The Witness

Chapter Nineteen

THE MOON WAS FAR enough up in the sky that looking out her studio window Marie could see it rising between buildings, bright in the clear night sky. She hummed to herself as she worked on the painting before her and listened to the apartment for sounds of Tracey and Marsh leaving. Tracey was on the way back to campus for a Thursday night lecture, and Marsh had promised to take her back and forth. Marie would go say good night, but she’d already said it once and thought giving the two of them some privacy was a better idea. Tracey had been too subdued lately with everything going on, and she needed Marsh around to smooth that out again.

“Daniel?”

“I’m still here.” The phone on the table was set to speaker mode; they were keeping each other company long distance tonight.

“Why don’t you call it a night and get back to work on the problem tomorrow?”

“I counted boxes, and there are another thirty-eight to go through. My uncle’s bookkeeper kept everything; I haven’t got to the boxes my uncle filed himself. I’m sure they are here too.”

“I could help out.”

“It’s just methodical work, scanning every page for something that might be important and marking the rest to be shredded once this settles down again. How’s the painting coming?”

“About done. I like this one.” She was trying hard to capture from a photograph a walk path and bridge she had visited last summer. It had been a good day with her sister, and she could remember the day well enough to try and get it onto canvas.

“I liked the last attempt.”

“Too many shadows in the trees; they looked sinister rather than peaceful.”

“Did Tracey leave for school?”

“Just.” She’d heard the distinctive sound of the outer door closing. “She needs the drive time with Marsh to shake away a few cobwebs. It’s been gloomy around here the last few days.”

“Same here. I talked the housekeeper into taking a couple days off; she’d known the two guys for years. This age of life you expect to hear heart attack not murder.”

“I know.” Marie didn’t want to think about it, didn’t want to talk about it. Especially didn’t want to reflect too long on the fact it was Connor who had stood over the bodies, worked the scenes, and now led the search with Marsh to find the killer. “Would you like to come over to the gallery tomorrow and take a look at that seascape that came in? It’s pretty special.”

“Lunchtime? I’ve got an appointment out your way.”

“Sure.”

“It’s a date then. Any more thoughts on what the lawyer sent over?”

“Tracey already has her will signed and notarized. I’ll read the final copy on mine tomorrow. Shifting everything to Amy is a simple step, but if Amy and Tracey have both passed away-I’m not sure who should get asked to absorb this stress. Being wealthy is nice when it comes to living easier, but the rest of it-”

“Leave it to be paid out over time to your church; it’s got to go somewhere since you won’t be taking it with you.”

“Very true. Why do you talk so easily about heaven for others, Daniel, and yet not believe in God?”

“Do I have to answer that?”

“I already know your uncle was not exactly a good role model for what being a Christian is like. But the chief-he lives the same way he believes.”

“I know. Luke and I have talked a lot about God over the years; he can be persuasive when he needs to be.”

“But you still don’t believe.”

“I think God lets people in power do too much damage, that He cares about the big picture and bringing down nations and raising up others; but get down to a finer level where intervention would matter in justice between people and He doesn’t do enough. The Bible talks a lot about taking care of the poor and the widows, and God doesn’t seem to be that interested in changing the fact the poor just get poorer and the powerful more abusive in societies. God should be the cop walking the block, not a supreme court justice where it takes a decade for a legitimate grievance to get heard.”

“Maybe Christians are supposed to be doing the work to lift up the poor and oppressed.”

“Then God inspires very little loyalty to His cause. When was the last time you gave a gift to someone who was poor?”

The question caught her off guard. “The church missions group gives a lot and part of that would be my gifts, but that dodges your question. I don’t know anyone who is really poor; that’s sad, isn’t it? I’m in a downtown that used to be the run-down part of town, and now it’s too wealthy for those who used to live here.”

“We’re too comfortable in our own little worlds to actually connect with those who might need some help.”

“So that’s God’s fault?”

“I’d like to think someone was taking responsibility for the problem, and He says He sees it and feels their hurt.”

She thought about it and painted some more. “You feel guilty being rich.”

“Don’t you?”

“Yeah, some.” She sighed. “Not enough to go back to not having money. Identifying with the poor by being one of them may make it easier to connect and empathize, but it’s a lousy way to help.”

