by Dana Killion
They stood together on the walk, Marcus saying something to her I couldn’t hear. Realizing my options were to hide or confront him, I stepped forward, getting within ten paces of the couple before Bennett turned and looked at me. I wasn’t sure what I was going to say to him, but something would come to me.
Bennett looked from me to his wife, then back at me again. He beelined toward me, his face red and eyes hot.
“Now you’re hassling my wife? Haven’t you done enough? You’re coming after my family now? How dare you! This is not your business.”
“It becomes my business when you slam me into a brick wall.”
I glanced at Jill, certain that her husband hadn’t told her about the assault. She stood mute, her hand gripping the fabric of her coat, looking like a child being chastised.
Silence was the price she paid for a roof over her head and all the babies she could handle.
We were no longer alone on the sidewalk as the women from the meeting exited, not knowing they were walking into an argument or any of the history behind it. They stopped and looked at each other, confused about what was going on and what, if anything, they were supposed to do about it. Not a single one of them said a word, deciding it was none of their business.
“Leave us alone,” Bennett shouted. “Go back to your immoral lifestyle. Don’t come here to corrupt us. This is what happens when women don’t know their place, haven’t learned to submit!”
My outrage exploded.
“Submit? To whom? Is that why Elyse Wright is dead? Because she didn’t submit? She didn’t submit to you?”
Bennett’s fury boiled over, and he rushed at me. I slid to my right to avoid him, tripping in the process and landing on the sidewalk. But before Bennett could regroup, a squad car roared up to the curb. Two officers rushed over. Grabbing Bennett’s arms and cuffing them behind his back while he hurled insults at me.
“Mr. Bennett, you are under arrest for assault. Adding a second charge isn’t going to help you,” one of the officers said.
With Bennett secured, the other officer stepped toward me, helping me to my feet. “Ms. Kellner, I recognized you from the police report. I don’t know what you’re doing here, but you might consider staying the hell away from this guy. I don’t think he’s a fan.”
As the officer began to take my statement, Bennett was led to the squad car. A second later, the sound of a body being slammed into metal interrupted us, and the officer ran to assist his partner. Bennett bucked and kicked, trying to release himself from the cop’s grip, and both officers wrestled him facedown on the ground.
His wife stood stone faced, staring at the spectacle of her husband cuffed and spread-eagle.
Bennett was lifted none too gently to his feet, and his eyes bore into me as he hissed, “You whore. You deserve to die.”
34
“Have you completely stopped answering your phone?” Borkowski stood in front of me, arms crossed over his chest. “I have to learn from the police that you were assaulted outside of the office last night, then I don’t hear from you all night, and now you stroll in here at one o’clock? Had it occurred to you to let somebody know what was going on?”
So much had gone on that I didn’t know where to begin to explain. But he was right. My head was too full of thoughts to even make sense of what had happened over the last twenty-four hours. After taking my statement, the officers had taken Bennett in for processing, and I was now back at work with lots of suspicions and a story that felt as if it had just taken a dramatic new turn.
Not only had Bennett shoved me into a wall, but he had threatened my life. As an attorney, I knew that words mattered, and although there was a legal difference between “You should die” and “I’m going to kill you,” it was a threat nonetheless. And the question now was whether Marcus Bennett was capable of murder. Were his misogynistic views motive enough? No, of course not, but he did know both women and had clearly expressed his hate-filled viewpoint. The next question was had there been something specific about these two women, their cases, or their interaction with Bennett that might have angered him to such a level?
“I apologize,” I said, sitting on the edge of my desk. “I should have called in. I had such a terrible headache last night, and I just wanted to sleep. That’s no excuse. I should’ve sent you a text letting you know I was okay. Thank you for checking on me.”
He relaxed a little. “And so this morning you just slept the day away? Forgetting that people might be worried? You have a head injury. For all we knew, you were on the floor of your apartment, passed out.”
“I don’t have an excuse. At least not a valid one. I was feeling well enough that I went to follow up on a lead. And the morning took a turn.”
“A turn? Let me guess, you pissed off someone else?”
“No, just the same guy I pissed off yesterday.” I shrugged and crossed my arms.
I saw Michael barreling through the Link-Media office toward me. He wasn’t happy.
“Well?” Borkowski said as Michael reached my office.
He hovered in the doorway. I stood, turned to Borkowski. “It’s complicated. I’ll fill you in a little later.” Borkowski swung his head toward Michael’s scowl, raised an eyebrow, and looked back at me. “Complicated, is it? I’ll bet.” He turned and left.
Michael closed the door behind him, and we stood face-to-face.
“What the hell, Andrea? Were you lying to me about being at home? Is this all some big game to you? What are you doing going after the guy? He just tossed you into a wall like you were a snowball. God knows what he would have done if someone hadn’t come along to stop him. And still you lie to me and secretly go after him today?”
“I admit I withheld information,” I said, trying unsuccessfully to rationalize my actions. “You made an assumption that I was at home, and I didn’t correct you.”
“Let me get this straight. After Marcus Bennett attacked you, nearly gives you a concussion, you decide to drive out to his house and confront him. Is that about right?”
