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Dix laughed. “You might have asked Chappy about him and Erin, to see the looks on their faces.”
“I hate to ask you this, but do you think one of your family could be involved in Erin’s murder?”
He was silent as he turned onto Mount Olive Road. “When Christie disappeared, I thought about every possibility, including someone in the family being involved. And after all these years they’d have to do a whole lot to surprise me. But I don’t see any of them killing somebody. And yes, I’ve been wrong lots of times.”
A short time later, they stood in front of Helen Rafferty’s desk. Dix slipped off his aviator glasses and smiled down at Helen, who looked harried.
Dix said, leaning close, “I need to speak to you, Helen. Five minutes, in the lounge?”
“I—Well, I don’t suppose you’ll take a rain check, Sheriff?”
“I would prefer now. This is very important.”
There were two employees in the Stanislaus administration employee lounge, hunched over a green Formica table, a bag of Fritos between them. Dix flipped out his badge and waved them out.
Ruth sat beside Helen and looked at her for several moments, judging her mood. She turned on her FBI interview voice, calm, inviting. “Tell us about Dr. Holcombe and Erin Bushnell, Ms. Rafferty.”
Helen looked from Ruth to Dix, who was standing with his shoulders against the wall, arms crossed over his chest.
She burst into tears.
CHAPTER 20
PHILADELPHIA
WEDNESDAY
SAVICH AND SHERLOCK sat opposite Elsa Bender in the starkly modern living room of Jon Bender’s home on Linderman Lane on the Main Line. Although it was very warm in the living room, a cashmere afghan covered her legs, a thick wool sweater draped over her hunched shoulders. Her brown hair was pulled back from her face, fastened in a clip at the base of her neck. Her hands clasped and unclasped ceaselessly in her lap. Savich saw that she wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. The room was brightly lit, but Elsa Bender seemed to sit in the midst of shadows.
Her eyes weren’t bandaged now, but she wore dark glasses. She was too thin, and unhealthily pale, as if she never went outside. However, they saw her smile up at her ex-husband, who stood at her side, his hand resting lightly on her shoulder. According to the papers, Jon Bender was a successful real estate developer who had traded her in for a younger model, namely his personal assistant, two years before, but didn’t marry her. And he was here now, a big man, stocky, tough jawed, his blind ex-wife again living in his house.
Savich introduced himself and Sherlock. He said without preamble, “The old man and the young girl who bragged to me about taking you—their names are Moses Grace and Claudia. We don’t know her last name yet, or her relationship to the old man. They’re the same ones who buried my friend Pinky Womack in a grave in Arlington National Cemetery.”
Mr. Bender looked from Savich to Sherlock, obviously wondering if he should be alarmed. He nodded slowly. “We heard about that. We had no idea until you called this morning—Well, now there are actual names attached to their faces. I assume you’ve spoken with the local police?”
“Yes, we did. We’re here because we need your help, Mrs. Bender. You’re the only one who can provide us with a description.”
Mr. Bender answered for her. “Elsa still can’t remember what happened, so she can’t help you.”
Savich sat on the hassock at Elsa Bender’s feet. He took her left hand between his two large ones, felt the chill of her flesh. She’d turned inward, he thought, and that was the wrong direction. He said, “I appreciate your agreeing to speak to us on such short notice. Do you mind if I call you Elsa?” At her faint nod, he continued. “We know how badly these people hurt you, Elsa. We don’t need to focus on that. I know you want these monsters caught and punished for what they did to you. They’ve done terrible things to other people, too. You’re one of the lucky ones; you survived. We need your help so that other people can survive, too.”
“I wouldn’t call this surviving,” Elsa said, and Savich continued to hold her hand as the bitterness flowed through her.
He said, “I would. There’s something else, Elsa. These people who hurt you, they’re calling me, they want to kill me. They’ve also threatened my wife, and my little boy. I desperately need your help to protect them.”
Her hand fluttered a moment, then settled again. “It’s been a horribly painful time for me, Agent Savich. I don’t know if I can ever think about what happened. I don’t want to face those monsters again.”
