by Sarah Sutton
Tara looked over at Warren before asking a question of her own. “Do you mind if we see your footage from both those days, just so we can see if we spot anyone who might’ve taken these pictures?”
At Tara’s question, a film of sweat began to form on his forehead. “I…uh…I don’t think I have that footage with me here. I handed those memory cards over to a station.”
“Which station was it? Maybe we can contact them.”
His mouth hung open a moment, lost for words, and he unlinked his arms and began to rub his hands nervously in his lap. “Oh wait,” he said as he tilted his head in one direction. It was as if a thought finally struck him. “I sold some memory cards last week, from an ad I posted. One just like that.” He gestured to the memory card on the coffee table.
“But wouldn’t that have been after the fire?” Tara asked. It was a detail he hadn’t fully thought out, and she could see the realization flood through his eyes. If he had sold them after the fire, then that could only mean that he was the one who had taken the pictures. His body tensed even more.
“Oh, true,” he replied. “It can’t be mine then.” He began to rub his hands even harder, so hard it was as if he were trying to pull skin from bone.
Silence fell around them. He still had yet to answer Tara’s question. “So which station was it?” she asked again. “That you gave the memory card to?”
He refused to meet her eyes, becoming increasingly restless in his seat as he pulled at the skin of his hands. Tara could feel Warren tense up next to her. Ben was becoming increasingly panicked, and they both knew his next move could be unpredictable.
“Uhh…I…uh, I have to take a look. I can’t remember at the top of my head.” His head was bowed down as he spoke, as if speaking to his hands. But then he suddenly shot up out of his seat. “I need to take a look,” he said nervously as he stumbled backward from the chair until he stood behind it.
Tara and Warren stood up as well. “Ben, take a seat. Let’s just talk a bit more, and then you can check for us,” Tara said. She was afraid he was about to make a run for it.
“What for? What else do you need to ask me?” he asked, his hands now digging into the top of the chair they rested on. “Why is that memory card so important? You think it’s a suspect’s, don’t you?” His eyes moved anxiously between Tara and Warren.
His mother was now standing at the other end of the hallway She was silhouetted against the light of the glass panes in the door. “Ben,” she asked. “Is everything all right?”
They all ignored her as Tara stared Ben in the eye. “We’re not sure,” she began. “But we did find a picture on it that leads us to believe so.”
Ben’s fingers were about to rip the fabric of the chair from gripping it so hard, but he didn’t respond.
“Is this memory card yours, Ben? If it is, you can tell us. There might be a logical explanation.”
At Tara’s words, anger swelled in his eyes as he gritted his teeth. His hands dug deeper into the chair. “You just want to pin this on me, don’t you? I know how these things work.” He then looked off into the distance, his expression changing again into fear as he shook his head back and forth and began to pace. “Someone’s framing me,” he said over and over again as he paced the living room.
It was a strange thing for him to mutter, and it was not the response Tara was expecting at all. “Ben, take a seat, we can talk about this.” At Tara’s words, he stopped in his tracks and whipped his head, staring directly at Tara’s pocket, the same pocket where she had placed the memory card. Without even a second to premeditate it, he hurdled over the chair.
“Ben! No!” his mother screamed, but it was too late.
He lunged at Tara across the coffee table. She darted out of the way, but she wasn’t fast enough. He grabbed her shirt as he plunged into the couch. She tried to steady her footing, but his force was too strong, and she fell backward in his grip, their momentum forcing the couch to tumble over.
Her head slammed into the floor, disorienting her for a split-second until she felt the weight of his body on top of her. He was trying to get to the pocket of her pants, but Tara elbowed him right in the chest, and he spiraled back for a moment. He was about to try again, but Warren pulled him back full-force by the collar of his hoodie. “You just made this a whole lot worse for yourself,” he spat through gritted teeth as he slammed him face-first into the floor. Tara stood up. Warren sat atop of him, holding him steady by the weight of his body as he cuffed him.
The mother came running in. “Ben, why would you—” she started until she broke out into sobs.
“Someone is framing me!” he yelled as Warren forced him to his feet and pushed him forward. It seemed like a desperate excuse, Tara thought.
“Where are you taking him?” his mother screamed as Warren led him to the car. She followed him out the front door, leaving Tara alone in the house. She rubbed her head where it hit the floor. Just a bump, she said to herself. It was nothing compared with the injuries she had suffered before.
The room was suddenly silent, and Tara’s eyes focused on the hallway as she walked forward toward the basement door. They now had probable cause to search the house, and she wasn’t going to waste any time. She swung the door open to be met by a set of stairs plunging into darkness. She felt around for a light, until she found one and turned it on, lighting the room below her. The fluorescent light almost blinded her as she walked down the carpeted stairs that opened into a large, finished basement. A bed sat in one corner—just a box spring and mattress that still had yet to be made, with sheets crumpled at the foot of it.
A computer was situated at the other end of the room, with bags of what looked like camera gear placed next to it. But as Tara studied the room, something else caught her eye: around the computer, scattered every which way, were pieces of a broken object. She moved closer, sitting on her heels for a closer look as she scooped a piece of the object into her hand. It was a piece of plastic, but then she studied the other pieces around—some little shards of metal, and then her eyes fell upon a larger object sitting under his desk. It was a piece of a hard drive.