“I didn’t drive out to see Bennett. I went to see his wife.” I stepped back to the desk and sat on the edge, my headache resurfacing.
“His wife?” Michael paused, looking at me with confusion. “Why?”
“Curiosity. They have this weird man-in-charge, traditional-wife thing going. That in itself is creepy and possibly relevant. I wanted to ask her where Marcus was when the killings occurred.”
“You were checking his alibi? So now you think this guy stabbed these women to death just because he’s a misogynist?”
“Michael, have you not considered it? Anger issues, violent tendencies, he worked with both of the victims. And this isn’t run-of-the-mill misogyny. This guy believes women need to submit to their husbands. That they need to be trained. Helluva personality profile, don’t you think?”
“So, the guy’s a whack job. I’ll give you that. But he’s also just been fired, and he blames you. That doesn’t make him a killer.” He paced the small room as he chastised me. “More importantly, it doesn’t give you license to go after the guy just because you hate how they live.”
“You’re making it sound like this is some personal grievance. I think their viewpoint is repugnant, but that’s not what this is about. Think about it, Michael. These two women were both more successful than their husbands. They both initiated divorce proceedings. They both effectively took down their husbands by exposing their misdeeds. Do you think a man like Marcus Bennett, who believes women need to be trained and subservient, wouldn’t view these two women as needing to be taught a lesson?”
“Look, there are people in the world with crazy-ass views. Marcus Bennett and his wife and their traditional-wife concepts are some of them. It’s ugly, it’s hateful, and he may have even despised these women, but we work on proof. Hateful thought doesn’t always translate to hateful deed.”
“So you don’t think he’s capable?” I said, crossing my arms over my chest, getting irritated.
“That’s not what I said. He probably is whacked out enough to hurt someone. And right now, the someone he’s got his eyes on is you.”
We were both quiet for a moment, letting our thoughts gel, trying to separate our feelings for each other from the logic of our jobs.
“So what will you do from here? With Bennett?”
“We’ll start with the crime we have—assault. After that, I can’t answer.”
Michael stepped forward and stood in front of me. “Please, Andrea, let us do our jobs. There are procedures I need to follow,” he said, his voice softening. “And I can’t take another night of worrying that you’re safe.”
I closed my eyes and let out a breath, fighting tears that welled in my eyes, not knowing what to say. A knock on the glass of my door jolted me back.
“I heard about last night.” Ryan had opened the door without waiting for an invitation or without stopping to consider his bad timing. Or because he just didn’t care about either.
“I’m just fine, thank you,” I said, keeping my eyes on Michael.
He shot Ryan a glance that could have cut glass. If Ryan noticed, he was pretending not to.
“Are you sure you should be in the office?” Ryan asked, stepping into the room as if he had a right to be there.
Michael glared at me. “Obviously you have things to do,” he said, walking out the door in a huff and leaving me unable to counter. Why was the man always walking out?
“Sorry, did I interrupt something?” Ryan asked when Michael had gone.
Who was he kidding with the false concern? He’d known he was interrupting before he walked in the door. It had been purposeful.
I ignored the question, not trusting myself to contain my anger. I was mad at Ryan, mad at Michael, and mad at myself for being in the situation at all. “Were you just checking in, or is there something you needed from me?”
“Of course I was concerned. Some crazy guy attempted to hurt you.”
“Really, I’m fine. But behind on some work, so if you’ll excuse me.” I turned away and walked behind my desk, lifting the lid on the laptop.
“Sure, of course. But please take it easy. We wouldn’t want you to hurt that pretty little head of yours any further.”
I couldn’t even manage a fake smile. The patronizing tone nauseated me. I had had enough of men who pretended to be protective all while stabbing me in the back.
“Can you close the door on your way out?” I asked, not lifting my head up from my computer.
Attractive or not, sexy or not, Ryan Molina was just more of the same. I turned my attention to my screen and opened up the video file from Gavin Wright’s arraignment. I wanted another look at the man’s behavior. I took a sip of tea, waited for Ryan to be gone, then clicked play.
In my dealings with Bennett, I had seen a mild-mannered, somewhat mousey kind of man. Yet there was something more, something hidden. I let the tape run, pausing periodically, looking for Bennett in the crowd of men, listening for his voice. Scanning faces, reactions, analyzing the word choice in their hate speech. First, I played the edited clip, which had appeared on the Link-Media website, then I opened my original file and did the same. Had Bennett appeared anywhere other than the brief moment when the crowd got heated?
I found Bennett in one other frame, standing shoulder to shoulder with the other men. Anger was etched on their faces as they chanted in unison. Freezing the image, I studied the faces of the men, pondering the cause and depth of their hate. How did they function in their jobs, in their lives? Did they blame women for positions usurped, for rewards not given? Was their resentment so strong that it would lead to violence? These were the thoughts that ran through my mind as I studied these white male faces.
I rewound about thirty seconds of tape, then hit play. The man to Bennett’s left was Leon Rutkowski. In all the craziness of the last twenty-four hours, I had forgotten that Rutkowski had been in the crowd. I continued looking at the frames, only seeing him again in the same shot where I had captured Bennett’s face directly. His expression held an anger, a hatred that seemed even more palpable than Bennett’s. I knew nothing of the man. Clearly they had a connection through Victor’s firm.
