When a Secret Kills

by Lynette Eason

  Each took up residence on either side of the door. “Who is it?” Colton asked.

  “Dominic.”

  Colton relaxed. He unlocked the door and stepped to the side. Dominic slipped inside and threw her a smile. “Morning.”

  “Morning,” she said.

  Dominic looked at Colton. “I talked to Rick about twenty minutes ago. He said he’d been trying to call you.”

  “I’ve been a little busy. What’s up?”

  Everyone found a seat and Jillian leaned back against the soft cushioned chair to listen. Dominic said, “He had his night team work on the lake house evidence—go over your truck.”

  Colton’s right brow lifted. “And?”

  “First thing, he ran the DNA on that blood sample from the driveway. Said the person wasn’t in the system so until you have a suspect, we don’t have anything to compare it to.”

  “Right. What else?”

  “There were some fingerprints and we’re still working on identifying them and matching them up. That may take awhile. We’ve ruled out you and Jillian and most of the cleaning crew, but we’ve got a few more to go through.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” Colton sighed. “He had gloves on.”

  “Figures. Could have told me that little detail before we started working the prints.”

  “Sorry. It’s been a long couple of days.”

  “Yeah, well, this is going to make it longer.”

  Great. “What?”

  “You had a tracker mounted right behind your license plate.”

  Colton went white and stilled, muttered something under his breath. Then ran a hand through his hair. “So, that’s how he found Jillian at the lake house.”

  “And found you last night.”

  “When would he have put it on?” Colton asked. Jillian didn’t think he was asking the group, but rather thinking out loud.

  “The fire,” she said. The thought came to her from nowhere, but she figured she was right.

  He looked up at her and gave a slow nod. “I parked down the street out of the way. We got out and walked back to the scene.” Disgust filled his face. “I can’t believe I didn’t check for something like that.”

  Hunter slapped him on the back. “No need to beat yourself up. You had no reason to believe he’d use you to get to Jillian at that point. Shake it off.” He looked around. “But we need to move. He may have followed you to the hotel at one point.”

  “Fine.” Colton looked at Jillian. “Go pack and let’s check out.”

  Dominic pulled out his phone, stood, and moved toward the door to quietly take a call.

  “Okay, so at least we know we need to be sure to check for bugs and GPS trackers from now on.” Colton checked his phone, then looked at Hunter. “Did you get ahold of the dead medical examiner’s wife? Mrs. Benjamin?”

  “Sure did. She’s expecting us in thirty minutes.”

  “Great.”

  “He what?” Dominic’s explosive question grabbed their attention.

  Jillian saw the man’s face pale as he moved toward a chair. He sank onto it and closed his eyes. He reached up and rubbed them as he listened. Finally he said, “I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

  He hung up and the silence in the room made Jillian’s ears hurt.

  Dominic looked up and saw them staring at him. “Sorry. That was Alexia. My dad’s had a massive heart attack. They don’t expect him to live much longer.”

  “Oh no!” Jillian cried. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Yeah.” He looked torn as he stood and walked toward the door. “I’m going to go to the hospital. At least for a little while.”

  Colton jumped up and gave Dominic a man hug. “Get over there now. We’ve got this covered.”

  Serena had told her a little bit on the phone the last time she’d called. The man had been a lousy father and abandoned his family at one point, only to land in jail a few years ago. Upon his release, he’d made his way to town last month only to be diagnosed with Alzheimer’s.

  “Yeah, thanks. I’ll be in touch.” Dominic left.

  Jillian watched as Hunter and Colton discussed plans to visit Gerald Benjamin’s widow. Plans that didn’t sound like they included her. “I’m going with you guys, right?”

  Hunter looked up, the protest on his lips formed but not voiced. She glared at him and he backed down with a deferential wave at Colton.

  “Jillian, you—”

  She stood and planted her hands on her hips, and Colton sighed.

  “Actually, you’ll have to. We can’t take a chance that the person tracked you here. Yeah. You’re going, but you keep silent and do your best to fade into the background, okay?”

