Winter's Mourn Page 14

  Maria bustled in quickly. “Jake!” she exclaimed. “I thought you were watching your movie. I’m so sorry, Mr. Benton.” She took the handles of the chair and flicked the switch to manual operation. “Come on, sweetheart,” she murmured, casting a nervous look at Winter and Noah. “I’ve got cookies. Peanut butter.”

  The offer of cookies didn’t placate Jake. “Daard!” His voice echoed in the hallway, abruptly cut off by the swift click of the doors closing again.

  “My nephew,” David said bluntly. “When my sister passed away, God bless her, I took Jake in.”

  “Sounded like he was saying ‘Dad,’” Noah pointed out unnecessarily.

  “He’s nonverbal.” David’s voice was hard, matching the cold glitter in his eyes. “He could have been saying anything. And he thinks of me as a father. I’ve been raising him for a long time now.”

  “Without your wife’s help?”

  A muscle popped in his jaw. “My wife’s been dead for twelve years. Cancer. Now, if that’s all,” he stood, not waiting for a reply. “I’ll see you both out.”

  “I’m afraid we have more questions for you, Mr. Benton,” Winter said when he rose.

  “I’m afraid I have a meeting.” He tossed a cursory look at his watch. “In ten minutes. You’ll have to call back and schedule an appointment, but there’s nothing more I can tell you. By the way, my son would have told me if my name had been found on any ‘paperwork.’ I wasn’t a member of that cult.”

  They weren’t going to get any more out of him. Winter and Noah were ushered out so quickly that there was no time to say anything else. Noah stood on the doorstep, worked in a beautiful circular brick design, looking at the door that had slammed behind them.

  The gardener stopped deadheading black-eyed susans to give them a curious look.

  “Something tells me that getting another appointment with the estimable David Benton won’t be as easy next time,” he commented wryly.

  “Excuse me,” Winter asked the man with the basket tucked over his arm. “Could I ask you a quick question?”

  “Lo siento. Yo no hablo Ingles.” He shrugged his stooped shoulders apologetically.

  “Esta bien. ¿Quién es el hombre en silla de ruedas que vive aquí?”

  The gardener looked surprised for a moment. Not that she spoke Spanish, but that she didn’t know who the man in the wheelchair was. “El hijo de jefe.” His face creased in an affectionate smile. “El es un buen chico. Fuerte a veces pero muy dulce.”

  She smiled back. “Si. Pude ver eso. Gracias. Tenga un buen dia.”

  He gave her a polite nod and went back to his flowers.

  “What was that about?” Noah asked on their way back to the car.

  “The gardener was just telling me what a nice boy his boss’ son is. Loud sometimes, but very sweet.”

  Things went exactly nowhere the remainder of the afternoon. Noah had called two other names on the list Carolyn Walton had given them. Tony Collier, a retired schoolteacher, was very brief with them.

  Unlike David Benton, he lived in a modest house in a run-down neighborhood. Like David Benton, he also lied through his teeth. No, he didn’t know anything about the Disciples or Wesley Archer. His wife had died of cancer a few years before, or they could ask her themselves, he’d said, a little desperately.

  Neither of them had ever been a part of a cult.

  “Do you live here alone?” Noah asked, deceptively casual.

  Absolutely, was the answer. A widower. No kids.

  Back in the car, on their way to the next stop, they hashed out the evidence they’d both seen that there was definitely another person living in the home. Framed artwork on the walls, beautiful, melting watercolors, signed “Alison” in shaky black ink. Well-worn American Girl books and volumes of fairy tales on the shelves next to novels by John Grisham, Shakespeare, and Peter Straub. The wheelchair ramp that led to the front door.

  “It never ceases to amaze me,” Winter sighed. “Why do people lie about such easily proven things? The man has a wheelchair lift on his van.”

  At the third stop, Darin Bowman wouldn’t even open the door. They knocked for a good five minutes. Darin lived just down the road from Tony, in a neatly maintained ranch house. He had been friendly enough and had promised he’d be home that afternoon when Noah spoke with him that morning. An older Nissan sat in the driveway, but there was no sign of movement inside the house.

