Nate jerked open his driver’s door, slamming it bull’s-eye into the young man’s gut. Sent him flying on his rear. As Nate scrambled out, the rest of us pulled our guns on our runner.
The guy’s hands shot in the air. “I didn’t do anything. I didn’t do anything,” he shouted in a whiny, defensive tone I’d recognize anywhere. Ben’s.
22
“Ben?” My voice choked up with a rush of emotion. Oh, wow, I hadn’t realized until that moment how worried I’d been about him. I’m not sure I would’ve recognized him if he hadn’t spoken, though.
His former blond crew cut had grown out into a mousey brown shag, and he had the kind of beard donned by terrorists in the video clips they were so fond of airing. I shuddered.
“Benjamin Hill, you have a lot of explaining to do.”
“This is the nephew?” Tanner braced his hands on his knees and sucked in air.
“You okay?” I asked.
“Yeah. I caught him in the backyard, but the kid’s slippery.”
Moore patted Ben down and then pulled a pair of handcuffs from his utility belt.
“Those won’t be necessary,” I said. “Will they, Ben?”
“No,” Ben said between huffs of his own. “I’m on your side.”
I bristled at the claim I’d heard far too many times from worse slime than Ben. Although if he’d been smuggling antiquities for the slimeball who killed Uncle Jack, I might have to rethink the rating. “Why’d you tell Ashley you missed your flight?” I asked, hoping to lower his guard a little further before asking about Charlie’s and Jack’s deaths.
“I hated to not be there for her. I swear. But I had to figure out what was going on.”
“Okay, so explain it to us.”
“Don’t you have to read him his rights first?” Nate asked.
Ben’s eyes practically popped out of his head. “What’s he talking about? I didn’t kill Charlie!”
“His is the least of the suspicious deaths you look good for,” Nate said.
I glared at him. We were just talking. Ben wasn’t under arrest.
Nate splayed his fingers, palms out, and backed out of my way. Moore impatiently slapped the handcuffs he was still holding against the side of his leg.
Okay, clearly as far as Moore was concerned, Ben was under arrest. I recited his Miranda rights.
Ben vigorously shook his head. “Serena, you know I’d never kill Uncle Jack.”
“We know you were already on the island that night, and your lies to Ashley about your whereabouts are pretty incriminating,” I said.
“Yes, I arrived earlier than planned and hitchhiked to Uncle Jack’s. But when I got to his house, he wasn’t there. I saw a woman through the window. I assumed it was Ashley. I dropped my backpack behind the porch chair and called to her. Whoever was inside doused the lights, and the next thing I knew I was waking up on the porch with a sore head.”
“What time was that?”
“I don’t know. Late. After dark. At first I thought Ashley must’ve figured I was a prowler and bonked me, but then that didn’t make sense. Once I was out, she would’ve recognized me.” He scratched his beard. “Even with this. That’s when I realized I must’ve surprised a prowler. I let myself in the house, but it didn’t look as if it’d been trashed or anything. I searched the fridge for ice for my head, and when I couldn’t find any, I headed across the compound to Ashley’s. But she wasn’t home either, so I started walking to Preston’s, figuring I’d find her there.”
“Why didn’t you just call her cell phone?”
“I wanted to surprise her.”
“Okay, so then what happened?”
“Lisa was driving out of the beach area as I came up on Preston’s place. I must’ve looked out of it, swaying and stuff, because she ordered me into her car. I told her she could just leave me at Preston’s, but there were no lights on at his place.”
I exchanged a glance with Nate. Preston had said he was home the night Jack died.
“We tried calling Uncle Jack a few times over the next couple of hours, and finally Lisa suggested I just sleep on her couch until morning. I ended up sleeping until early afternoon.” He rubbed his head, as if remembering the goose egg he’d incurred. “By then Lisa had gone out, so I walked down to Jack’s. I saw Marianne’s red sports car whip into the driveway, then saw the cop a nanosecond before Carly accused me and Ashley of murdering Uncle Jack.”