“I hate to ask you this, but do you think one of your family could be involved in Erin’s murder?”
He was silent as he turned onto Mount Olive Road. “When Christie disappeared, I thought about every possibility, including someone in the family being involved. And after all these years they’d have to do a whole lot to surprise me. But I don’t see any of them killing somebody. And yes, I’ve been wrong lots of times.”
A short time later, they stood in front of Helen Rafferty’s desk. Dix slipped off his aviator glasses and smiled down at Helen, who looked harried.
Dix said, leaning close, “I need to speak to you, Helen. Five minutes, in the lounge?”
“I—Well, I don’t suppose you’ll take a rain check, Sheriff?”
“I would prefer now. This is very important.”
There were two employees in the Stanislaus administration employee lounge, hunched over a green Formica table, a bag of Fritos between them. Dix flipped out his badge and waved them out.
Ruth sat beside Helen and looked at her for several moments, judging her mood. She turned on her FBI interview voice, calm, inviting. “Tell us about Dr. Holcombe and Erin Bushnell, Ms. Rafferty.”
Helen looked from Ruth to Dix, who was standing with his shoulders against the wall, arms crossed over his chest.
She burst into tears.
CHAPTER 20
PHILADELPHIA
WEDNESDAY
SAVICH AND SHERLOCK sat opposite Elsa Bender in the starkly modern living room of Jon Bender’s home on Linderman Lane on the Main Line. Although it was very warm in the living room, a cashmere afghan covered her legs, a thick wool sweater draped over her hunched shoulders. Her brown hair was pulled back from her face, fastened in a clip at the base of her neck. Her hands clasped and unclasped ceaselessly in her lap. Savich saw that she wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. The room was brightly lit, but Elsa Bender seemed to sit in the midst of shadows.
Her eyes weren’t bandaged now, but she wore dark glasses. She was too thin, and unhealthily pale, as if she never went outside. However, they saw her smile up at her ex-husband, who stood at her side, his hand resting lightly on her shoulder. According to the papers, Jon Bender was a successful real estate developer who had traded her in for a younger model, namely his personal assistant, two years before, but didn’t marry her. And he was here now, a big man, stocky, tough jawed, his blind ex-wife again living in his house.
Savich introduced himself and Sherlock. He said without preamble, “The old man and the young girl who bragged to me about taking you—their names are Moses Grace and Claudia. We don’t know her last name yet, or her relationship to the old man. They’re the same ones who buried my friend Pinky Womack in a grave in Arlington National Cemetery.”
Mr. Bender looked from Savich to Sherlock, obviously wondering if he should be alarmed. He nodded slowly. “We heard about that. We had no idea until you called this morning—Well, now there are actual names attached to their faces. I assume you’ve spoken with the local police?”
“Yes, we did. We’re here because we need your help, Mrs. Bender. You’re the only one who can provide us with a description.”
Mr. Bender answered for her. “Elsa still can’t remember what happened, so she can’t help you.”
Savich sat on the hassock at Elsa Bender’s feet. He took her left hand between his two large ones, felt the chill of her flesh. She’d turned inward, he thought, and that was the wrong direction. He said, “I appreciate your agreeing to speak to us on such short notice. Do you mind if I call you Elsa?” At her faint nod, he continued. “We know how badly these people hurt you, Elsa. We don’t need to focus on that. I know you want these monsters caught and punished for what they did to you. They’ve done terrible things to other people, too. You’re one of the lucky ones; you survived. We need your help so that other people can survive, too.”
“I wouldn’t call this surviving,” Elsa said, and Savich continued to hold her hand as the bitterness flowed through her.
He said, “I would. There’s something else, Elsa. These people who hurt you, they’re calling me, they want to kill me. They’ve also threatened my wife, and my little boy. I desperately need your help to protect them.”
Her hand fluttered a moment, then settled again. “It’s been a horribly painful time for me, Agent Savich. I don’t know if I can ever think about what happened. I don’t want to face those monsters again.”
