THE WIDOW OF SHERIFF BENSON would be available only during her knitting group. After the two-hour drive to get to the remote church in Teller County, Lee found the group of older women in a basement room, sitting at several tables. It was easy to spot her as she was the only African American woman there. He waved, and she motioned him to her seat.
Noreen Benson stood and enveloped Lee in a warm hug as she pulled his head down into her bosom like a grandmother to a grandson. He eased away, and her firm grip on his shoulder guided him into a rickety metal chair.
“Ladies, this here is Lee Watson. He was there that day when George was on that awful call where all those people died.”
“Nice to meet you all.” He turned to Noreen. “I was very sorry to hear about George.”
“Thanks for the condolences.” She motioned for him to set his arms wide and he complied. She tied a knot of bright pink yarn from the beginning of a skein to one thumb.
“I must say I miss George a lot for this very reason.” After the knot was secure, she circled the yarn around his forearms. “So much easier to untangle yarn this way. He was a strong man and could stay in this position for hours.”
The women nodded in agreement. Noreen motioned with her head. “That’s Beatrice.” The slight, older woman gave a friendly toodle-oo with her fingers. “And Gertrude.”
“What brings you to our fine knitting group? We don’t get many men in attendance,” Beatrice asked, knitting with confetti-colored yarn in hues of blue and green. Only a few rows were completed, so Lee couldn’t make out the final project.
“Actually, I wanted to talk to Noreen about George.”
Gertrude clicked her tongue. “Such an awful thing that happened.”
Noreen pushed Lee’s arms to keep the yarn taught. He straightened in his seat. “What did happen, Noreen? I was shocked when I called and found out he’d died.”
Beatrice shook her head, her eyes heavy with sadness. Was she a widow as well? “So unexpected. He was strong as an ox.”
“They make ’em strong in the South.” Noreen began to wrap the yarn in quick fashion. Lee was surprised her shaky hands could be so accurate.
“Is that where you met?”
Noreen tilted her head toward Gertrude. “South Carolina.”
“So he hadn’t been sick?” Lee asked.
Her shoulders sagged. “I don’t know if I can say that. He hadn’t been physically ill. That call did something to him. Messed up his head. He retired from the department within the year.”
“Did he do any other work?”
“He’d just sit there for hours on end, watching television. I got so tired of the history channel I wanted to throw up.” She pushed Lee’s arms up again.
“What did he die of?” Lee asked.
“They say a heart attack, but they never checked for sure.”
“You mean an autopsy.”
“Exactly. I sort of pushed for one but they said the evidence medically was clear that his heart sort of blew up. All this medical language about cardiac enzymes and trip levels.” She motioned her hand in front of her face. “I don’t even know if those are the right words.”
“What made you want to ask for one if they seemed clear on his cause of death?”
Another gray-haired matron rounded the table with a tray of cookies. Lee’s stomach grumbled a request at the sight. He gave a sheepish grin and tossed his hands up a few inches. She smiled back and laid several different varieties on the table and then ruffled her hand through his hair. These women definitely needed a few more visits from their grandchildren.
“Venus, you could at least get the man a napkin and show him we’re not uncivilized.” The woman obediently rearranged the cookies on top of a blue-and-white floral napkin.
There seemed to be a pecking order among the ladies.
Noreen continued. “Just something in my head said somethin’ wasn’t right. He’d had a physical about six months before he died. Even did one of those stress tests and whatnot, and they said he was the picture of good health.”
“Did anything odd happen right before he died?”
Noreen tossed the paper skein cover into the trash and began to form a ball with the yarn, her tiny fingers blanched as she tightened her grip on the threads. “Like what?”
“Anything. A letter? A phone call? A strange visitor? Something that wasn’t part of his watching TV all the time.”
Her eyes drifted off as she wrapped, then zeroed right on his chest. “There was one thing.”
“On the day he died?”
“Yes, he met with someone.”
“Do you know who it was?”
“He was real secretive about giving full details. I was just happy he was finally getting off his rump and doing something.”
“There was nothing he said,” Lee clarified.
“He did say it was about that event. That he was meeting an old friend. Someone he could talk to, to clear his mind about it.”
“Did he say whether it was a man or a woman?”
“He didn’t specify who it was exactly, but I have a hunch as to who it was.”
Gertrude patted Lee’s knee. “Noreen’s always one for the dramatics. Watches those murder shows all the time.”
“Dateline, 48 hours. The Bio ID channel is her favorite.”
“Ladies,” Lee interrupted. “I’m interested in her theory.”
“Do you remember the oldest girl who survived? Not the one who was his stepdaughter. The other one. Her real name was something you would never remember, but the hostage negotiator gave her a nickname—Raven.”
Lee shifted uneasily in his seat. “Yes, I remember her.”
“George became obsessed with her life. He would follow every news piece and TV story about her.”
“And you think that’s who he was going to meet?”
“Mm-hmm.” Noreen nodded gravely.
“What makes you think they met?”
“There was something about him. Hard to put my finger on. It was the most emotional I’d seen him since he left the force.”
“Happiness?” Lee asked.
“Expectation, I guess. But more than that. Sadness, fear . . .”
“Fear?”
“I don’t know. Like I said . . . something I couldn’t quite put a finger on.”
“Do you think he went to ask for forgiveness?”
“Did he need to?” The look in her eyes tore at his heart. Sherriff Benson had done what he needed to do.
Lee inhaled deeply. “Mrs. Benson, I was there that day. There’s nothing your husband did he should be ashamed of. He called in the experts. We’re the ones who failed him.”
She clucked her tongue. Her eyes glistened. “So dry here in this state, my eyes tear up all the time for no good reason. Should move back South.” The ball of yarn grew larger in her hands. The last wisp fell from Lee’s arms, and she pulled the knotted loop from his thumb. He leaned forward and drew her into an embrace as she began to weep.