Death at Dawn

by Arthur Day

  A big one.

  DIANNE VARGAS

  Dianne Vargas was in a good mood. She thought she had finally found a buyer for the Visconti house. Ben and Adrianne Bohner were ecstatic over the thirty-five hundred square feet, and a backyard big enough for a small army of children, pets, barbecue grills, gardens, pretty much whatever they wanted to use it for. Viscontis had been firm at three sixty but Ben had offered five percent less and Dianne thought she could get Visconti to agree to that. The house had been on the market for eight weeks and potential buyers would wonder what was wrong with it and might look at other houses instead. They could take it off MLS for thirty days and then put it back on but there were drawbacks to that as well. Dianne knew that, while the Viscontis were not being forced to sell, they were getting impatient.

  She turned into her driveway on Marjorie Road. She breathed a sigh of relief. She had to take a huge piss and could not very well duck into a bathroom at the Visconti house. Besides, they had cameras all over the house, maybe even in the bathrooms. No sense taking that risk.

  She hurried into her bathroom, unzipped her slacks and stood in front of the toilet peeing with obvious relief. She checked messages on her phone. Duplicates of the ones she’d seen on her cell phone. Mostly MJ. Still listening to the phone read out her messages, Dianne walked into the small kitchen and made herself a Beefeaters and tonic. What to do about MJ? She thought back to all the times they had shared since she had shown him his current house in Mays Corners. She had met this big, rugged man and shown him a house. He had seemed somewhat withdrawn, but she had sensed an underlying gentleness that peeked out at odd times. When he had called her office and asked if she might consider having dinner with him at some neutral spot she had hesitated only briefly before agreeing. He seemed nice and one dinner did not a relationship make.

  She sipped at her drink. It was not as if she had lied to him then and that first date had been just that. They spent the evening eating good food and drinking a fine red, but she was sure that he had not unloaded his life onto her and she had not told him too much about herself. Like all relationships it had evolved over time and they had gradually learned about the other and then his ex-wife had disappeared, and the crisis had brought them closer together and suddenly she realized that she felt worse whenever he was not around and the night that they spent in house at the lake had been wonderful until the next morning. Dianne took a large swallow of her drink. It had to happen eventually she supposed and maybe she even unconsciously wanted her secret to come out or she never would have agreed to spend the night at the cabin. He wanted a more physical relationship and she had resisted out of fear that he would not understand if he felt she had what to him would be the wrong thing between her legs. She had woken up that morning with the sunlight pouring through the windows and her dick totally exposed and MJ downstairs probably making coffee and wondering what kind of creature he had become friends with.

  Little Donny Vargas had been ten years old, short, fat, a failure at any sport. When the kids were playing sandlot baseball and when one didn’t show up he would volunteer. His parents had given him a glove for Christmas and he had worked to season it and form a pocket that was just right. His dad had tossed the ball back and forth with him and even tried hitting some balls to him, but Donny wasn’t very good, and his father had to be at his job most of the time. Then came the day of his epiphany.

  “C’mon guys. You need another player. I can catch really good.”

  “Get out of here Vargas. You’re a loser and besides that you’re too fat and ugly.” This from Roger Buckland, the captain of the team that was short. He was eleven with sandy hair and blue eyes and Donny thought he was really cool and a good captain in spite of the fact that he was mean and a bully and was captain because the other boys were scared of him.

  “I am not ugly,” Donny shouted

  “Are too.”

  “Then you are ugly.” Donny suddenly found herself surrounded by a group of boys looking for some excitement.

  “Am not.”

  Roger Dodger sensed that he was in control of the moment. He knew weakness when he saw it. “Are too.” He stepped forward and pushed Donny into a kid standing behind him. “Hold him,” he told the kid and stepping forward he reached out and yanked his jeans down around his ankles followed by his underpants. “Little boy, little boy,” he chanted, Planting a foot behind him and nodding to Kelly, the kid who was holding him he pushed Donny and Donny went down on his back.

  He looked up at Roger. “Asshole,” he yelled. “Fuckin’ asshole.” He tried to remember a really good insult and suddenly remembered a line from a fight his parents had. “The best part of you ran down your mother’s leg,” he shouted up at him.

  The kids forming a circle around her tittered nervously. They thought it was a good come-back, but Roger had punched one of them for less a few days before. Roger’s face tightened, and he looked as if he were constipated and trying to take a shit. “Oh yeah?” He stood over him and then kicked him savagely in the stomach. His minions were in awe. It was such a huge DO that it would be instantly epic.

  Donny had run home in tears and told his parents who had collared one of the kids who had seen Roger do this, taken him over to Roger’s parents’ house and forced him to admit what Roger had done. There had been a huge kerfuffle. His parents had threatened assault charges and Roger had walked stiffly for several days at school and refused to even look at Donny. He would jostle Donny in the hall to prove that he was still in charge but other than that he left him alone as did the others.

  For Donny, though, the incident, soon put in the past by most of the kids although he doubted many would forget it, was an important moment in his life. He had looked up at Roger standing over him and knew that he had been born all wrong with the wrong equipment. Donny vowed that he would be a woman someday. They would never have dared to do this to a girl.

