Naomi suddenly felt lightheaded. She did know—or at least she thought she knew—what happened between Bennett and the group of older girls last year. Then she remembered what happened the other night when Jenny received the volleyball shorts that were too big. Bennett left the room and followed her, but to where? The girls’ locker room?
Her brain hurt. She was thinking too far into these speculations, yet she still found herself opening drawers and cabinets, looking for clues to suggest he was the killer who had taken her friend.
What did she really know about Bennett besides he lived alone? Not much.
In her search through his bathroom, she found unopened tooth brushes, first-aid supplies, washcloths, towels, and a can of air freshener. Nothing suggested he was anything other than who he portrayed himself as. A normal middle-aged man who lived a completely boring life.
Naomi took a step back and inhaled a deep breath. Calming her sudden fit of panic, she didn’t understand some of the rumors circling the school that said he was a creep who spent too much time with kids. He was a good coach, a dedicated teacher. She could sympathize with him. Couldn’t she?
The doorbell rang and Naomi turned her head toward the door. Her heart jumped into her throat. She didn’t want anyone to know she was here. If anyone found out, then rumors would really start to fly.
Slowly, she tiptoed her way to the door and pressed an ear against it. She tried to hear who was at the front door. When she couldn’t hear anything, she reached for the door handle and cracked the door open only to be surprised by Bennett.
“Good. You’re here,” he said.
“Who is at the door?”
“I don’t know, but stay here. It’s better that we keep your visit to ourselves.”
Naomi did as she was told and tucked herself behind the door. She kept an eye on Bennett as he hurried to clean up the kitchen. Why did he suggest keeping her visit a secret? Were the rumors true? She thought Bennett seemed scared, perhaps paranoid, and Naomi wondered who could be at the door. Ruth? Her mom? Susan?
“Who is it?” she whispered.
“Just stay put.” He snapped his finger at her.
Naomi kept the door cracked and listened to Bennett exhale a deep breath as if collecting his thoughts before finally answering the door.
Then Naomi heard a woman’s voice say, “Mr. Nicholas Bennett?”
“Please. No cameras,” Bennett said.
Naomi’s heart raced. Cameras? She scooted across the floor and pulled her knees to her chest. She closed her eyes and fought back the tears as she heard the next words.
“Mr. Bennett, you’re a teacher at South High, isn’t that right?”
“I am. And I’d be happy to talk, but without the cameras.”
Seeming to ignore his requests, Naomi heard the woman press harder. “There are allegations you’ve had inappropriate relations with some of your students.”
“That’s it. You’re done. Please leave.”
A small scuffle and protest broke out. Naomi couldn’t believe what she was hearing.
“Mr. Bennett, when was the last time a student was inside your home?” The woman paused for a quick beat before continuing. “Is there one inside now?”
Naomi’s temperature spiked. She’d been caught, possibly followed. Had she been set up? Or was Bennett the monster people thought he was? The woman’s voice sounded familiar, but Naomi couldn’t place it. Was it someone from the school? But what about the cameras? Then it hit. She was from a local news station. Oh my god.
“Mr. Bennett,” the woman asked again, “is there a student with you now?”
Naomi stood, opened the door, and peeked around the corner. She watched as the news lady held up a smartphone Naomi recognized. It was Tommy’s. The one Mr. Helton was supposed to have kept and locked away forever. How did she get it?
“Is this yours?” the news lady asked Bennett.
Bennett stared as if looking at a foreign object.
“It was given to me by someone who said it was yours. Can you guess what I found on it? No? Well, let me tell you. There are explicit pictures of a student of yours. Any idea how it got there?”
Naomi knew what picture she was referring to. She slammed the bathroom door open and hurried to the front of the house. Bennett spun around with a look of disappointment flashing over his eyes. He’d been caught in a lie.
“It’s not his,” Naomi said, feeling the cameras turn to her. “That phone. It’s mine.”
Chapter Seventy
I couldn’t believe what the world was witnessing. Karen and I stared at the TV screen with tight expressions. My insides flinched with each question Heidi Mitchell shot at Bennett, hitting his integrity like a dozen sharp arrows meant to kill.
He was knocked off balance and it made him look guilty. Optics were everything, and I hoped Heidi had this right. The world would now forever see him as the man she made him out to be. Guilty.
This was where she ran off to, I thought. Bennett was the person she’d alluded to at last night’s press conference. I didn’t know how I hadn’t pieced it together before this. If I had, could I have saved him from embarrassment? Bennett still didn’t make sense to me. The majority of child abductions were at the hands of parents, close relatives, and rarely done at the hands of nonfamily.
Rob twisted around and gave his wife a look that said, I told you so. “I knew something was off with him. He’s a loner who spends far too much time with young people. Particularly girls.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat, feeling the tension mount. Beneath Heidi’s broadcast read, BREAKING NEWS: Police are still searching for the missing teen, Jessica Hinojos.
There was no mention of Jenny Booth. Though it bothered me, I didn’t allow it to distract my focus. I asked Karen if Bennett could have been the teacher who walked in on her daughter changing. When she rolled her eyes to me, her expression was similar to Bennett’s, one of shock and fear swirling between the confusion.
