“Do that,” I said.

  Jim left the table with his phone in hand. I looked at the others.

  “We have to think about who else might have a motive besides the husband,” I said. “He might be telling the truth.”

  The Weasel snorted. “It’s him. I just know it is. I can smell it. He’s bad news. Besides, there’s no sign of breaking and entering on the house. Whoever did this knew Laura Bennett.”

  “Being bad news doesn’t make you a killer,” I said.

  “True,” Weasel said. But she didn’t mean it.

  “We need to look in other directions as well,” I said. “I’ve ruled out the neighbor who lives down the street, Travis Connor, since he has an alibi, and as far as we know, he was the only one who visited the house on the night of the killing. But there might have been others. He left pretty early. There could have been someone else. Joel, have the other neighbors said anything useful?”

  Joel shook his head with a sigh. “Not really. I mean, Mrs. Jeffries told us she saw Mrs. Bennett smoking on the porch at eleven, but that’s about it. No one has seen anyone else on the street. But, I’m not done. I still have a couple of houses left on the street that I haven’t talked to, since they weren’t home.”

  “You’ll continue that today. There might be someone sitting on important information that they don’t think is useful,” Weasel said.

  Joel Hall shrugged. “Sure. But it is a fairly quiet street, and on a Sunday night, most of the people were in bed early.”

  Weasel smacked her hand on the table. “Come on. This can’t be it, people. Someone must have seen something. At least they must have heard her scream. Ask if anyone heard any screams between one and two in the morning.”

  “There was loud music coming from the Bennett’s house,” Joel Hall said. “It could have drowned out any screams. Besides, people are so used to hearing them quarrel.”

  “Plus, she was strangled by a pillow,” I said. “She probably couldn’t scream.”

  Weasel growled and leaned back in her chair with a mommy isn’t happy look on her face.

  “I’ll ask around anyway,” Joel Hall said, to smooth things out.

  At the same time, the door opened, and Jim Moore stepped in. “He’s awake,” he said. “Brandon Bennett is awake.”

  19

  JANUARY 2015

  “I DON’T REMEMBER anything. I swear. I really don’t.”

  Brandon Bennett was sitting up in his bed at Cape Canaveral Hospital. Marty had taken his son, Ben, and the dog to the cafeteria to get a hot cocoa at my suggestion, while I spoke to the dad. The dog had been allowed to stay overnight, given the circumstances. Everyone felt bad for Ben and wanted him to feel safe. I talked to the doctor before entering the room, and he confirmed that Brandon Bennett had been drugged with Rohypnol, or a Roofie, as it was also called. The date-rape drug. That was why he had been so out of it and why he had been slipping in and out of consciousness for the past twenty-four hours. I had called Yamilla at the medical examiner’s office and she told me they had already checked Laura Bennett’s blood, and there were no signs of any drugs. Lots of alcohol, but no other drugs. In other words, it was only Brandon Bennett who had been drugged. That told me the killer just wanted to get rid of Brandon, and that Laura had been his real target. That was my theory.

  I got up and walked to the window of the third floor. The hospital was situated on a small peninsula and had water on three sides of it. Brandon Bennett’s room had views over the Banana River, with Cape Canaveral’s huge cruise ships on the horizon waiting to take off later in the day.

  “You gotta help me out a little, here, Brandon,” I said. “Your wife turns up killed in your bedroom after a night you and she had been drinking heavily. We learn from neighbors and friends that you often fight loudly and violently, especially since the death of your child. People tell me you blame her for it. With her death, you’re going to inherit a lot of money. You like to gamble. Convince me that you didn’t kill her.”

  I turned and looked at his face. He was pale and looked ill. He threw out his hands. “I…I don’t know what else to say.”

  I rubbed my forehead, then stared at him, scrutinizing him. Was he a brilliant liar? Or was he telling the truth? He didn’t seem to be that bad guy everyone else was so busy making him out to be.

  “Did you do it?” I asked. Mostly because I had to. I knew what answer he would give me.