Beyond hate for women, were there other connections?
35
Was Rutkowski involved?
I knew little of the man, other than his work as a forensic accountant. But it was a start. I hated to keep bugging Victor, but he had firsthand knowledge. I’d left the office shortly after reviewing the video, swallowed a couple more Advil, and was now about to interrupt his day yet again. Maybe I did need to put him on retainer.
“Sorry, Nancy, I need to see him again.” She gave me a small smile, nodded, then picked up the phone. I walked to the conference room. No need to wait for an escort—I was part of the Kirkland and McCullough family after all of this.
“How’s your head?” Victor said, hurrying into the room. His tie was loosened, his sleeves were rolled. Clearly I’d caught him in the middle of something mentally taxing.
“Nothing that won’t heal,” I said. “Oh, CPD picked up Bennett this morning. He won’t be held for long, but maybe a night in jail will give him something to think about.” I didn’t bother sharing the details of the arrest; it would only make Victor feel more guilty than he already did.
“The whole thing makes me sad, but thank goodness. I’ve been so worried. I wish I had fired him months ago. I’m just too softhearted on these kinds of things. Or maybe just too damn busy.”
“Don’t beat yourself up. Marcus Bennett’s issues have nothing to do with you. I promise, my injuries are minor. And you’ve done the right thing by terminating him.”
“Please, sit. You didn’t run over here just to tell me that.” Victor pulled out a chair.
I pulled off my coat and joined him, Marcus Bennett’s threatening words fresh in my mind.
“I’m sorry I keep running to you, but this new information on Bennett has given me more questions than answers. I’m hoping you can help me make sense of it,” I said.
“I’ll do what I can, but I’m pretty damn confused myself.”
“As we’re starting to see, his views on women are pretty extreme. He’s been harboring a lot of hate, and I’m wondering if there were signs that we’ve missed. Can you remember any incidents where Elyse Wright or Skylar Hayes might have challenged him or gotten into some kind of disagreement with him? Was there any tension in the relationships that he had with these two women?”
Victor scrunched his eyes for a moment.
“There certainly was never any type of argument. I would have known about that immediately and never would have tolerated an employee raising their voice to a client. But I guess in hindsight, I would say that both women had concerns about promptness. Attention to detail. They both seemed to feel that, at moments, Marcus was slow-walking aspects of their cases.”
“In what way?”
“Apparently, information wasn’t always passed on promptly, documents sometimes seemed out of order or difficult to locate. I didn’t think much of it at the time. This is a busy law firm, and while we do our best, there are always moments where we don’t perform at one hundred and ten percent. I recall speaking to Marcus on a couple of occasions about it and assuring our clients that we were making every effort. But quite frankly, it never crossed my mind that there might be anything intentional about the acts. But I suppose it’s possible that Marcus was letting his personal viewpoints influence the work he did. I hate to say it, but in light of what we know now, it is a possibility.”
“Rather passive-aggressive,” I said, thinking out loud. “What about your staff? Did you notice any differences in how Bennett responded to you or other men at the firm versus the women that he worked with?”
“Again, I can’t say I noticed anything, but as I think back, my perspective may have changed a bit. As you know, the firm is largely staffed with women, and I’m certainly aware that he was on his best behavior around
me. But it’s my firm, and that’s the behavior I would expect. The male clients seemed to love him. Were very complimentary of his efficiency. It was never obvious that he might be slanting his work product in favor of male clients, or maybe that was just my own male perspective on the world.”
I could sense he was struggling. Struggling with guilt, struggling to reflect on his own observations and perhaps his own preconditioning as a white man in the world now faced with hate and female oppression in a way he couldn’t ignore.
“How were his interactions with your forensic accountant?”
“They have a good relationship. Leon Rutkowski is a freelance provider that I pull in only when the situation is warranted and usually for very specific tasks.”
“Do you remember how you came to use his services?”
“Let me think. If I remember correctly, he was someone Marcus referred. I believe they knew each other from college and then had some type of work association after.”
That made sense. They’d probably been building this bond of misogyny since college.
“When did you start working with him?”
“Not terribly long ago, a couple of years at most. I believe I started working with him somewhere around the time your case was kicking off, but there was nothing in your situation that warranted his services. If I recall correctly, I tested him with a small case and got references from the accounting firm he had been employed with before going out on his own. I use him several times a year. Why do you ask?”
“Did Rutkowski work on both Elyse Wright’s case and Skylar Hayes’s?”
“Yes, he did. Given the financial complexity of both cases, I hired him to do a deep dive.” He paused, crossed his arms over his chest. “You’re making me nervous. I’m not sure I like where you seem to be going with this.”
“Frankly, I’m not sure where I’m going with this. I didn’t mention this the other day, but after looking at the videotape again, it’s clear that Rutkowski shares some of Bennett’s viewpoints. He was at the protest screaming ugly hate speech about women too. I don’t know if that means anything, but it seems worth looking into.”