Ben clutched his head. “I dropped to my knees, stunned. Then self-preservation kicked in and I ducked into the woods.”
“Why?”
“I figured I knew why Uncle Jack had been killed. And that I’d be next.”
My heart dropped a beat as my mind flashed to the hit-and-run that could’ve taken out Dad and me. “Why’s that?”
He slanted an edgy glance from Tanner to Moore.
Moore narrowed his eyes. “We know about the drug ring. You give us names and we’ll make sure you have protection.”
Ben looked at Moore as if the policeman were smoking way too much of the drugs he was all but accusing Ben of smuggling.
“Ben?” I pressed when he didn’t respond.
Ben’s gaze snapped back to mine. “I don’t know anything about drugs.”
Moore emitted an impatient grunt. “This is getting us nowhere.” He ratcheted the handcuff and slapped it onto Ben’s wrist. “We’ll finish this at the station.”
Ben struggled against his hold. “What are you arresting me for? I didn’t—”
“Breaking and entering for a start.” Moore clamped the second bracelet around Ben’s other wrist.
“Wait.” I clasped Moore’s arm as he repeated Ben’s Miranda warning, which I was sure was only meant to intimidate Ben further since Moore didn’t intend to question him until they got to the station, where the warning would have to be repeated yet again.
I waited for Moore to finish, then asked Ben again, “Why was Jack killed?”
Ben’s shoulders slumped, the fight draining out of him. “Because we were going to report an antiquity smuggling scheme to the feds,” he said softly.
It was the assumption I’d been investigating under, but hearing him voice it aloud still kicked up my heart rate. “If you believed that, why didn’t you go straight to the police?”
“Because . . . I was afraid that’s what got Uncle Jack killed.”
“We’d better continue this interview inside,” Tanner said and directed a pointed look past Nate’s car to a woman and her poodle, walking at a snail’s pace on the other side of Charlie’s street.
A neighbor or two peered from their front windows at us as well. None looked particularly worrisome, but given what happened at Joe’s and the excitement with the brakes, the fewer people who knew who I was interrogating the better.
I shot Detective Moore a firm look. “Agreed?”
He emitted a huff but muscled Ben toward the house, where Carly now stood behind the screen door, her arms wrapped around her middle.
Trailing behind them, I sent Isaak a quick text to alert him we’d found Ben at Charlie’s and he had information about the antiquity smuggling.
He texted back: On my way.
“I guess you still want me to wait in the car,” Nate called after us.
He’d been instrumental in Charlie’s capture, so it seemed cruel to cut him out of the action now.
“Good plan,” Tanner said, falling into step beside me.
“Actually, maybe you should take over lookout duties,” I said to Tanner, “in case there are any grounds to Ben’s fears that the police can’t be trusted.”
“As you wish.”
I did a double take. Wait a minute. Was that a Princess Bride reference?
He gave me an innocent-looking grin.
Nate eyed the exchange. “Thanks, Farm Boy,” he said drily, taking Tanner’s place at my side.
Carly stepped onto the porch and held open the screen door for Moore and Ben.
Nate motioned me insid
e as he introduced himself to Carly and relieved her of door duty. “You must be Carly. I’m so sorry for your loss.”
A truck slowed in front of the house, and Nate ushered Carly inside before she became the subject of gawkers too.
We joined Moore and Ben in the living room. Moore hadn’t removed Ben’s handcuffs but had at least made the concession of switching them to the front so Ben could sit comfortably. He smirked at Nate, then whispered in my ear, “Switch-hitting the sidekicks?”
I rolled my eyes at the joke.
Grinning more broadly, he moved behind Ben and casually leaned against the wall, his attention shifting to Carly.
I took the chair opposite Ben. “So how’d you find out about this antiquity smuggling scheme?”
“He’s lying!” Carly clutched the back of the chair she’d been about to sit in. “My brother wasn’t a smuggler.” She glared at Ben. “Isn’t it bad enough my brother’s dead without you ruining his character?”