  Dianne came out of her memory and took a slug of her drink. That was a bad memory but there were good ones as well. Saving the money for the long series of psychological and physical changes. She had been so proud when she stood in front of the mirror and saw the new Dianne for the first time after breast augmentation and estrogen regimen. Dad had died several years before. So where did all that leave her with MJ? She had no clue. She couldn’t simply not answer him. They were, after all, on a case of sorts and she had promised to help him and even bragged that she was a professional and had the tools to do it.

  Her phone bonged, and she picked it up, crossed her emotional fingers and pressed the little green circle. “Hi MJ.”

  “Hi Dianne. I’m so glad that I finally got hold of you. I left messages, but I thought you must be really busy showing houses.”

  “Well I have been busy.” She looked out the picture window and wondered how she was ever going to be with him or even look him in the eye. She wasn’t ashamed of herself but she cared enough about MJ to see things from what she thought would be his point of view. Oh well, in for a dime, as they say. “Why don’t you come over here for dinner tomorrow? I make a mean lasagna.”

  “Listen, about the other morning at the lake I..”

  “Shush,” Dianne said softly. “Come tomorrow and we can talk and think about what to do next.” She hung up and sat for a minute holding the phone in her lap and hoping that she could avoid hurting her friend more than absolutely necessary.

  “Good stuff,” MJ commented as he shoveled the final bite into his mouth. “I didn’t know you could cook in addition to your other talents.”

  Dianne wondered what he meant by that but pushed back that paranoid thought. She was determined that the evening would be both productive and pleasant and that meant not bringing up her sex even though it hung between them like the sword of Damocles and she knew that the subject would, sooner or later, need to be brought into the open and resolved but not now, she thought, and smiled as MJ got up and took their dish
es back to the kitchen. She heard him moving around and opening the dishwasher. It was nice to have a male friend who knew what a dishwasher was and how to load it, who didn’t have to be asked to clear the dishes and most of all who didn’t insist on talking about something that she was not yet ready to talk about. “There’s some ice cream in the freezer if you want some,” she called out.

  “All set.” His voice floated back to her through the open doorway. He reappeared a moment later with two glasses holding an amber liquid. “I saw the bottle of Courvoisier and took the liberty of pouring us some. I did not see any snifters but that’s not important.” He took his seat at the table and raised his glass. “To our noble selves, good friends and great lasagna.”

  “To friendship,” Dianne clinked her glass to his and they sat back for a moment enjoying the bite of the cognac and the peace of the evening.

  “I talked to Julia Pease again,” MJ began. “She remembers Warren and met him on one occasion. She thought he was withdrawn and was not right for Pam. I think he scared her a little. Buckmaster has a BOLO out for him and has alerted the NYPD that he is wanted for questioning in a recent murder. Somehow, though, I don’t think he is returning to Manhattan.”

  “You still think Pam may have been collateral damage or maybe the first part of his desire to get back at you for stealing her away? I am almost sure that is what he thought when Pam broke off with him from the various accounts of his personality.”

  “I think he probably had it in for both of us and still has it in for me and that’s why I don’t think he has returned to his apartment. I think he is in a motel somewhere in this area and we haven’t found him because he is under an assumed name with false ID.”

  “That takes a lot of planning and being able to contact the right people for that sort of thing. Not knowledge the ordinary person would have at their disposal.”

  “Take my word for it. In business you meet all kinds of people, not all of them CEOs or trust-fund babies. It’s not inconceivable that Warren knew someone to go to for stuff like this. It would be expensive, but I doubt he cared about the expense. Hell, when I was in college my roommate produced a fake ID that allowed us to buy beer off campus and that was years ago.” He grinned. We built quite a sizable pyramid of beer cans and then called the campus press to come take a picture.”

  “Oh my God,” Dianne panned. “I’m with someone famous.”

  “Yep,” MJ grinned. “We got into all kinds of stuff Freshman Year.”

  “I don’t think I want to know,” replied Dianne. “Okay. Let’s assume Worth is still in the area. Has the Sheriff come to the same conclusion? Maybe he has his deputies calling around the motels and hotels in the area with a description of Warren.”

  “I don’t know but I’ll ask him first thing in the morning. If not, maybe that’s something that I can do.”

  “Yep and I can do that as well. I don’t have any appointments until tomorrow afternoon but suppose we don’t find him. I mean he could be staying with a friend or camping out somewhere. There’s lots of woods in this area as the discovery of the ATV proves. He could be sleeping in his car or a van. We don’t yet have a description of the vehicle. He might be a city guy now, but he did not start out that way.

  MJ put down his glass and stared at her. “Wait a minute. I think we have a lead on that problem. I talked with Black and he told me that Worth and he and Rossman and a Susie Bencham all played together, went to grade school together and were more or less a single unit. Friends till the end kind of thing. If Worth is still in the area, we should check out Bencham. He might be staying with her if he’s staying with anyone.” He leaned forward in excitement. This might be the break they needed.