“So we’ll give away a few checks to try and feel better about ourselves and share some of the money around. I don’t want a religion that hopes for heaven because it’s the wealthy, prosperous place to be in the future. I want heaven to mean something more than a place; I want it to be a relationship. And so far the God I see and hear about-let’s just say He and I haven’t squared away what kind of relationship He’s talking about.”

“A love one, Daniel. Jesus looks at you and sees you and loves you. For all your money and things you worry and care about.”

“Henry sure didn’t see Christianity as that; he viewed it as a tithe to the penny and an appearance of the right actions, and the rest of life’s decisions-that was just business.”

“I’m sad for him now and the coldness of that and for you. It doesn’t have to be that.”

“So I’ll think about it some more in my own fashion, but not enough to believe like you do yet. It’s not a taboo topic, Marie, just one I see differently than you.”

“Okay.” Marie bit her paintbrush handle and studied the scene before her. Too dark again. “Remember God is looking for a love relationship next time you ponder it: trust, loyalty, discipline, closeness-all that a love relationship implies. I don’t model that all that well, but I know it’s what He wants.” She set aside the canvas to start another one. “Change of subject-I was thinking more about the wedding gift for Tracey and Marsh.”

“Any ideas?”

“Maybe.” She flipped through the notebook on the table. “They are planning to add on to the house to give them more space, and Tracey is a better decorator than I am. But they aren’t going to be around the house all their lives, and while I can’t plan trips for them, I could find out some things they would enjoy getting out to do together. Marsh loves to ski, and Connor mentioned Marsh is also a pretty avid fisherman. If the family had access to a boat and launch slip at the lake, it’s something Mandy could even join us to do, spending a day out on the water, that kind of thing.”

“It’s got possibilities.”

“Marsh would never accept it outright as a wedding gift, I don’t think, but as a gift that is part of a larger something else? Maybe.”

“You want me to find you a house to buy on the lake? It shouldn’t be that hard.”

“I was thinking more about you,” she admitted.

He laughed. “You really didn’t like my apartment, did you?”

“It’s nice enough and all, but you live inside the office all day and go home to live inside an apartment at night. There’s no outdoors in your life beyond your spectacular rose-filled walkway. You need a real house in the city, not some place outside of town you go to stay once every couple months. You ought to think about it, Daniel. You’ve got family now to help you mess up more space. And the thought of your moving into your uncle’s place-it gives me the shudders. It’s beautiful if you like a museum feel, but it’s not somewhere for you.”

“I’ll admit I’d enjoy having a boat.”

“See? The idea is already growing on you.”

“Have they set a date for the wedding yet?”

Marie picked up the phone and walked out of the studio and into the kitchen to get herself something to drink. “They’re talking about April, I think. Tracey likes the thought of having her anniversaries in the decades to come during that month.” She eyed the closed garbage sack that reminded her it was garbage pickup in the morning, and she didn’t plan to have the flopped tuna salad she’d thrown away stinking up the house for another day. “Let’s talk more about a boat tomorrow. I think you should do that with me.”

“You’ve got a deal.”

“I’m going to go do chores and think about Connor maybe calling me later. You should stop working now.”

“I’ll admit to feeling stiff enough it’s time to take a break from sitting at this table. I’ll finish this box and call it a night. It was good talking with you while I worked; the time passed quickly.”

“I think so too. Good night, Daniel.”

“Night, Marie.”

She closed the phone and thought not for the first time that he was a really nice man. Not so easy to get to know, but nice. She picked up the trash bag and slid her keys into her pocket.

The security cameras showed all was quiet out on the street, and the rain had thankfully eased off. Marie walked outside and put the trash into the Dumpster behind the building and went back into the gallery, turning on the low-track lighting and walking through to her office. Bryce was around-he was always around-but she was beginning to find that presence a background comfort rather than an intrusion.

Her office was neat but the trash overflowed, and she gathered it together along with the trash from the front checkout desk. The new display of paintings looked sharp together, she thought with pleasure, doing a walk around to see what else could be dealt with tonight. The front window needed to be wiped down inside again; it collected dust from the overhead heating more than most of the other windows, and she liked it to sparkle. Another month and this gallery would have new heating and lighting and a brand-new drop ceiling. Peter had promised a showcase, and he had ideas to make the architecture of the place itself become a beautiful thing.