  Brandon Bennett looked appalled. “Of course not. Are you kidding me? I loved Laura. I adored her. If she was here, she could tell you. I gave her flowers every week. Ask the local florist. Every freaking Wednesday I had her send my wife flowers. I loved everything about her. I know I was never the model husband or father. I have a problem. I’ll admit to that. I drink and I gamble. And I hate myself for that. Believe me. It is destroying me and my marriage.”

  His voice cracked as he spoke. It made him sound sincere. I cursed it. I really wanted him to be guilty. I wanted him to be the bad news Gabrielle Phillips had talked about. But when I looked at him, that wasn’t what I saw. Tears were piling up in his eyes now as he looked at me. His body was shaking from the restraint of holding them back.

  He was truly sad that his wife was gone.

  “I have no idea how to do this on my own,” he said. A tear escaped the corner of his eye and rolled across his cheek.

  I handed him a tissue.

  “What about Ben? How is he going to get by without his mother?” he asked, choking up.

  “All right,” I said and nodded. “Let’s say I believe you. How much do you remember? Let’s start with Sunday evening. What did you do?”

  Brandon Bennett sniffled and wiped his nose. “We ordered pizza. Then Laura put Ben to bed. We had a couple of drinks. It was sort of an anniversary for us.”

  “What were you celebrating?” I asked.

  “Not celebrating. Drowning our sorrows while trying to forget. It was a year since our daughter died.”

  I noted it on my notepad while biting my lip. I couldn’t even imagine how devastating it had to be to lose a child. Thinking of any of my three kids, it hurt inside to imagine being without them.

  “Okay, so you were drinking. What else?”

  Brandon Bennett looked like he was thinking. “It’s all a little blurry, but I believe Travis came over and had a drink or two,” he said. “He didn’t stay long, though. He wanted to hit the Beach Shack when they opened. I guess we weren’t such great company either. We were pretty depressed. When he left, we started fighting, as we always did when we had a little too much to drink.”

  “What were you fighting about?” I asked, studying his face for reactions to what he was saying.

  “I actually don’t remember,” he said. “Probably what we always fight about.”

  “And what is that?” I asked.

  “My gambling. It always starts with her telling me I gamble too much, and that it’s her money I’m using. Then, I blame her for losing our child, and after that, there’s no turning back.”

  “I can imagine there isn’t,” I said with a sigh. I remembered the things Arianna and I could say to one another during a fight. It wasn’t pretty. Why did couples do this to one another?

  “What else do you remember?”

  He shrugged. “That’s it. We fought and then we went to bed.”

  I looked at him with dissatisfaction. “And you can’t remember what time you went to bed, I take it?”

  He shook his head. “No.”

  “Did anyone else come over during the night?”

  “I…I…”

  “You don’t remember,” I said, and wrote it down.

  “There might have been someone else. It’s all very blurry.”

  “So, what else do you remember? Do you remember waking up and the police coming to the house?” I asked.

  He shook his head again. “I don’t. I remember drinking and fighting, and then waking up here in the hospital a couple of hours ago, and being told what happened.”

  “That’s all?” I asked.

  “Yes. I’m sorry, Officer. I seem to have lost a big part of my memory. The doctor told me it was the drug. Mixed with alcohol, it messes with one’s memory completely. Again, I’m sorry. I really want to help.”

  I put my pen away and was ready to leave. “Well, Mr. Bennett. The doctor told me you’ll be able to take your son home later today. Don’t leave town, all right? We’re not done here.”

  Brandon Bennett shook his head. “I have no intention of doing that. I want this guy as bad as you do, Officer.”

  “I’m glad. But for now, make sure you take care of your son. He needs you more than ever.”

  “I will. Thank you, Officer.”

  I was walking towards the door, when Brandon Bennett suddenly stopped me.

  “Wait. There was something.” Brandon Bennett looked pensive. “There was someone there. Was it…I think it was.”

  “Who?”

  “Peter,” he said, looking directly at me. “Peter stopped by right before midnight. He was angry.”

  I found my notepad and my pen. Finally, something I could work with.

  “Who is Peter?”