  “They’re closing ranks.”

  Winter agreed. “Did a call from David Benton do it, do you think?”

  “Could be. Knocking on doors makes me hungry. Where are we having dinner, since I can’t get at your grandma’s meatloaf anytime soon?”

  They ate at a steakhouse that evening where Noah put away a massive T-bone steak, salad, baked potato, and side dish of macaroni and cheese. Winter settled for a petite filet with thick French fries and treated herself to a glass of red wine. Despite the drama of the day and the dead ends they’d seemed to run into at every turn, they’d made progress. She was actually looking forward to calling Max for their regular update.

  “How soon until we try to shake Tommy Benton down again?”

  Noah buttered his fourth biscuit thoughtfully. “As much as I’d like to take this particular bull by the horns right now, things could get volatile if we go to his place, especially if he starts drinking as soon as he gets home from work like I suspect. We could do it in the morning?”

  “Before we head out to your girlfriend’s farm?” Winter teased, glad things seemed to be settling back to normal between them.

  Instead of retorting that she was just jealous, or making some off-color response, Noah looked up at her with an uncharacteristically serious expression in his green eyes. She was cutting a bite of steak, and the intense look on his face made her hands go still.

  “Trust me, sweetheart. If I could pick any woman in the world out for myself right now, it wouldn’t be Rebekah Archer.”

  18

  Tom Benton woke up with a headache. It was nothing new. He knew he’d been drinking too much lately, but dammit, a man had the right to unwind at night when he got home from work. Especially a man with as many worries as Tom had.

  He rolled out of bed, careful not to wake Sam up. Her back was to him, her long hair spread out on the pillow, tangled like it usually was in the morning. Sam wasn’t a restful sleeper. She tossed and turned and gritted her teeth. He knew she was stressed, and almost getting let go from her restaurant job hadn’t helped matters any. Money was tight and what had turned into an endless battle of getting pregnant—and staying that way—was taking a toll on both of them.

  This time would be different, she’d promised him. The lady doctor Sam went to had told them that Sam likely wouldn’t be able to carry a baby to term. She didn’t have a strong enough uterus for it, or something. But Sam was almost painfully hopeful, promising that she just knew it would work out this time. They’d have the perfect baby boy, just like they’d always wanted, in about eight months. He couldn’t bring himself to get his hopes up, and he wasn’t looking forward to the inevitable heartbreak.

  Nothing was going his way lately. He felt like he was wearing a shit magnet around his neck. Deep in his heart, he knew this pregnancy wouldn’t be any different.

  His mood already sour, Tom left the bedroom and padded down the hall, barefoot and only in his jockey shorts. In the bathroom mirror, his face looked puffy, his eyes bloodshot as hell. He took a piss and then brushed his teeth. He wasn’t looking forward to work this morning. He thought about showering, but after a quick sniff at his pits, decided he’d be fine for another day. It just seemed like too much effort.

  He pulled on the uniform pants Sam had hung up for him like she always did and swiped on some deodorant. Dragging a white t-shirt over his head, he was about to reach for his polyester shirt when the doorbell rang.

  Shit. It was only six-thirty.

  He hurried out before whoever it was could ring again and almost groaned when he
saw two shapes on the other side of the wavy, clouded glass of the front door. It was Winter Black and her meathead sidekick. Anger bubbled as he yanked open the door.

  “What the hell are you doing here?”

  The meathead gave him a friendly smile, and Tom wanted to slug him.

  “Morning, Officer Benton. We were wondering if you had a moment to speak with us. Sorry about the early hour.” The asshole grinned, showing a toothpaste-commercial smile, looking as harmless as a Jehovah’s Witness. “Just wanted to catch you before you left for work.”

  Winter watched him steadily with those spooky blue eyes, unsmiling.

  “No, I don’t have time to talk. You can catch me at the station.”

  “Well…” the meathead drawled. “We didn’t figure you’d want to talk at the station. Being that this is about your dad and all.”

  His dad. He’d known it was coming, but dammit, he still wasn’t ready to deal with this.