  Colton’s phone rang as he pulled to the curb. “Dominic?”

  “Yeah, hey. I’m headed into the hospital, but I got a call on some information I’d requested and you need this before you talk to the widow.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Background on Benjamin.”

  “You found something?”

  “Something big. He had a large deposit made into his account two days after the governor’s car wreck was ruled an accident.”

  “Whoa.” Colton blew out a breath. “Where did it come from?”

  “A local bank. It was from the account of a Mr. Raymond Vance.”

  “How large a deposit?”

  “Fifty grand.”

  “Any large sums going out?”

  “Yeah. Fifty grand. To the hospital I’m getting ready to walk into.”

  The money went to the hospital? Colton frowned. “What was the money used for? Did he have some big medical need?”

  “I’m not sure, but I’ll do my best to find out while I’m here.”

  “Hey, you focus on your dad. I’ll ask Mrs. Benjamin about the money.”

  Dominic agreed and hung up.

  Colton stepped up to the door of the two-story house set in the middle-class neighborhood and rapped his knuckles against the freshly painted wood. Hunter and Jillian stood behind him. He had conflicting thoughts about bringing her along, but the truth of the matter was, he had no idea where he could leave her and not worry about her.

  Within seconds, he could hear footsteps approaching.

  The door opened and Mrs. Annabelle Benjamin questioned them with her eyes. “Detective?” Dressed in a black velour warm-up suit, she looked composed and classy.

  “Yes, ma’am.” Colton held up his badge. “I’m Detective Colton Brady. This is Detective Hunter Graham and Jillian Carter. Could we speak to you for a moment?”

  “Of course, come in.” They stepped into the foyer and waited for her to shut the door. She turned right into the formal living area and motioned for them to have a seat. “Now the detective I spoke with on the phone was rather vague, just said it was about Gerald’s death. Could you be a little more specific?”

  Colton leaned in. “We’re investigating a case and it’s led us to your husband’s death.”

  “That was ten years ago.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He took a deep breath. “Is there anything you can think of about his death that struck you as . . . odd?”

  Her lips tightened and she glanced back and forth between Colton and Hunter. Finally her gaze landed on Jillian who’d been sitting quietly, apparently doing her best to obey Colton’s orders for silence and fading.

  “Odd?” Her hands twisted together as she sat in the red-and-gray wingback chair. “Why do you ask? Ten years after the fact?”

  Colton rubbed his chin. “We’ve recently come across some evidence related to another case that suggests his death may not have been an . . . accident.”

  She narrowed her eyes as she leaned in with nostrils flaring. “I’ve said that until I was blue in the face. Why listen to me now?”

  “Ma’am, we weren’t working that case back then and I’m sorry no one seemed to listen. Could you just go through it all with us? We’re listening now, I promise.”

  Some of her defensive anger left
her. “All right. Why not?” She stood and paced to the mantel to look up at the portrait hanging on the wall above. The man in the painting sat in a red leather chair behind a desk. He wore a lab coat, and the stethoscope around his neck looked like it belonged there. He had styled salt-and-pepper hair and blue eyes that sparkled with gentle humor. “He was a good man with a tender, godly heart. We have three children, all grown now, married and with children of their own.” Sadness tightened the area around her eyes. “They’ll never know him or benefit from his wisdom.”

  Colton thought he saw a sheen of tears in Jillian’s eyes before she looked down at the floor. Hunter, although not without sympathy, shifted as though he wanted to hurry the woman along, but Colton shook his head in silent communication to let her talk.

  Mrs. Benjamin continued. “That’s what eats at me. That his grandchildren will never know him. He was only forty-nine when he died.” She took a deep breath and turned to face them. “Yes, he was allergic to bees. But he always carried his epi-pen. Why was it still in the cooler? The minute he felt the first sting, he would have gone for the pen. And yet the cooler sat by the chair, untouched.” She shrugged. “When I brought that up to the police, they didn’t seem concerned. I went to the captain. He said it could be that Gerald wasn’t near enough to get to the cooler. But I looked at the pictures of the scene. He was right in front of the chair, the cooler not more than three feet behind him. And where did the bees come from? That was Gerald’s favorite spot. He always kept the area sprayed so he didn’t have to worry about being stung. He loved the outdoors, but took precautions. And yet, a swarm of bees made their way to that particular area on that particular day.” She shook her head. “I don’t believe it.”