Suddenly, Tara heard footsteps behind her and looked to see Warren descending the stairs. “What did you find?” he asked as he reached the last step.
“Looks like a broken hard drive.” She slipped on some gloves from her pocket and scooped the larger fragment into her hand before swiveling on her heels and handing it to Warren, who was now behind her.
He turned it around. “Must’ve happened pretty recently, or he’d clean this up, I assume.”
Tara agreed. It seemed as if he were trying to hide something. She spotted a small rectangular window where the wall met the ceiling, and she moved closer for a better look. She stood on her tiptoes as she tried to get a glimpse of the view. She could just make out where the window sat. It was in the front of the house and gave a clear view to the driveway. Ben was a few inches taller than her. He would’ve easily been able to spot them. She turned around to Warren. “You can see the driveway. He might’ve heard us and smashed it.”
Warren nodded as he moved about the room. The room was large, but mostly empty with only the bed, computer desk, video equipment, and a closet. Warren kneeled down and checked under the bed but then quickly let the bed skirt fall. He looked at Tara and shook his head, signaling that there was nothing underneath. He moved to the closet and began rummaging through it as Tara knelt down by the video gear. She unzipped one of the cases, but only a tripod sat inside. She checked the pockets, but nothing. She moved to the next one, a smaller case. Inside lay a camera. Tara checked the brand—it was a Canon—and began to feel hopeful. She knew it could easily have been the camera that took those pictures, and she scooped it up, switching it on. She tried to look through the video footage, but her heart sank when there wasn’t any. She sighed as she looked through the rest of the equipment, but nothing was out of the ordinary.
Warren moved across the room. “Nothing,”
he said as he shook his head and moved from the closet. He stared across the room at the computer as he moved toward it. “If he’s hiding anything, it’ll probably be on here. He wouldn’t have time to delete everything.” He grabbed hold of the mouse and shook it to wake up the computer.
Tara stood up and peered over his shoulder. He opened documents, which revealed multiple folders, each labeled by news story and date. Warren scanned through them. Tara knew he was looking for the images of the fire so they could link the memory card to him.
Tara’s ears perked up as she heard footsteps above them, and Ben’s mother’s muffled cry as she spoke to someone on the phone.
“Ah-ha!” Warren suddenly burst out.
Tara looked back at the screen. She could see he had found a folder titled “Willow Street fire” and dated when the fire had occurred. He opened each image within it. The first ones looked like the exact images found on the memory card. “Looks like someone lied to us,” Warren sighed. Tara pulled up the images on her phone and compared them. They were without a doubt identical. Her heart sank. If those images were his, then so was the one of Sofia, which Tara realized now would also most likely be on his computer. Tara braced herself as Warren continued to go through each folder, searching for exactly what Tara was afraid they would find.
He opened numerous folders of car crashes, of press conferences, of court hearings, each one a different scene that Ben had been at, but nothing that looked suspicious. He opened more folders, more past scenes. Tara began to relax as she watched Warren diligently look through all the footage. She was beginning to wonder if they would find anything at all of the victims. Could the picture of Sofia have been on the hard drive? Could that be why he smashed it? As Warren neared the remaining folders, Tara raised that question to him.
“The hard drive,” she said, Warren’s gaze still focused on the computer as he opened and closed files. “It could be on there. That would explain why he broke it.”
Warren nodded but didn’t let Tara’s words break his focus. “I thought that too,” he said as he moved the mouse in his grip. “If we can’t find anything, I’d say that theory would make a lot of sense.” He went through two more folders, the last ones in his documents, but nothing, just more photos of a scene that didn’t pertain to the victims. Warren sighed. The chances were now slim that they would find something, and after he searched the rest of the computer, he spun around in the office chair. They at least had evidence that he had lied, that the photos of the fire were his. It was enough to link the memory card to him and the image of Sofia.
“Looks like Ben has some explaining to do,” Warren said as Tara wondered, was this case now over?
Chapter Twenty Four
Ben’s gaze lay steady on the floor as Tara opened the door to the interrogation room. He was sitting at a desk in the middle of the room, and as Tara and Warren grew closer, he lifted his head. He looked tired. Even though the day’s events had not been long, it had already taken an emotional and mental toll on him. His eyes were red, with dark creases underneath. It was a good thing, Tara noted. She knew that the less mental strength he had, the more likely he was to give in, to lessen his time in that chair.
Tara and Warren took a seat across from him as his eyes fell on Tara with a pleading look. It was as if he hoped for her to spare him, but it only angered her further. All she could picture was the photograph found of Sofia. And at that thought, an image of each other girl—Ashley, Reese—alone, terrified, and in pain surfaced in her mind. It made her blood boil. The image of Sofia had to be his. If not, he needed a really good explanation.
“You lied to us,” she finally spat.
Ben stiffened as he looked between Tara and Warren anxiously. “I,” he started, but then he fell silent, his chin falling to his chest as he shook his head. “I knew you wouldn’t believe me. You looked through my computer, didn’t you?”