“Of course it was.” Rob opened his palm and pointed to the TV. “You think she’s just there to make this stuff up? Look at him. He looks like a man who has finally been caught.”
Rob was livid. I was surprised he immediately sided with Heidi. Once again, I was thinking about what Nancy Jordan revealed—Daniels controlling Heidi’s career, including the source I assumed Heidi was now using against Bennett. Did Heidi know the facts? I wasn’t convinced she did. At least not fully.
“I never liked that guy.” Rob kept shaking his head back and forth. “Bennett was always with those girls. Day. Night. Weekends. I can’t believe the school employed a pedophile.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Karen begin to side with her husband. It wasn’t my place to stick up for a man I barely knew, so when Allison called my cell in absolute hysterics, I took the call in the hallway. “Slow down, hun. I’m watching the news too.”
“He’s not the man she’s making him out to be. He’s a good man. Sam, why are they doing this to him?”
“I don’t know,” I whispered into my phone.
Allison knew Bennett best. She had a great sense of moral character. I trusted her opinion. It was partly why she spent half of her adult life single—as she put it to me, “The men worth keeping have all been snagged.”
When I turned and glanced at the TV, my heart stopped. As soon as I saw Naomi Moss rush toward the cameras from inside Bennett’s house, I knew he was doomed.
Chapter Seventy-One
Thirsty leaned his shoulder against the window frame and sipped his Irish coffee as he peered through the glass and into his backyard. With a valium settling into his bloodstream, relaxation was finally coming his way. Though still anxious, he felt the need to keep busy. Or maybe it was the young woman tanning on his lounger that left him feeling unsettled.
He curled his lips over the rim of his mug and gazed up into the bright sunlight, unable to decide what kept him feeling uneasy. There wasn’t a single cloud in the baby blue sky and, for some
reason, that made him feel exposed.
The girl turned her head and said something he couldn’t decipher.
Thirsty stared at his stepdaughter’s pretty friend, wishing he could read lips. Her eyes were hidden behind dark tinted glasses, allowing him only to imagine the Caribbean blue eyes that took his breath away. She had a full body, thinly covered by a skimpy bikini meant for women much older than her.
Girls these days. They wanted to grow up so fast.
The sound of high heels approached, and Thirsty heard them come to an abrupt halt directly behind him. He didn’t bother to greet his wife, though he could feel her piercing judgmental gaze bore a hole into the back of his skull. Instead, he continued to drink his coffee and stare at the underage girl’s slender neck.
Why couldn’t he be as happy as they looked? When did his happiness stop?
“School was canceled,” his wife said in an authoritative tone.
Thirsty could see his wife without having to look. Her hip cocked to the side, arms folded as she gave him the look. The look of disappointment, like she’d married the wrong man.
“I heard,” he said. “One of their classmates is dead, another missing, and this is how they react?”
No one cared. Life was cheap—nothing more than a false illusion created by the sickness of our minds. We were either stuck in or damaged by the past, or chasing an unattainable future that may never come to be. His mind was unsettled, and he thought maybe he needed to up his dosage of medication.
“What would you prefer them to do?” his wife asked.
He raised his mug, took a small sip, and let his head float back up into the clouds. Wedging his hand inside his pants pocket, he retrieved a single Vicodin and popped it into his mouth.
“I don’t know,” he said. “Show some respect.”
The heels clacked across the room and he listened as his wife turned the volume up on the news. Thirsty listened, not caring much about what they said, and began taking pictures of his stepdaughter’s friend with his phone.
“Are you serious?” his wife snapped, catching him in the act.
Thirsty dropped his phone by his side, slowly turned, and walked to the fruit bowl. “What?” He picked up an apple. “The fruit is ripe this time of year.”
His wife looked disgusted, maybe slightly worried. She asked, “Have you been taking your medication?”
“It’s the reason I can’t sleep.”
“Are you taking it as the doctor prescribed?”
He glared, then flicked his gaze to the news. Now this is interesting, he thought.
“Maybe we should schedule an appointment or get a second evaluation,” his wife said. “I heard you restless and awake last night. What time did you get in?”
Thirsty didn’t hear his wife. A bubble closed over his ears as the news stole his attention away. A teacher. Of course. How brilliant?!
His wife followed his gaze to the television screen and said, “It makes me sick to know someone is kidnapping and killing these girls.”
“There has only been one murder,” he reminded his wife as he watched her collect her purse and keys, preparing to leave the house.
“One too many,” she said as she headed out the door.
He gave her a small wave goodbye and continued staring at the TV. Thirsty loved how the police hadn’t named him as a suspect. The real question was why Owen Daniels deployed Heidi Mitchell to this poor teacher’s house when they should be focused solely on finding Eva Martin.
Were these the ratings you wanted, Executive Producer? Of course they aren’t. You can do better. And so can I. But, first, you’ll just have to find her. Find her for both of us.
Thirsty needed those news bastards to lead him to Eva. And when they did, he’d be ready to retrieve the one who got away.
Chapter Seventy-Two
King’s vision blurred as he rubbed the dryness out of his eye. He’d worked throughout the night again, and now he was doubting his own effectiveness until he finally spotted something of use.
