Friday, May 22nd, 1992. Benny and Marsha woke up at 6:00 a.m. Marsha took a shower while Benny turned on the bedroom television to watch the network news. The kids were getting ready for school. Coverage of the lakeside murders was the story after the Indian satellite launch. Benny turned up the volume when Marsha walked into the bedroom after her shower.
“The gruesome details of the murders in Miller Beach, Indiana are still emerging,” announced the voice of a regional reporter on the scene. “What we do know is the genitalia of the first victim, Tommy Gunther, was severed and sewn into his mouth. What’s obvious to police is this was not some random killing. It was personal. There are still no leads, but early reports point to a drug deal gone bad. Chuck, back to you.”
Benny shook his head and sighed deeply upon hearing the report.
“Wow,” Benny said to his wife as she buttoned her blouse. “Isn’t that amazing? Two of the guys who beat me up are now dead. And they made national news. I always knew they’d be famous.”
No remark from Marsha.
“Oh, gag me,” Benny groaned. “Tommy’s prick was sewn in his mouth. What a sick thing to do. Imagine having that filthy cock down your throat.”
Marsha’s eyes widened for a second, not knowing if her husband just dropped a hint.
“I can’t imagine,” she said. “I’m going to 7-11 to pick up a few things. Want something for the office?”
“No, I’ll grab a bite on the way,” he said. “But imagine that,” continuing, not letting Marsha change the subject. “Imagine having that filthy cock in your mouth.”
Marsha quickly finished dressing and drove off to get some bagels. She sped down the road and sloppily parked her minivan next to a payphone in front of the crowded convenience store and called Stephanie.
“Hi Steph, Marsha,” she frantically uttered, burying her mouth in her hands so no one else could hear her. “I think he knows.”
“Knows what?” asked Stephanie. “Who?”
“Benny,” she said. “He was watching the news about the murders and he kept on referring to Tommy’s penis being stuffed down his throat. He mentioned that a couple of times.”
“Well, Steve never mentioned that Benny knows anything about you and Tommy. I think this is all in your head.”
“I don’t know,” said Marsha. “I’m worried--about a lot of things. I had a dream Benny is somehow involved in the murders.”
“What?” Stephanie shouted in disbelief. “Benny? A murderer? Come on!”
“I’m not saying he did it, but maybe he knows who did. It’s more than a strange coincidence that two of the guys who beat him up are dead.”
“Doesn’t mean a thing,” Stephanie reassured. “Do you know where he was the night of both murders?”
“I think so,” Marsha said. “He was taking someone to the track--I think both times, not sure.”
“Well, see if you can find out for sure,” Stephanie said. “I gotta get Steve off to work and the kids ready for school. And don’t worry. I won’t mention anything to Steve unless you want me to.”
“Thanks. See ya,” Marsha said as she hung up the phone.
Benny had a lot of work to do after seeing patients that day. He sensed someone might be questioning him and had to hide everything connected to the murders. Except for his boat, everything was kept in the trunk of his car--that, and the hitch on his bumper.
At about 6:00 p.m. that evening, he drove to Stagecoach Road and gathered his pistol, tranquilizer rifle, Sucostrin, epinephrine, masking tape, scissors, everything, including the trailer hitch, and loaded them into his Jon boat which was hidden way off to one side in the woods. On the way home he stopped to have his car interior cleaned again. Okay, I think I’m covered, he thought. I wonder if Marsha has some dinner for me.
Now 7:30 p.m., it was light enough to drive with just the dimmers. As he pulled onto his street he saw a late model navy blue Lincoln Town Car with police plates parked on the street in front of his house. An officer was inside talking on his radio.
Oh shit, he thought. How do they fucking know?
Benny slowly parked in his driveway and got out of his car. He was immediately met by Lt. Otis Jefferson.
Lt. Jefferson was a large black man, about 6’ 3” with a short afro, and weighed close to 250 lbs. He was all business, but had an easy smile to break the tension if necessary. He loved working for the Gary Police Department and brought compassion to his job. Not an ounce of ego in the man.
“Yes sir?” Benny uttered, clearing his throat as the bulky cop, dressed in a sharply tailored blue suit approached.
Lt. Jefferson took out a note pad. No one else was with him, so Benny didn’t think he was going to be arrested. It embarrassed him, though, to see his kids peeking out the window. Marsha’s car was in the drive so he knew she was home. A neighbor across the street pretended to be reading his paper on the porch.