“Believe you about what?” Tara asked. “So you admit those pictures are yours?”
He sighed, slowly nodding. “I took those house fire pictures, but I swear I deleted them. I sold that memory card.” His voice shook as he spoke. Tara realized he was still playing off that he was being framed.
“If you deleted them and sold it, then how would they be on here?”
“I…I don’t know.” He fidgeted, his face reddening more in distress. “Someone could’ve restored them,” he blurted as if his life depended on it. “It’s possible, with a good restoration software.” Tara wasn’t sure if that was true, but she still didn’t believe him. He seemed to be clawing at any excuse he could find.
Tara opened her phone, pulling up the picture of Sofia. She held it out in front of her. “Was this image restored too?” she asked bluntly. “Is this one of the images you tried to delete?” Her voice was stern and threatening, and as his eyes fell onto the image, his mouth fell open. He leaned back in his chair, shaking his head back and forth aggressively as he pushed Tara’s hand and the phone out of his view. “That’s not mine.”
“Then why was it on your memory card?” Tara asked again.
“I don’t know! I swear!” he screamed.
“Is that why you smashed that hard drive in your room? It had pictures like this on it?”
“No!” he yelled again. His face was now beet-red as panic surfaced on every inch of it. He took a deep breath to calm himself and leaned forward. He tried to steady his voice. “Listen, I know what it looks like, but I smashed that hard drive out of anger. I was frustrated because I kept getting denied from these stations. No one has taken my work in months, no one needs anyone full-time. It’s been stressful, all right?” He leaned back in his chair again as he heaved a large sigh.
“Well, that still doesn’t explain why your memory card was found buried with a victim,” Tara reminded him again.
He was growing more frustrated. A vein had begun to pulsate in his neck, but he steadied himself before speaking. “I told you, I sold it. Someone’s framing me.”
Tara still did not fully understand why he had thought someone was framing him in the first place. They hadn’t shown him the image of Sofia at his house, but yet he had already jumped to that conclusion enough to want to destroy the memory card. They still had yet to ask him.
“What made you think someone was framing you?”
“I,” he started, looking anxiously between Tara and Warren. He then shook his head. “I knew it was the one I sold once you showed me the pictures. I know how these things work. I’ve covered many cases. You found it at the scene, you clearly thought it was a suspect’s.” He paused to catch his breath. “I knew I didn’t put it there. Someone else did, and whoever I sold that to was sketchy as all hell.”
“Why’s that?” Tara asked.
“He called me from an ad I posted. Didn’t want to meet me. He told me to leave the memory card in a mailbox, and he left the cash. I didn’t think that was too weird because he said he wasn’t going to be home, but then a few days later I called him again to see if he wanted something else I was selling, and the phone was disconnected.” He heaved another sigh, catching his breath.
Tara looked toward Warren. She wasn’t sure if she should believe him or not, but she could tell Warren wasn’t convinced.
“What was the address?” Warren finally asked.
Pain crossed Ben’s face at Warren’s question. He opened his mouth to speak but then hesitated, only making Tara think with more certainty that he was weaving this lie as he went. “It was near Rehoboth, 24 Beach Lane Road, but for all I know, he gave me some random address.”
It was as if he were trying to have an explanation for his lies before they even caught him in them.
“Where were you two nights ago?” Warren barked.
“I was home. You can ask my mom, really.” But at his words, his face fell. He even knew it wasn’t a solid alibi. “Look, I know this all sounds crazy, but someone is framing me.”
Warren suddenly stood up, his face tight with anger. He placed his h
ands on the table, leaning inches from Ben’s face. “We’ll see about that,” he said as Ben cowered in his chair. Warren lingered a moment and then straightened before heading to the door. Tara followed behind. It was clear that Warren was convinced that Ben was guilty, and Tara couldn’t help but agree.
***
Tara and Warren sat in an office at the police station, a phone on speaker in front of them. They were able to find a land line phone number for the address that Ben had given them, and they were now waiting for someone to pick up.
“Hello?” a woman’s voice finally spoke.
Warren cleared his throat. “I’m looking for someone I sold a memory card to the other week. I don’t have his name, but he said he lived at this address. I just wanted to see if he’d be interested in some of my camera gear.”
“I think you have the wrong number,” the voice replied.
“Are you sure?”
“Only Mrs. Westbrook lives her, and me, her caretaker. She’s ninety-five. Neither one of us would need a camera.” The woman then hung up and Warren sighed, turning to Tara.
“Well, that proves it,” he said. “He’s giving us the runaround.”
Tara nodded. She could tell from Warren’s expression that he had no doubt Ben was who they’d been looking for all along. “So you think it’s him?”
“I mean, how else would he have those pictures found on the memory card? That picture of Sofia has to be his. He probably dropped it by accident, realized later, and then smashed the hard drive when he saw us.” Tara couldn’t help but agree. It seemed unlikely that he was being framed, and the broken hard drive in his basement was incredibly suspicious. Warren rolled his eyes as he continued. “And he doesn’t have a solid alibi. Of course his mom’s going to vouch for him, but even if she did think he was home, he could’ve snuck out that window in the basement for all we know.”