  “That’s her brother. Her older brother.”

  “The writer’s son? Who grew up in her biological father’s house?”

  Brandon’s face cleared up. “Yes. He was the youngest of the three, and the only one we had any contact with.”

  20

  SEPTEMBER 1984

  “I’M PREGNANT and it’s yours.”

  Annie spoke with a quivering voice. She stood in front of Tim in the library, where she had finally found him and approached him. He hadn’t responded to her phone calls or her letters, nor had he stopped to talk with her when she approached him on campus. Finally, she had found him sitting in the reading chairs at the library with his friends. It had taken all of her courage to approach him like this, but it had to be done. It was the only way she could get him to listen. At first, she had asked him to step outside with her, told him she had something important and very private to tell him, but he had refused. Laughed to her face and refused.

  Now, his face froze in a smile and all his friends stared at her.

  “What?” he asked.

  “You heard me.”

  He lifted his pointer. “No, no. You have it all wrong, little missy.”

  “No, I don’t,” she said. “It’s yours. I’m five months pregnant.”

  Tim’s friends stared at him, waiting for his response. So did Annie. Her legs were shaking, threatening to give in to the rest of her body. She had never been this nervous in her life.

  Tim stared at her with big eyes, then shook his head. “I’m not falling for that. Who told you to say this, huh? Was it Chris, huh? Ha ha, Chris. Very funny. You can stop it now.”

  “It’s not a joke,” she said. “It happened that night by the lake.”

  Tim shook his head. “I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about. I think you’ve got the wrong person.”

  Annie stepped forward. “You need to marry me.”

  The reading room went completely silent. No one was tapping their fingers, no one clearing their throat or coughing. And no one was reading anymore. All eyes were on them.

  Tim withered in his leather chair. He looked at her with serious eyes. She could see the fear in them. The fear of his life, as he knew it, being over. Of the anger of his parents. The fear of having to live with someone for the rest of his life that he didn’t love or even care for.

  Those few minutes of indecision finally mounted into a big smile, followed by loud laughter.

  “Marry you? Ha! That’s a good one. Very funny. Now get out of here before I make you.”

  “Tim, it’s the right thing to do. For the child’s sake. For my sake. My parents are going to renounce me. Without them, I have no money, I have nothing. This child will grow up in the gutter.”

  Tim scoffed. “What do I care? Don’t have the child, then. It’s not my child anyway. I wouldn’t touch that ugly body of yours, even if you paid me to.”

  Tim’s friends laughed.

  Annie felt her anger rise. Tears piled up in her eyes. “It is yours.”

  He leaned over in his chair. “How do you know?”

  “Because I haven’t been with anyone else but you…ever.” She knew it wasn’t the entire truth. They both knew. His friends had been there too that night. They had all raped her. It could be any of them. As they stared into each other’s eyes in a power struggle, they both knew she would never have a paternity test taken because that meant she would have to admit to having been with multiple men on that night. It was simply too shameful for her.

  “Get out of here,” Tim yelled. His face showed real anger now. His nostrils were flaring.

  Tears rolling across her cheeks, Annie backed up, frightened of what Tim and his friends might do to her if she stayed. When she reached the front door, she opened it and ran. She ran across campus as fast as she could, the sound of the blood rushing through her veins drowning out everything else. When she couldn’t run anymore, she threw herself on the grass, crying heavily, covering her eyes with her hands. Her stomach was in her way constantly now, and she loathed it more than ever. She loathed what had happened to her, and worst of all, she loathed this baby and what it was going to do to her life. Still, she couldn’t kill it. She could never do that.

  “What is to become of me?” she cried out, staring at the stars in the sky, wondering if there was a God and whether he could even hear her. It seemed like he didn’t these days.

  “I’ll take care of you,” a voice said.