“Mr. Weinstein?” Lt. Jefferson asked, flashing his badge as he walked up to Benny.
“Yes?” Benny said without the slightest hint of trepidation.
“Lt. Jefferson from the Gary police,” he said authoritatively, extending his hand. “I suppose you heard about the two recent murders in Miller Beach.”
Benny locked his car with the remote as he shook the lieutenant’s hand and motioned for him to follow him into the house.
“No, thanks anyway,” said Lt. Jefferson. “This won’t take a minute. I’d just like to ask you a couple of questions outside if you don’t mind.”
“No, I don’t mind,” Benny said. “Sure, I heard about the murders. Who hasn’t?”
Lt. Jefferson looked at his notepad, flipped over a few pages then took out a pencil.
“I understand some twenty years ago you had a run-in with the two deceased men….uh, Thomas Gunther and Murphy Spevacek. According to my notes they, along with two other men, Gerald Hill and Frank Stram, assaulted you in the spring of 1973.”
“That’s right,” Benny said, pulling up his left shirt sleeve to show the cop a scar from that event. “That’s one night I’ll never forget.”
Lt. Jefferson made note of that scar.
“Tell me, Mr. Weinstein, have you had any contact with these gentlemen since their release from prison in 1975?”
Benny shook his head. “No, nothing. I was lucky to escape with my life that night. But no, they never bothered me since nor have they contacted me. I want nothing to do with them. For all I knew they were already dead or had moved away.”
“Okay,” said Lt. Jefferson as he flipped his notepad and placed his pencil in the metal spiral ring. “That’s all I wanted to know. Sorry to have caused you any concern. But we have to check all bases.”
“I totally understand,” Benny said, releasing his tight facial muscles.
Lt. Jefferson was about to get into his car when he remembered something. He approached Benny again.
“Just one more question. Can you verify your whereabouts for the last two Tuesday evenings?”
“My whereabouts? Yeah, sure,” Benny said. “I usually go to the track after work on Tuesdays to bet the buggies.”
“Was anyone with you those nights?”
“No, just myself. Sometimes I go with friends, but mostly by myself.”
“Which track was that?” asked the lieutenant.
“Balmoral Park in Crete, Illinois.”
“Oh, yes. Nice track. Been there myself a few times. No luck, though,” Lt. Jefferson said, laughing at his last remark. “Do you ever keep the programs?”
Benny reached in his jacket for his car keys.
“Sometimes, not always. I should keep all of them for tax purposes. I’ve had a few signers this year--won over three grand. But I lose more than I win so sometimes I keep the losing tickets.”
“I see,” said Lt. Jefferson. “Do you have the tickets from the last two Tuesday nights?”
“No, I don’t think I…..wait, yes I do,” Benny said, mustering up his best acting skills as he unlocked his car with the remote and fished out the tickets from the sunglass compartment. “I think these are them,” he said as he handed over the evidence.
Lt. Jefferson studied the time and dates on the tickets. They matched up. He handed them back to Benny.
“Good enough,” said Lt. Jefferson. “Again, I apologize for the inconvenience.” Then he left.
Benny put the tickets back in his car and went into his house. Josh and Rachel wanted to know what that man wanted. They already knew of the beating and Benny explained he was a man who was interested in some of the details. The kids were satisfied with that, but Marsha wasn’t.
“Was he a cop?” asked Marsha, leading Benny to the kitchen away from the kids.
“Yes, a cop,” Benny said as he opened the refrigerator, grabbing two ears of corn that were already cooked.
“What did he say?” Marsha asked, handing her husband a napkin.
“You know, he asked me if I still knew Tommy and Murphy. He probably looked up their files and noticed the 1973 beating. That’s all.”
“What did you tell him?”
“Well, I told him I never kept in touch with them, which I haven’t and that was that. Oh, he did ask me where I was the last two Tuesday evenings.”
“And where were you?” Marsha asked anxiously.
“I told him where I was--at the track. Balmoral,” Benny said while eating off the cob like a buzz saw. “You know how I sometimes keep the losing tickets for tax purposes. I had them from both nights and I showed them to him. That was the end of it.”
All of Marsha’s stress drained out of her face at once. She was convinced her husband had nothing to do with the murders. But she still wasn’t sure if he knew about Tommy.