THE NEWS OF BENJY’S ARREST broke on all major news outlets at 10 A.M. EST on Saturday. It was four days after he was found. I was sure it was a strategic move to announce right at the beginning of the weekend. Everyone out there could sigh in unison and go back to living life. Unlock the doors, they caught the monster. Let’s go to Apple-bee’s. People had a real twisted sense of sympathy for someone they never met.
All of the reports were the same, monotone news anchors trying their best to emit emotion, moving stills of Jenny looking like a miniature Dolly Parton, and the same recycled five seconds of footage showing Benjy being transported from the station into a police van.
The announcement had finally cleared my street of news vans. I kind of missed them. Walking outside to silence was odd, almost creepy. I’d forgotten how quiet this town could be.
I MET DETECTIVE COLSEN at the bowling alley in the next town over. He thought the invite was hilarious and charming. I thought it was interesting he chose the only place he knew I didn’t like. This was the first thing I’d had resembling a date in years.
He was heading back to Hartsfield now that Benjy was arrested. In other words, they were giving up on other suspects. It blew my mind. I had to meet with the detective even if it meant wearing a color other than black or gray and throwing a few giggles his way.
His first name was Brandon. I hadn’t really thought much about it, but after the awkward tea exchange, he made it clear that this was a personal encounter. I found him at the table farthest from the door. His casual attire was slapped over his clean-cut body, his hair parted and gelled the same way as when it accompanied a suit and tie. He had already ordered a pitcher of beer and reserved a lane. What a gentleman.
I headed toward him wondering how long I would have to make small talk before I could dive into some hard-hitting questions. He stood to greet me, going in for a light one-arm hug and a kiss on the cheek. I wasn’t sure we were there yet, but it wasn’t horrible. He was gentle in his approach.
“I thought you were going to stand me up,” he joked. “I was kind of a jerk the other day.”
I was twenty minutes late. It wasn’t a calculated move. I had sat on my bed watching the clock almost paralyzed. It wasn’t a date, but it was a date. Since my meeting with Mark, I’d been cycling through wanting to jump anybody who’d have me and never wanting to be intimate with another soul ever.
“Sorry,” I said as he motioned for me to join him at the table.
He poured beer into a clear plastic cup for me. The cups were so small, I wondered if they were meant to deter overdrinking. Judging by a group of loud fat guys at the other end of the alley, the small cups didn’t prevent excessive drinking, just led to excessive pouring.
“Cheers.” He lifted his cup to mine. We both took casual sips, riding the line between lush and lame. “I got us a lane,” he said.
“Maybe later.” I had nothing against bowling in principle but I so long ago had lost the ability to be carefree. Stupid really. I knew I was being stupid. I just couldn’t. That’s the only way to explain it.
“How are you doing?” he asked.
“I’m good,” I said, realizing it was the first time since the murder that I’d answered that way. “As good as I can be.”
Brandon nodded. “I get it, but sometimes we have to find the silver lining. Try to focus on the positives instead of the negatives that we can’t change.” He was trying to be sweet. It felt a little rehearsed. I wondered how many victims’ families he had taken to bowling alleys.
“And what would be the silver lining I should focus on?” I asked.
“We don’t always catch the bad guy. That’s something. Some families have to live knowing they got away with it, that killing their loved one had no consequences.”
“But you didn’t catch the bad guy. Not for sure. You just caught the easiest guy.”
“Really? You really think he didn’t do it?”
“It just doesn’t feel right. He’s … I don’t know the right way to say this … He seems like a child,” I explained the best I could.
“Children kill all the time. Underdeveloped brains lack the ability to understand the consequences of their actions. He’ll probably go to some facility instead of prison, but it doesn’t make him any less guilty or any less of a threat to society.” He topped off my beer like he had rested his case.
“Did you look at anyone else? She wasn’t this perfect little angel, you know? She was getting into trouble. Did her parents tell you that? I doubt it.”
“What kind of trouble?” He was willing to hear me out, even if it was just to get into my pants.
I wasn’t prepared for follow-up questions. “I don’t know. Normal teenage stuff, I guess. Skipping school.”
“I’m going to tell you something, but I shouldn’t. Do you understand? This isn’t public knowledge.”
“OK.”
“I just hate seeing you like this, feeling like justice won’t be served.”
“What?”
“Benjy was lying. He saw Jenny two weeks before her murder at his apartment. She was there and he told me that he hadn’t seen her since the pageant.”
“How do you—”
“A neighbor saw her.”
I sat back. I wasn’t prepared for that. Maybe I was wrong. What was I doing? Fuck.
“I’m good at my job, Virginia. I know you think I’m some schmuck that doesn’t care about anything but closing the case, but it isn’t true. If there were other suspects, other evidence, I would investigate it. There’s nothing. Nothing but a man with history of abuse toward your sister lying about seeing her in the weeks before her death and fleeing to Mexico.”
I thought about what he was saying. He was right. I did think he was some schmuck. Maybe I was wrong about him, but not about Benjy.
“I want to talk to him,” I said.
“To Benjy? No way.”
“Why?”
“Do I really need to answer that?” he asked.
I leaned toward him, hoping my eager face would convince him it was a good idea.
“He’s lawyered up now anyway. Some shit-brain public defender. We can’t even talk to him anymore.”
“You can’t talk to him. He can have visitors, right? I’m Jenny’s sister. Jenny was his friend. He’ll probably want to see me. Maybe he’ll even open up to me. You’re at a dead end.” I just kept talking so he couldn’t say no.
“That’s a real fine ethical line.”
“I don’t mind.” I smiled. “I have no moral compass.”
Brandon finished another cup and started pouring. “Well, that’s good to know.” He grinned. “Let’s just try and enjoy ourselves tonight.”
“Is that a yes?”
“No, it’s not a yes.”
“But it’s not a no?”
“What can I say other than yes that will make you drop it for now?”
“Maybe.”
“Fine, maybe.” He laughed, and I did too. The ridiculousness of the exchange allowed us both a second to forget we were talking about the lead suspect in the rape and murder of my sister. It felt good, and maybe he was on to something with this whole let’s just try and enjoy ourselves tonight.
“Fair enough,” I said and motioned for him to fill my cup.