  Annie turned her head with a small gasp and stared into the eyes of Victor. Victor was the campus’ biggest nerd. He was strange and awkward and all wrong. But he had always had a thing for Annie. Growing up in the same town and going to the same schools, he had adored her ever since he laid eyes on her for the first time in preschool. And he followed her everywhere. Even to the same college. But Annie couldn’t stand the guy. He was always clinging to her in high school, making life miserable for her because none of the cool kids wanted to hang out with her because of him. God, how she had hated him for many years. Even the way he smelled, or the way he said hi and pressed his glasses back on his forehead when he did. The way he dressed, the way his hair was always greasy and falling onto his forehead. In college, she had managed to keep him at a distance, but he still seemed to be everywhere she went. Had he followed her here? Had he heard what she had told Tim?

  He reached out his hand towards her.

  “I was in the library. I heard everything,” he said. “I’ll take care of you. That bastard doesn’t deserve you. I’ll marry you.”

  21

  JANUARY 2015

  PETER WALKER LIVED in a modest two-bedroom condo in Cape Canaveral. I had called in advance and told him I would stop by to make sure he was home. He had the daytime off, he told me when he opened the door and let me in.

  “Where do you work?” I asked, as I closed the door behind me.

  The condo was a mess. Dogs and cats roamed the living room and were fighting as I entered. It smelled like a pet store.

  “At Ron Jon’s.”

  Ron Jon is the biggest surf store in the world, located in Cocoa Beach. It started as a surf shop, but had now evolved into just as much of a souvenir shop for tourists who come to see the store that is open twenty-four hours a day. It has become a landmark for the town and something people talk about. Tourists buy T-shirts with Ron Jon’s logo on them and walk around town wearing them. Stickers with their logos are on many of the cars, since they come with every purchase you make. It is a big and booming business, but also causes a struggle for the smaller surf shops around town. I never buy anything in there, since I have all my boards shaped by a local shaper to fit me perfectly. The shop is good for the town and the tourist industry, and they have nice boards, but to be honest, I prefer supporting the smaller local places. That’s just the way I am.

  “I work the nightshift,” he continued, as I sat down on his couch.

  “That’s a bummer,” I said, and took out my notepad and threw it on the table, then found my pen in my pocket.

  “So, what can I do for you, Officer?” he asked. “I understood it was about my sister, Laura?”

  I nodded, then flipped to a blank a page in my pad. “Yes. Your sister Laura. As you probably know by now, she was found killed yesterday morning at her house in Snug Harbor.”

  Peter sat down as well. “Yes. I heard. Any news about what happened to her?”

  I exhaled. “That depends. How well do you know her?”

  He shook his head. “She was only my half-sister. I didn’t know she existed until my father died.”

  “So, it’s safe to say not very well?” I asked.

  “I hardly knew her at all, to be frank,” he said. “Even after we knew who she was, I never had the urge to get to know her, if you know what I mean. None of us wanted to know her.”

  “Why is that? Because she took your inheritance?”

  Peter leaned back in his recliner. “Well, yes. Can you blame me? Can you blame us for not wanting her in our lives? She took everything. Came from out of nowhere and took it all. Now, I have to live like this, and I have to work nights at a job I hate. I could have been living the life. I could have been rich.”

  “To be fair, it was your father’s money. He could have given it to a charity. He was entitled to do with the money as he pleased, don’t you think? Laura didn’t know her real dad growing up. Don’t you think it’s fair she got a little compensation for being lied to her entire life? After all, you and your sisters had everything growing up, didn’t you? She needed that fatherly love, from her real father,” I said, deliberately provoking him.

  Peter was moving in his seat. What I said struck a chord.

  “We had everything, you say? How about, we had nothing? We lived with a father who was never there. We grew up in a house with a father who was never home, and even if he was present, he wasn’t there mentally. He would stay in his office and write all his stupid stories about characters that he loved way more than he ever loved any of us. After our mother died, he kept dragging new and younger models home with him from book tours, or wherever he went. They would stay at the house for months and hang by the pool, drinking margaritas at ten in the morning, then he would throw them out once he was tired of them. We never saw him or felt his fatherly love either. None of us did. So, don’t come and say she was the one who needed the money the most. At least she grew up in a house with a mother and father that loved her. We didn’t. Our dad didn’t care about us at all.”

 

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