  Dianne thought for a moment. “I hate to rain on your parade and, if what you say turns out to be true it could be the sword to cut the Gorgon Knot; however, but they were kids over forty years ago. In that time most women get married and probably move away to wherever they or their husbands have jobs. I think we can find her, but it may take some time.” She walked over to her computer, sat down and typed in some information. She sat back and turned to look at him. “She’s not on Facebook or Twitter. That would have been too easy.” She sighed and tapped in some more information. “I checked the White Pages. There’s a Ralph Bencham listed near Compton. We could start there.

  The Bencham farm was typical of its kind in New England, white rectangular farmhouse with additions made over the years, and a barn and equipment shed to one side. The house was on a slight hillside and above it was a small shed with a chimney, probably for making maple syrup and another larger shed for uses unknown. It all looked peaceful and serene as if some landscape painter had suddenly brought time to a standstill and was sitting across the road busily putting the scene on canvas.

  The woman who opened the door, however, broke the stereotype of the New England farmer. She was fashionably dressed in black slacks with a pale-yellow silk blouse. Her hair was done and was obviously the product of a hairdresser who knew their business. She could have been part of the scene at any high-toned gathering in Hartford, Boston or New York. “Miss Vargas?” She smiled and raised an eyebrow in question.

  “Yes Ma’am. I called yesterday.”

  “Of course. Please come in.” She smiled as if greeting a close friend and opened the door wide, stepping back to let Dianne in. The house was obviously old with high ceilings and real corniches and wainscoting in the dining room. The furniture was bland but appeared to be in good shape, something that Dianne thought unusual considering that the Benchams had at least one child if she was talking to the right family. They were the only Benchams in the area, but one never knew.

  The living room was large with sofa and chairs. A coffee service was already out on the table in front of the couch. “If you take coffee, please help yourself,” Mrs. Bencham told her. “Ralph will be in shortly. He had an appointment this morning with our financial advisor. He swore he’d be back by now, but you know how these things are.” She smiled, shrugged and sat down in a blue cloth chair across from Dianne. “Why don’t you start by explaining why you needed to talk with us? I know you said on the phone it had to do with our daughter Susan, but you were not specific. If there’s something I can’t answer my husband should be able to.”

  Well at least we found the right family, Dianne thought although the difference between the setting and the woman sitting pouring coffee into a delicate looking china cup was a bit disconcerting. “I am trying to locate Susan,” Dianne began. “She’s not in any trouble so you needn’t be alarmed but she may be able to provide information that would be relative to an ongoing investigation.”

  “I see.” Emma Bencham looked at Dianne for a long moment. “You are from the police or sheriff’s department?”

  “I am a private investigator working with the sheriff on a recent murder.”

  “Oh of course. The Pease heiress? I read about it in the paper.”

  “That’s the one. We are trying to locate a Jacob Warren and we were told that he and your daughter were friends when they were growing up.”

  “Yes. Jake and Susan and a couple of other kids were pretty close back then I think. You see Susan’s mother died years ago. I am her step mother and if that position can be awkward and uncomfortable mine was all of that and more.”

  “Was there trouble with Susan?” Dianne probed trying to be as delicate as possible.

  Emma sighed. “This isn’t easy to talk about.” Noticing Dianne’s empty cup, she rose from the couch. “I think if we’re going to get into the weeds here I need something stronger than coffee. Would you like a cocktail? I know it’s a bit early in this part of the world, but I thought I would ask.”

  “Gin and tonic?” Dianne asked and smiled up at her hostess. “I’ve long since given up any rules about when it is proper to have a drink.”

  “Good for you.” Emma seemed to relax for the firs
t time and disappeared into the next room reappearing a minute later with two drinks one of which she handed to Dianne. “Cheers,” she toasted, and they clinked glasses.

  “Okay. When Esther died, Susan took the death of her mother very hard. Ralph and I were not married at the time of course, but I was a friend who came to the house often. Susan, I think, blamed me for being with her father when her mother was still alive and somehow blamed both her dad and me for her mother’s death. She was eighteen at the time and legally her own woman. She would sulk around the house, neglect her chores, do her best to make our lives miserable. I think she wanted her dad and me to break up. When that didn’t happen, she took some cash that we had in our bedroom, emptied out her account at the bank and disappeared.

  “Do you know where she went?”

  “Sorry. No. She never calls and when we tried to email her she changed her email account. She could be living right down the road and we would never know.”

  “Know what?” a small thin man with a wide smile came through the door

  “The Sheriff is trying to locate Susan.”

  The smile disappeared. “I wish we knew. If you locate her how ‘bout letting us know so we can try and reach out to her. I always thought that this type of thing happened to someone else.” He came over and held out his hand. “I’m sorry. I’m forgetting my manners. I’m Ralph Bencham. I see that you have met my wife.” He sat down in the other chair and looked at Dianne with eyes that seemed to hold infinite sadness. I guess her story is far from unusual from the scraps of daytime TV shows that I pick up. Kid rebels and moves away leaving parents to wonder if he or she is still alive and not in some kind of trouble.” He spread his hands that were rough and calloused from work on the farm palms up in a sign of ignorance and surrender. He seemed at once competent and at a loss as to how to explain the loss of his only child. The gesture seemed to ask why this had happened to people who were doing their best and did not deserve the outcome.