She unlocked the door and took the last trash out. Maybe while Peter was working in the gallery she’d see if it was possible to refurbish the interior brick on the building and make it a rich, rough background for some of the more interesting pieces of art where the color contrast would be an asset. There was only so much that could be done with a white display wall.

An arm grabbed tight around her throat, her hair tangled by a hand and yanked back, bringing her face to the sky, and something cold touched her skin. “Don’t move.” She felt a knife blade against her throat and didn’t try to even breathe. “They should have paid me; you’ll mention that to them. They should have paid me.”

She felt something hot and wet swung into her hands, and he was gone. She struggled to blink away choking tears and looked down.

The guy had eviscerated a cat.

She dropped it. She didn’t throw up or stagger or faint. The rushing in her ears removed the present from her thoughts, and the next time she blinked Bryce was standing in front of her.

“Saw him, couldn’t stop you, couldn’t reach him.” She could hear the anger in his quiet words and the tenseness in the man as he became the only thing in her world. The man had big hands, tough hands, and they were wiping junk off hers without appearing to be brisk about it, but the blood was going away. He was using his shirttails, she vaguely realized.

“Take a breath.”

The words settled inside deep enough she did so.

“That’s the way.” His face looked like a boxer’s might about the time his eyes narrowed and he punched straight into your face, but he still smiled at her. Not angry with her, incredibly, not angry with her for walking into this mess.

“Sorry, Bryce. Taking the trash out was stupid,” she tried to whisper, only to find her voice hoarse.

He ignored the words and finished with the basics of his task. “Good enough to get you under a hot tap to take care of the rest.” His arm settled around her waist before he let her try to take a step. “Remember the stairs.”

“Yeah.”

She wasn’t fully ready to be out of that shock, she realized as she misjudged the doorway and hit the doorpost.

Bryce was punching in security codes behind her on the pad and then walking her toward the downstairs restroom. “Towels?”

“The narrow closet, where we keep the cleaning supplies.”

She didn’t look toward a mirror, nudging it open so as not to be able to see an image of herself afraid, nor did she look at her hands under a stream of hot water turning red with remaining traces of the cat. She just closed her eyes and used the soap.

“Good. Use this.” Bryce pushed a washcloth into her hands, and while she soaped it, his rough hands pushed back her hair and wiped at traces of the tears. “Hold still, Marie. This will sting a bit.” He wiped something across her face that came as a cold shock and then a bitter smell.

“What?”

“All done.”

The guy hadn’t cut her, she was sure of it, but something had been on his coat sleeve pressed in tight to her face. “Thanks.”

“Connor’s coming.”

She thought herself too shaky to want that attention but nodded. “Okay.”

She wrapped her hands in another dry towel and tried to smile at Bryce. “I’m going to go change and drink some coffee and forget that just happened.”

“You won’t, but it’s a good first few steps. You want me to come up?”

“Better to know you’re down here making sure no one else does.”

“I’m coding the doors so you can’t step outside on me again without an alarm blaring at you to rethink it.”

“A good plan.”

He knew. He knew something had been said. He knew a lot more had happened in those seconds than she had said. He knew but wasn’t even nibbling to find out; he’d just called Connor. She squeezed his arm and went toward the narrow stairway, glad now that it took hands against both walls as she walked upstairs.

“Let me see.”

Marie turned her hand for Connor to see the bruise spreading across the side. She’d broken two fingernails. She’d gouged the man, she thought, in the first-instinct move as the arm came around her neck. She’d reached up to grab him and didn’t remember doing it.

Connor, sitting on the footstool in front of her chair, looked all cop as he held her hand and inspected the bruise. His expression had changed in those first few moments when he had seen her from an intense emotion to the pulled-back care he was taking now. She was relieved, part of her, that she wasn’t being asked to swim in his heavy emotion right now too. She couldn’t absorb any more.

“The clothes you changed out of?”

“On the towel in the bathroom. It registered enough that you might want them so I didn’t throw them away.” Her voice sounded tired, she thought, listening to herself, and a bit too calm, like it had happened last year instead of less than half an hour ago.

Connor brushed back the hair that kept sliding forward to cover her face and held her gaze with his. “You’ve got to start at the beginning and tell me every sound and smell and movement you remember. Everything matters, Marie. No matter how far-fetched the thought you had.”