  Rage spiked, and Tom opened his mouth to blast them when he heard Sam’s sleepy voice from the bedroom. “Hon, who is it?”

  Sam. She couldn’t overhear this.

  He lowered his voice, looking daggers at the unwelcome visitors. “I’ll meet you at the McDonald’s up the street. We will not do this in my house.”

  Shutting the door in their faces, he swallowed back his anger and went to the kitchen to make his wife a cup of the expensive herbal tea she bought down at the hippie food co-op. She swore it was good for expecting mothers. The FBI assholes could just wait.

  “Nothing to worry about, sweetie,” he called to Sam. “Forgot to pay the paperboy again.”

  “Think he’ll show?” Noah asked, glancing at his watch again. It had been nearly a half-hour since they’d left Tom Benton’s house.

  “He’s here.” Winter had her eyes trained on the parking lot.

  He polished off the last of his spongy pancake and washed the syrupy-sweet mouthful down with overcooked coffee. They both watched as Benton got out of his cruiser and stalked toward the restaurant.

  “Good cop/bad cop won’t work. He’s a cop, too, and he doesn’t like either of us particularly well.”

  Winter looked at him with that unusual depth that sometimes showed in her blue eyes. When she got that look, he knew whatever she said would turn out to be right. “He’ll tell us what he knows today. He’s done dodging. Look at him.” She inclined her head slightly to where Benton stood at the counter, placing an order. “He’s tired.”

  It was true.

  Benton’s usual belligerent stance had softened into what looked like defeat. His shoulders slumped a little, and he looked like a man who didn’t have any hope left in the world. The guy was an ass, but Noah couldn’t help feeling a little sorry for him.

  Benton’s bluster wasn’t up to its usual setting as he slid into the chair across from them. “Can we do this fast? I need to be to work on time.”

  Noah bit back a comment on the fact that Benton was the one who had kept them waiting. He also wanted to bristle at the way Benton addressed only him, pretending Winter didn’t exist. He nodded instead. “We’d like that as much as you. Winter and I stopped by your dad’s house yesterday. We met your brother.”

  Despite the circumstances, Benton quirked a smile. “How’s Jake doing? Did he chase you with his chair? That thing does like twenty miles an hour. I always tell him I’m going to clock him one of these days for speeding.”

  Noah was surprised that the man across from him hadn’t acted like his brother didn’t exist. It must not be a family secret…just one that Benton’s father didn’t want tied to the investigation.

  Winter, though, wasn’t fazed. “So, he’s your brother?”

  “Of course.” Benton scowled, narrowing his bloodshot eyes. “You think I have a problem having a brother with disabilities? What kind of asshole do you think I am?”

  Her mouth pressed into a line, like she was holding back answering that last question. Instead, she went with a different one. “Why didn’t I know you had a brother?”

  “You probably forgot.” Benton shrugged. “Or just never met him. My mom homeschooled him. She was pretty protective. Both my parents were.”

  “Why’d your dad tell us Jake was his nonexistent dead sister’s son?” Winter’s voice was sharp. “And that he never had anything to do with the Disciples of the Moon?”

  Benton looked at them both, his expression shuttered. “My father didn’t have anything to do with the murders. I just want to put that right up front.”

  “Sure,” Noah lied, his voice smooth. “We never thought he did. We’re just a little curious as to why you claimed no knowledge of all this from the beginning, and your dad appears to be doing the same.”

  Benton took the lid off his coffee and laid it aside. The eating area was thankfully empty, except for the three of them. Noah and Winter patiently watched Benton study the murky brew like it held the answers to the infinite problems of the universe.

  “They were a couple of the original members,” he finally said. “Joined up with The Bishop early on. Former hippies. They left after my brother was born.”

  “Why did they leave?” Winter asked.

  Benton looked up at them, silently pleading. “I don’t know a lot, okay? Nothing that would be helpful to the case. Hell, if it had been, I would have brought it all up sooner. I just didn’t see any need to. My father’s got political aspirations and my mom…” He winced. “My mom passed. I don’t see any reason for tarnishing her memory in any way. She was an amazing person.”