  “We didn’t know he had the area sprayed,” Colton said. “Did anyone else?”

  “Just Conrad and Miranda.”

  “The Pikes?”

  “Yes. Conrad was his fishing buddy. They were supposed to meet that morning at 9:00, but Conrad got an email from Gerald asking him to wait a couple of hours before coming because Gerald had a last-minute autopsy to do.”

  “Did he?” Hunter asked.

  “Not that I knew about. When I questioned the hospital, they said there was one on the books, but Gerald never showed up.”

  “Then why would he send Mr. Pike the email if he didn’t plan on doing the autopsy?” Jillian asked.

  Colton shot her a look that he hoped conveyed his need for her to be quiet. But the question was a good one. He looked to Mrs. Benjamin and waited for her answer.

  She said, “I’ve asked that very same question. I checked his email and there was definitely one sent to Conrad, but it didn’t come from Gerald’s computer.” She sniffed. “I had a friend of ours who is a computer expert look into it and he said the email had been routed through so many IP addresses, it would take him days to figure it out. I told him to find out and would pay him for his trouble. He wouldn’t take my money but managed to discover that the email was sent from a local internet café, Cooper’s Corner, over on Green Street.”

  “That’s on the University of South Carolina campus. There’s no way to even trace that today, much less ten years ago,” Colton said. Hunter nodded.

  “Exactly.” Mrs. Benjamin drew in a deep breath. “My husband would not go to an internet café to send an email when he could do it from home. The officers I spoke to suggested he was there for reasons he didn’t want me to know about. Then I . . . received something in the mail that suggested I might not want to continue my questions. At that point, I dropped it and decided to pray about it.” She offered a slight smile. “I wonder if you’re my answer.”

  20

  Jillian felt quite sure they were the answer. This woman had been praying ten years for justice. So had Jillian. Only Jillian knew the time had come to act on those prayers. God, please allow me to survive this and bring justice to the men who deserve it.

  “He has people working for him,” she said softly.

  “What?” Mrs. Benjamin looked at her, seeming to really take a good look at her for the first time. Jillian ignored Colton’s exasperated look and said, “Whoever killed your husband isn’t working alone. He has friends in high places.”

  “You’re not one of the detectives, are you?”

  “No. I . . . saw something ten years ago. It’s one of the things that’s led us to you. I can’t tell you what I saw yet, but trust me, your husband was murdered because of something he knew.”

  Grief flickered in the woman’s eyes. “I couldn’t figure out why someone would want him dead, but a few weeks before he died, he was jittery and constantly looking over his shoulder. He wanted me to leave and go visit my mother, or stay with one of the children, but I had a daughter recovering from an operation and didn’t have time for that. And all of my questioning and prying wouldn’t loosen his tongue.” She swallowed hard. “I caught him praying in his study, his head bent—he was weeping and begging God for forgiveness.”

  “For what?” Hunter asked.

  “I don’t know.” She shook her head. “It was such a private moment between him and God, I simply turned and walked to my bedroom, knelt by the bed, and added my prayers to his.” Tears leapt into her eyes. “I don’t know if you understand this, but even though I didn’t know what Gerald was praying for, God knew. And he would hear my prayers too.”

  “Did Gerald ever tell you?”

  “No.” The woman lifted a hand to swipe a stray tear. Her forehead crinkled as she thought. “But he did say he’d made a decision. He said he’d done something he couldn’t live with and now he had to make it right.”

  Colton said, “Did anything significant happen in the weeks before your husband’s death? Something he would have needed a lot of money for?”

  The frown stayed in place. She stared at Colton. “Why would you ask that?”