“It was fast and without hesitation. He had every move planned, I think. A thick heavy coat, not those new lightweight-fabric thermal coats, but an old heavy fabric, bulky. He had an arm around my neck and a handful of my hair pulling my head back, and I could still feel all that fabric smothering me.”

“A sense of the coat’s color?”

“Dark, I’d suppose, because I had no sensation someone was even there before he was already behind me. The Dumpster lid kind of echoes in that brick alley and maybe I didn’t hear what I should have, but the movement-I didn’t see him coming, didn’t sense him. He was just there.”

“Taller than you?”

“No more than an inch or two, he was pulling my head back and into him, so his shoulders were right behind mine. Kind of tall, thin, I think, under that coat, and strong in the arms, young. I remember smelling what I thought of as metal and something bitter and maybe grit. The knife he held had to be already covered in the cat’s blood, I guess. My eyes burned when he let me go, irritated, like there was grit in them. It was fast, Connor. Bryce was already there before I was even blinking and seeing again.”

“Young in his voice, his build?”

“Just an impression from all the energy, the speed of it, and maybe the voice.”

“He said something.”

She struggled to keep her gaze on his. “I didn’t understand it.”

“Tell me anyway. Word for word if you can.”

“I won’t be forgetting it. He was angry as he said it. He said don’t move and then he said-” she took a breath and quoted-“‘they should have paid me; you’ll mention that to them. They should have paid me.’”

Connor paled, she realized in the part of her mind that was watching him watch her, and she pushed away the memory of the alley to focus again fully on him. “That means something to you.”

“Yes. It does.” His hand raised to brush swiftly along her cheek. “Thanks for the quote; that will help. Do you have any other impression of him, of his voice, of how he moved or carried himself?”

“Just that he seemed tense and angry and maybe very revved up. His voice was hard…” She bit her lip.

“What, Marie?”

“I’m not going to say I’ve heard it before, but it was familiar to me-you know what I mean? Like I had heard it before and felt mad before too. Not a memory of the voice but an emotional reaction to it.”

“Recently?”

She shook her head. “I’m sorry; that’s probably scrambled brains talking right now. I’m not sure what it is I need to convey about the voice. But I remember reacting to it and not just the words. Who was supposed to pay him, Connor? The cops? Daniel? Who am I supposed to tell?”

“Marie…”

“You promised to tell me what was going on.”

“I’m sorry. I can’t, not about this, even now. Not without risking other people.”

“The guy who is after Mandy wants to be paid; that’s what this is all about.”

“I’m seriously sorry, but I can’t answer that.” He leaned forward and wrapped his arms around her, bringing her toward the edge of the seat. “You need to go soak in a hot tub awhile-you’re still cold, and I need to make some calls. Then you and I are going to go out for a long drive and push this back a ways.”

Her hands tightened hard around his. “You can’t tell Mandy. Connor, if you tell her someone got through to touch me, she’ll disappear and I’ll never see her again. You know she will; she’ll run to try and take the trouble with her. You know that is what she’s going to do.”

“Easy. Amy’s not going to run.”

“Please. Spin it any way you have to, but you can’t tell Mandy what really happened. A robbery attempt, anything else. Silence about this is the only thing that I can offer to help her right now.”

“I’ll talk to the chief,” Connor reassured. “That’s the best I can promise.”

She bit her lip again and nodded. “I am awfully cold. If you’ll take those clothes away and the towel, I’ll take a hot shower. I want to wash my hair again.”

“I’ll go do that now.” He kissed her forehead. “I’m sorry, Marie. That I wasn’t here. That we didn’t stop it.”

She leaned against him and hugged him back. “I’m okay.”

When he had dealt with the clothes she had left for him, she stepped under the hottest shower she thought she could handle and let herself cry.

Connor paced Marie’s kitchen, waiting for Marsh to find some privacy. He wasn’t about to let Tracey overhear this conversation.

“I’m alone.”

“He sent his message through Marie, angry, ticked-he grabbed her in the back alley and put a knife to her throat.”

“Where are you, at the hospital?” Marsh asked sharply.

“Her place. Bryce was on it within seconds, and Marie walked away from it badly shaken. She’d stepped outside to take out the trash of all things.” Connor felt his words breaking at the anger of that.