  Noah took a drink of his own lukewarm coffee. He wanted to tell Benton that he could have compromised the entire investigation by holding back. He didn’t deserve to wear a badge. He wanted to tell him that he was a spineless coward and should have not only given the chief any information he had up-front, but recused himself from the investigation in the beginning, given his family ties to the cult.

  Instead, he nodded with what he hoped looked like encouragement while Winter sat in attentive silence next to him, studying Benton intently.

  Benton took a steadying breath. “Like I said, my parents were early members. They didn’t talk a lot about their time there, but from what I pieced together over the years, everything started great. It was a happy place. Wesley Archer was a visionary. Had this vision of a new generation being raised up smarter and kinder than the current generation. He fired up his whole congregation. They were going to raise their kids to save the world.”

  “What went wrong?” Noah asked as Benton trailed off.

  “I don’t know. They never talked about it, like I said. But I got the feeling things weren’t as utopia-like as they should have been. My mom got pregnant with Jake. Gave birth to him there. But something went wrong. He was born with severe disabilities, as you saw.”

  “Does he have a specific diagnosis?” Winter asked in a quiet, sympathetic-sounding voice.

  Benton seemed to relax a little.

  “No. He’s got a lot of things…some, the doctors weren’t even able to stick a label on. Spinal issues. Bone density stuff. Cognitive disabilities. You met him. He doesn’t talk. I could always understand what he wanted, though.” Benton smiled a little. “Disabilities or not, he’s my big brother. We still managed to get into some shit when we were younger.”

  “Were you born there too? At the commune?”

  Benton shook his head at Noah. “They left when Jake was a baby. There’s six years between us. I don’t know why, but I kind of wondered if it was because Jake needed more medical care than they had access to out at that farm. My parents were always really protective of Jake.”

  “I can see that,” Noah offered. “If I had a kid who had some health troubles, I’d want to be close to town.”

  “It was more than that, though.” Benton turned his coffee cup between his hands, deep in thought. “They were afraid for him, I think.”

  “What were they afraid of?” The question came from Winter.

  “I don’t know,”
Benton said again, frustrated. “I just know that I got to run around and pretty much get into anything I wanted to. Jake couldn’t run around the same way, obviously, but it still seemed like my mom…hovered. Jake has always spent a lot of time in the house. Or right out in the yard. She homeschooled him like I said, but she didn’t even want to take him out for his doctor’s appointments. She seemed paranoid or something. I remember hearing them argue about moving away. Mom wanted to pack up and start someplace else. Dad vetoed it. It was one of the only times I ever heard my mom stand up to him.”

  “What about you? You tell us all of this like you were on the outside looking in. Was it hard to have a brother who took more time and attention?” Winter’s question seemed to surprise Benton. He looked up at her quickly.

  “I always understood. Jake is special.” The statement was made without an ounce of resentment. “Mom took care of him. Watched over him until she passed. She died of cancer when I was in high school.”

  “What kind of cancer, if you don’t mind me asking?” The number of mothers that seemed to have contracted cancer after their time with the Disciples was more than a coincidence, Noah had noticed. Could it have been something environmental?

  “She had a rare, aggressive form of uterine cancer. It only took a few months from the time her doctor diagnosed her. And then…” his voice almost broke, and he cleared his throat, “she was just gone.” Judging by Benton’s face, he still grieved.

  Noah felt an unwelcome pang of sympathy.

  He was painting a picture of Tom Benton’s childhood, and it was a lonely one. A brother with disabilities who, by necessity, got the lion’s share of the attention and focus. A father, who by his very lack of mention, didn’t sound very involved. A mom, gone too soon to a vicious disease. The guy was still a jackass, but dammit, he was a relatable one now.

  “Any idea why your father would lie to us about Jake not being his son?”

  Even Benton looked troubled by the question. “Honestly, that bugs me. He’s always been there for Jake. Not real hands-on, but that’s just how he is. The provider. I don’t know why he wouldn’t have wanted you to know.” His expression darkened. “He’d better not have done it out of embarrassment or some stupid shit. Jake doesn’t deserve that.”