hard to contain my rage.

“Let’s move on to Sidney,” the detective said. “You ever have sex with her, Benjamin, or touch her, even just a little?”

“No.”

“You ever go to her house or anywhere near her house?”

“No.”

“But you did call her on Sunday morning. Maybe four or five hours before cameras caught someone in a hoodie entering and leaving the Mayfields’ house.”

Benjamin blurted, “I called her because Izzy wasn’t answering my texts. She was having a party, Saturday night. The whole school knew it. Her parents were out of town. But I saw posts from other kids saying she wasn’t at her own house even at nine, ten o’clock. I called Sidney on Sunday morning to ask her.”

“And what’d Sidney say?”