“Don’t bash your hand against one of those brick walls right now; remember she’s in one piece. Start talking. I need the details.”

Connor took a deep breath and nodded. He read the quote from his notes to get the message exact. “Marie said a little taller than herself, thin, and young. She’s pretty certain about the fact he was young. This isn’t our New York hitter; she didn’t describe a fifty-year-old guy with an accent. Marsh, what was your working idea?”

“That there was a third kid out there of Henry Benton, a son.”

Connor sat down on the nearest chair.

“This trouble comes rolling in coincident to the will, and who would know about a boy Henry fathered but the chauffeur who probably drove him to where he was seeing the mother and the bookkeeper who probably paid off the lady just like Henry did with Marie and Tracey’s mom. The killings could be that of a very angry man who didn’t get recognized in that will and wants his cut of the money too.”

“What triggered the idea?”

“Your comment that stabbings are very personal crimes. The message claiming a family secret. If the guy is young, impulsive, very angry-I could see a knife attack on the two retired guys who knew the truth and never came forward to state the fact a son also existed.”

“And it explains why he might be let into their homes; they knew him,” Connor realized.

“Henry kept track of the girls-you don’t think he might keep track of a boy? He knew enough not to want to claim him, but to instead leave Daniel as his major heir. Connor, I may just be chasing a phantom that doesn’t exist. Nothing yet says there is a son out there, let alone one that would commit two murders like this and attack Marie.”

“But it explains why you’ve been going back through the phone calls the sisters have received, the mail-looking for signs he made contact with them after that press conference.”

“For what it’s worth, Sam doesn’t see it as likely. He investigated everyone else in Henry’s past over the years, including keeping track of the two sisters, and Sam can’t imagine Henry having a son that he didn’t get asked to check out and keep tabs on too. As far as Sam knows Marie and Tracey are Henry’s only children.”

“Which takes us back to theory one-‘I know the family secret’ is the fact Amy is alive, and ‘pay me to go away’ is Richard Wise laying down the marker for how ugly this is going to get if he’s not fully paid off.”

“There is evidence our New York shooter is in town; we’ve got his car, and Sam’s place got searched,” Marsh reminded him.

“And opposite of that theory two-Henry has another kid out there not recognized in the will, and he wants money from the family to go away. He killed the two people who could identify him as a way to deliver his demand. Whoever grabbed Marie tonight was thin, young, and did not have a New York accent. He was definitely angry he hadn’t been paid. And we both know that while the reporters are clamoring for that second message, they don’t have it yet. This guy tonight knew something that only the killer would know.”

“I don’t know, Connor. If all the pieces were fitting in place, we’d have this solved. We need fingerprints, blood work, trace evidence from one of the crime scenes-something to help sort this out. It keeps coming back to not enough facts. If there is a son out there, we have next to nothing right now to point us in a direction to search to even confirm he exists.”

Connor heard Marie shut off the water. “I’ll pick you up first thing tomorrow morning and bring whatever Bryce can add to this. We’re going back to those crime scenes to canvas neighbors again.”

“I’ll be expecting you. Tell Marie from me that I’m very grateful she’s okay.”

“You’ll have Tracey prepped not to push for details tonight?”

“She’ll handle it smart.”

“Thanks, Marsh.”

Connor closed the phone and knew he needed to call the chief. But first he just forced himself to take a couple more deep breaths and get past the last half hour. Bryce’s call had shaken him harder than any message he’d ever answered, and the reality of that was going to take some time to absorb. Marie would come through this okay even if he had to stand and take a bullet for her; he couldn’t handle her getting hurt any more by this.

He stepped toward the hallway door and pushed in numbers. One thing at a time. The first was just to survive tonight.

“Chief? It’s Connor. There’s been trouble at the gallery.”

“You can’t pay him,” Luke said, watching Daniel prowl around Henry’s former home office like a caged cat. His call had caught Daniel just getting ready to leave for the night, and Luke had come over to deliver the news in person. Daniel had been talking to Marie less than half an hour before the attack; that had made this reaction all the more intense, and Luke was hoping he could defuse it.

“Two former employees dead, Marie terrorized, don’t tell me what I can’t do with the money, Luke. Frankly right now I’d like to light a bonfire and use it as kindling.”