“I take it you knew Ben was hiding in the bedroom?” I said. “And . . . chose not to tell us?”
Carly darted a wary glance Moore’s way, then folded shaky arms over her chest. “He was here when I got here. Told me this ridiculous story about my brother. Then Frank showed up and Ben grabbed my arms, told me to stay quiet about his being here.”
Okay, that explained the marks on her arms.
“He said Frank may be connected to Charlie’s death,” Carly went on, shooting Ben another sour look. “Which is crazy. Frank wasn’t here to snoop. Not like Ben. Then the police showed up and I didn’t know what to do. Those first two cops searched the rooms and didn’t find Ben, so I figured he’d gotten away while Frank and I were talking.” She snuck another glance at Moore, whose face had reddened at the revelation of his colleagues’ incompetence.
I returned my attention to Ben. “Do you have proof Charlie was smuggling antiquities?”
“He mailed them to the island. I didn’t see the name on the package, but it was a PO box in Edgartown.”
“How big was the package?”
Ben mimed a box double the size of a shoe box.
I glanced at Moore. “The police find anything like that when they searched the place?”
“Nope.”
“Can you call the Edgartown Post Office and ask if a parcel has come in from South America?”
“I can’t believe this,” Carly shouted. “Ben breaks into Charlie’s house the day after my brother is killed and you’re going to believe what he says. How do we know he didn’t send whatever he claims Charlie mailed?”
“What was mailed?” I asked Ben.
“A polychrome Maya pot. I’ve been researching subsistence diggers for an article and then I spotted Charlie buying this pot from one of them.”
Yeah, probably for less than fifty dollars when Maya pots sold for upward of ten thousand dollars to final buyers in the United States.
“I figured Charlie wasn’t up on the law and warned him if the government caught him leaving the country with antiquities, he could be in big trouble.”
“How did he respond?”
“He said it was just a souvenir for a friend. Not to worry about it. We laughed about the chances of meeting up in a small Guatemalan town, had lunch together, then parted ways.”
“But you saw him mail the pot?”
“Yeah, I followed him to the post office.”
Moore pocketed his phone and narrowed his gaze on Carly. He was no doubt gauging what she knew about her brother’s alleged side business.
“What does it matter if Charlie did or didn’t mail it?” Carly shrieked. “He’s dead. You should be looking for his murderer, not dragging his name through the mud when he can’t defend himself. How do we know you’re not blaming Charlie just to get yourself off the hook for whatever you’re caught up in? Is it drugs?” She waved her hand at Moore. “That’s what those cops were trying to pin on Charlie this morning. And for all I know”—she pointed at Ben—“you killed him.”
23
“You’re talking crazy,” Ben shouted at Carly.
An uncomfortable tension cinched my chest. There could be something to Carly’s accusations against Ben. Charlie’s frequent trips abroad certainly set him up nicely to take the fall. Had I been too quick to give Ben the benefit of the doubt?
Moore, on the other hand, appeared bemused by Carly’s accusations.
“I didn’t kill Charlie,” Ben reiterated.
I shot him my lie-detector squint to see if he’d crack, the way he used to as a preteen.
“Who’s the buyer?” Detective Moore asked, getting to the crux of the matter, and to who, if Ben could be believed, was likely behind the deaths and attacks on me.
“I don’t know,” Ben said. “Uncle Jack and I were going to press Charlie for details when I got home. Jack figured the feds would offer Charlie a deal in exchange for information and the return of the antiquities.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Carly snapped. “Jack was about to marry our mother. He wouldn’t turn in his future stepson!”
“No, that’s the reason he’d want to help him,” Ben countered.
“How is it that you’re such an expert on antiquities?” Moore pressed.
“I told you. I’m writing an article on subsistence diggers. If he’d bought from a street vendor, I’m not sure I would’ve been able to tell if it was real or fake any better than he would.”