Pausing the security clip from outside the fill station where Jenny Booth was last seen, he clicked on his computer mouse and zoomed in on the man’s face. It was a clear shot, but did it mean anything?
Curling his fingers over his keyboard, King did a quick internet search. A second later, Archie Smith’s image populated his screen. He compared his search results with the security footage. It was a clear match. Taken a half-hour before Jenny Booth went missing, the man he was now looking at was the reporter Samantha had warned him about.
King leaned back and his chair squeaked beneath his weight.
Was this coincidence or proof that Archie might be a person of interest like Samantha suggested?
Tapping the ballpoint of his pen against his notepad, King knew he had nothing more than a hunch so far. This suggested nothing about who might have taken Jenny. It wasn’t like Archie was the only person to fill his gas tank that day. But something about it had King thinking.
King scrubbed a hand over his face, thoughts churning, remembering Sam telling him that Archie took a photo of Eva. Alvarez talking on the phone at the next desk over brought him back to the present.
“Jessica’s mother didn’t know who the men could be,” Alvarez said, “but is deeply afraid her daughter will die if we don’t find her soon.”
King didn’t know who his partner was talking to. He stayed with his line of thinking and wrote down Archie Smith’s name next to Naomi Moss’s—they were both at the gas station where Jenny was kidnapped. Around him, computer keys clacked and phones rang. The discovery of Megan Hines shocked the department awake like a defibrillator placed over a dead heart, but it was Jessica’s abduction while the police had their backs turned that had everyone scrambling to know just who they were chasing.
Someone smarter than me, King thought. But was that someone Archie Smith? A young journalist turned true crime writer? If so, where was the link?
King set his pen down and went back to clicking around on his computer. He navigated back to the footage taken from Jessica’s abduction and wound the clock back a few hours before it happened. He fast forwarded the video, always looking for a sign of Archie. A half-hour passed before he stopped. This time, King didn’t find him in any of the footage.
King’s thoughts were now stuck on the two men with obscure faces who brazenly took Jessica out of her mother’s arms while walking late last night. The police had nothing to identify the men, leaving King feeling absolutely inadequate. This attack was different from the previous abductions. King no longer though it was one suspect they were chasing, rather two parties working simultaneously.
Alvarez ended his call, cradled the receiver, and said, “I hope you’re not here to speak to my partner about anything other than murder?”
King turned his head and found Detective Gray responding to Alvarez’s comment with a witty response of her own. Then she stepped forward and picked up King’s notepad and said, “Jessica has many relatives, some with priors, but they’ve all checked out.”
King pointed to his computer screen. “Recognize him?”
“I’m familiar,” Gray said, mentioning Archie’s fascinating coverage on the Prom Queen Killer. “But what does he have to do with my case?”
Staring into Gray’s eyes, King said, “He was at the same fill station half an hour before Jenny disappeared.” Then he explained his two suspects theory, making a bold prediction, “One possible theory is that suspect number one learned and got better with time after his mistake with Eva, while suspect number two,” King pointed to the screen, referring to Jessica’s abductors, “didn’t want to make the same mistakes as suspect number one, therefore recruited assistance to ensure their target didn’t escape.”
Gray thought for a moment, then said, “And they are, what, using the news to learn from each other?”
King reminded her that they had kept tight-lipped on Eva for these exact reasons. “I wish we had more footage of Jenny, but what really t
wists my insides is the fact that no one has heard or seen anything from her since she disappeared.”
“I don’t like how Jessica was taken right about the same time we were uncovering Megan.”
Gray glanced down to King’s notepad where he had Jenny’s friend, Naomi Moss, circled next to Archie’s name. “I’d like to speak with her again,” she said, referring to Naomi. “Something tells me there is more to her story than what we heard so far.”
“Back to Megan,” King met Gray’s eye, “The FBI gave a profile for our perp.”
“Enlighten me.”
“You’re going to love this,” Alvarez said with a hint of sarcasm.
King continued, “He’s a collector of women.”
“Like we didn’t already know.” Alvarez chuckled and shook his head.
“Then I’m glad I started looking much further back when reviewing earlier cases.” Gray looked to King, a knowing glimmer in her eye. “That’s why I’m here. If you’re willing to risk the wrath of your lieutenant, I found something I’d like your opinion on.”
King was on his feet in a snap. He followed Gray across the station to her desk in the Major Crimes Division. Gray’s desk was neat and organized, meticulous in the way she conducted her own police work. Opening a file on her desk, she pulled a sheet out and handed it to King.
“Here is a list of girls who have been missing for ten years,” she told him.
King read the names and, as he did, a couple of their stories slowly came back to him.
“Jessica’s abduction got me thinking,” Gray continued. “All night I reviewed my files and was glad that I kept my notes from all those years ago. I kept thinking we didn’t have enough to go on, but when I reviewed these girls’ cases, I realized this was the evidence I needed to solve this current one.”
King didn’t follow.
“Look closer,” Gray said. “Are any of those faces your Jane Doe?”
King took his time when reviewing each girl’s image. Lucy, Nicole—but the next face made his heart skip a beat. “Sage Zapatero.”
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