Luke held up his hand and offered reality. “If this is a young guy thinking the family owes him money, he’s already disturbed enough to do two brutal murders. Handing him money and having him disappear would be to set up someone else to be dead in the future. A guy doesn’t kill twice in one night and become a saint for the rest of his life.

“Second-if it’s our guy from New York who did the killings, then he’s after Amy, and regardless of whether Richard Wise gets his money the hatred has gone on too long-he’ll stay on it until he has Amy dead, and if he goes through her sisters to make that happen he won’t care. I’m not going to be surprised to find our New York shooter has co-opted some local talent to help him out, maybe even to do the killings for him. Getting into Sam’s place, following the sisters, killing the two employees, dumping his car, staying out of sight of the local cops who have a fairly recent photo of him-that is a lot of ground for one person to manage in a city he doesn’t know well. So he’s probably arranged local help. He wants Amy; that is the job he’ll sit back to handle himself. The rest is just details.”

Daniel finally sat back down. “How do you sleep at night?”

“I don’t,” Luke replied. “I need to know if Henry Benton had another child, and I need to know that by any means you can dream up to find out.”

Daniel tapped a pen on the desk, thinking. “Was there anything in the bookkeeper’s effects that might have been from his period of time working here? Any other file boxes in storage, a ledger, anything in a safe-deposit box?”

“He kept every receipt in his life, the same as he did for Henry, but so far nothing is popping up as being something more than his own personal papers,” Luke replied, having checked with the officer sorting through the files.

“Then if Henry knew he had a son, the evidence will be somewhere in this house and in his personal records.”

“Is it possible Henry had a son he didn’t know existed?”

“Sure. If an affair led to a pregnancy and the lady wasn’t inclined to come get more money out of Henry than he offered when they split up. But you’d think either the mom or at least the son would have made contact over the years. We’re assuming if this son exists he’s younger than Tracey and Marie, not older?”

“A guess, but probably in his late twenties.”

“If he’s not a minor and his mother kept anything at all around the house of the letters Henry liked to write or spoke at all of who his father was, the trail back to Henry wouldn’t be difficult for someone to push against and follow. There should have been contact with Henry at some point.”

“Assume there was a payoff to the mother fifteen to twenty-five years ago. Would it have gone through the Benton Group accounts?”

“No. Henry kept a bright line between private and public business. It would have been a cash payment taken from a private account. One his personal bookkeeper would have probably handled and his chauffeur went along to deliver.” Daniel grimaced just saying it.

Luke nodded. “It’s a working theory we need to either prove or knock down so we quit chasing it. For what it’s worth, Sam doesn’t think a son exists. Henry would have wanted to know about him and would have kept track of him.”

“I’d agree with Sam.” Daniel pulled out a ring of keys. “Come on; I’ll show you what there is to work with.”

He led the way through the house and opened the file-storage room. The boxes were neat, orderly, and shelved floor to ceiling. “I’ve eliminated the boxes on the left, and when everything has sorted itself out the plan is to have them shredded. These thirty boxes-I’m finding everything in them from receipts to phone-message notes. Henry apparently asked his personal bookkeeper to take care of all the paper, and so it was just filed away as it got created. The personal bank accounts-most Henry closed years ago and rolled into the Benton Group-but the canceled checks are still here filed in among all the other papers. I’m guessing we are not going to find one actually made out to the lady involved. It will be for something else and converted to the cash Henry needed. It wouldn’t have been uncommon for his wife to be going through the receipts or the mail as it came in. The last payment to Marie and Tracey’s aunt that I found had florist scrawled at the bottom.”

“A lot of flowers.”

“Yes.” Daniel shut off the light. “I’ll have my assistant come help with the search; if the evidence is here, we should be able to find it.”

“Henry never mentioned anything that might cause you to think back and wonder if he was talking about a son?”

“There’s nothing I can recall that even glimmers at more children than Marie and Tracey.”

Luke picked up his coat, and Daniel walked outside with him.

“Take reasonable precautions the next few weeks, Daniel, no jogging alone, buzzing people into the apartment, leaving car doors unlocked-”

Daniel smiled. “Don’t worry about me. There’s security all over this place, the office, and they’ve been rolling by the apartment building regularly. I’m covered.”

“Let’s keep it that way.” Luke started his car. “I’ll be in touch.” “You’ll be my first call if I find anything,” Daniel promised.