  “Fifty thousand dollars was deposited into your husband’s checking account on June 10th. On June 11th, that same amount was paid out to Baptist Hospital.”

  The woman went so pale that Colton rose, ready to catch her should she fall from the chair. She steadied herself and he lowered back into his seat. “Tracy’s surgery.”

  “What?”

  “My daughter had a kidney transplant.” She rubbed her lips and closed her eyes. “We were swimming in debt, the house was mortgaged to the hilt. Tracy was dying and needed a kidney. She’d had a car accident as a teen and had to have her left kidney removed.” She shrugged. “We were concerned, but she had another good kidney and people live productive, healthy lives with one kidney. Only now, her good kidney was barely functioning. Dialysis was working for her, but she’d let her insurance lapse and we didn’t know it. She came to us and told us she needed fifty thousand dollars before the hospital would even consider putting her on the list for a transplant. I was devastated. We didn’t have that kind of money, not with all of our debt. We were barely hanging on to the house. We started selling things off, asked neighbors to help collect donations.” She gave a little self-conscious laugh. “On the outside, we looked like we had it all. A wealthy doctor’s family. But on the inside . . .” She sighed. “On the inside, we were spinning our wheels to keep up the appearance. Only by this time, I didn’t care.” She snorted. “Appearances. What did that matter when my daughter’s life was at stake?”

  Mrs. Benjamin stood, walked over to the desk, and picked up the picture of a young woman dressed in a hospital gown. “Miraculously, my husband found the money. He borrowed it from my parents. I’ll never know where they found the money—and they’re not saying—but they gave it to us.” She looked up. “And Tracy got her kidney. On June 14th. And my husband was a different man from that point on. Happy and depressed at the same time. Angry one minute, then apologetic the next. I asked and asked him what was wrong. And he wouldn’t tell me. He started losing weight, spending time in his study praying and crying.” She spread her hands in a helpless gesture that made Jillian want to hug her. “Then he died—and I wa
s left with even more questions.”

  Colton said, “Well, maybe we can find some of those answers for you. Are you still in touch with Conrad Pike and his wife?”

  Mrs. Benjamin smiled as she placed her daughter’s photo back in its spot on the desk. “Yes. Every once in a while we’ll have dinner, but it’s not the same.”

  “Have you discussed your husband’s death with them?”

  “Of course. They also agree something wasn’t right, but we just never got anywhere with the authorities.”

  “What are your parents’ names?”

  “Ray and Sheila Vance. Why?”

  Before Colton could answer, Jillian asked, “What did you get in the mail that made you decide to quit asking questions?”

  Mrs. Benjamin stared at them for a moment, then went to the desk in the corner of the room. She opened the bottom drawer and withdrew a manila envelope. “This.”

  With a raised brow, Colton took the envelope from her and opened it. Jillian scooted forward to peer over his shoulder.

  Colton reached in and pulled out a photo. Jillian gasped and looked up at the woman who stood with her hands clasped in front of her. “Is that your daughter?”

  “Yes. My other daughter, Amelia, with her husband and my grandson. She’d just had the baby about two months before that came.”

  Jillian shuddered. “So that’s why you stopped asking questions and started praying.”

  “Exactly.” The sweet picture of the family was marred by the big red bull’s-eye drawn around it with the words, “Stop being nosy or they’re next.” Jillian read the words aloud.

  “I put the envelope in the drawer and never said another word about anything. Until now.”

  Jillian looked at Colton, then Hunter. “So what do we do now?”

  “Get this to Rick.” Colton slid the picture back in the envelope. “I don’t know that he can find anything off of here but we’ll try.” He looked at Hunter. “Will you get me an evidence bag from the car?”

  “Sure.” Hunter left and Colton looked at Mrs. Benjamin. “Thank you for talking to us.”

  “I want justice done.” She tightened her lips and lifted her chin. “It’s what Gerald would have wanted too.” She frowned. “I just hope I haven’t placed my daughter’s family in danger.”