“Would you recognize drugs if you saw them?” Detective Moore shot me a look that said I was being played.
“Jack called the feds to report an antiquity smuggling ring and cited Ben as the source,” I informed Moore. “Has the post office seen the parcel come in?”
“They’re looking into it.”
“It could’ve been held up at Customs.”
Moore gave a terse nod, then glanced at Carly, who looked ready to tear Ben limb from limb. Not that I could blame her.
Nate snagged my attention and mouthed casserole lady.
I frowned.
“Marianne’s fight with Jack the night he died,” he whispered close to my ear.
Right, the fight Diana told us about when she dropped off the casserole. A fight about turning Marianne’s son over to the authorities? I turned to Carly. “Your mother and Jack fought before Jack headed to Menemsha Hills the night he died. Do you know what that was about?”
“No.”
“She didn’t mention it?”
“No.”
I found that hard to believe given Marianne had lamented about it with Diana, but maybe Carly and her mother didn’t have that kind of relationship.
I returned my attention to Ben. “Outside you said you didn’t go to the police because you were afraid that’s why Uncle Jack was killed. How do you figure?”
“I had no idea who Charlie was working for. For all I knew, he could’ve been a cop or in cahoots with them, or someone who was rich enough to ensure our allegations never went anywhere . . . one way or another.”
“But Jack wasn’t killed,” Carly blurted, albeit a tad less adamantly than when she’d accused Ben and Ashley of killing him mere days ago. “That officer said I was wrong.” She swiped at the tears that spilled onto her cheeks.
An attempt to protect her mother? The fact Marianne found Jack’s body had put her on my suspect list the day I arrived, coupled with the fact I didn’t really know her. Finding her rummaging around in Jack’s house the next day, purportedly in search of more photos for a slide show for the funeral had also niggled my latent suspicions. And this revelation meant she had motive—to save her son from jail.
But it didn’t explain Charlie’s death. Unless . . .
“When did you learn Jack planned to turn Charlie over to the authorities?” I asked her.
Carly froze like a deer caught in the headlights. Several seconds passed. “Just now,” she whispered.
I shook my head. “You cut Ben off before he’d even accused Charlie.”
She squirmed. “Ben told m
e earlier.”
Ben affirmed her statement with a nod.
“Then what did you and Charlie talk about when you met in Edgartown the other day?” I asked.
The pulse point on her neck visibly bounced. “You’ve been following me?”
“Now why would I do that?” I baited, not quite believing the torment etched in her face was solely grief.
Her crossed arms tightened across her chest. “I have no idea.”
I paused to see if she’d spill whatever she was clearly hiding.
She didn’t.
“I went to Edgartown to speak to Jack’s partner, and I noticed you talking to Charlie on the street,” I said.
Her tense posture softened and she took another swipe at the tears rolling down her cheeks.
Nate pressed a tissue into her hand.
“Thank you,” she murmured, then to me said, “We talked about Mom. She fell apart after her last husband died. Ended up in the hospital. We were worried how she’d be.” Carly gulped down a sob. “Now . . . now . . . with Charlie gone . . .”
Nate squeezed her shoulder comfortingly and Carly fell silent, pressing the tissue to her eyes.
I steeled myself against the sobs welling up in my own chest and forced myself to focus. If the fight between Jack and Marianne had been about Charlie, would Marianne have told her son? The same night? After he got home and learned of Jack’s death? It would’ve given Charlie motive to drive by Jack’s house and see what incriminating evidence he might find. Only to find Dad and me coming out of the house.
An inspection of Charlie’s front bumper should answer that question.
But it wouldn’t identify the person responsible for his death—his partner, I suspected. Because as far as the partner was concerned, Charlie was the only one who could ID him and therefore the only loose end.
“Can you go now please?” Carly pleaded. “I just want to be left alone.”
My heart went out to her. Getting to the bottom of who murdered Jack was how I dealt with my grief. Or maybe how I avoided dealing with it.
Over Maya Dead Body Page 19