The Shadow Box(37)
It occurred to Conor that he still hadn’t questioned Ford Chase. He was Claire’s stepson. If Sallie had been referring to him, and not a car, could he be the link between her and Claire?
They arrived at Easterly Hospital in separate cars, and Conor followed Jen through the revolving door. Benson was on the mend and had been moved to a different floor. They spoke to the nurse in charge and went to his room. He lay in bed, upright and watching a talk show on TV.
“Mr. Benson,” Jen said. “This is Detective Reid.”
“Hello,” Benson said. His skin was sallow. He was small and muscular with short graying brown hair. His eyes were open very wide, and Conor thought he looked scared, like a deer in the headlights. He had a gauze bandage above his left eye.
“How are you doing, Mr. Benson?” Conor asked.
“I’m fine,” he said.
“You don’t look fine. I know you were badly injured.”
“Yeah. They say I’m lucky the metal didn’t hit my heart,” he said. “But it’s nothing compared to what Gwen’s been through.” He swallowed hard, looked toward the window. “And my Charlie, my boy. Where is he?”
“We don’t know,” Jen said gently.
“We’re very sorry that he’s still missing,” Conor said.
Benson nodded without looking up.
“Can you tell us what happened on Friday?” Conor asked.
“I already told her,” Benson said, gesturing at Jen and seeming to slash away tears—but his eyes were dry. He hadn’t mentioned Sallie.
“Take us through that day,” Conor said. “It was a weekday. Why weren’t the kids in school?”
“We wanted to get a jump on Memorial Day weekend,” Benson said. “Get out to Block Island before the crowds. Get a good slip at the marina.”
“So you planned this early departure?” Jen asked. “Or was it spur of the moment?”
“We planned it. We even wanted to provision the night before.”
“Provision? Tell me more,” Jen asked. “I’m not a boater.”
“You know, buy food, soda, snacks, stuff like that. Head down to the boat and load everything up first thing so we could take off, leave the marina early. Right after breakfast, we thought.”
“Who did the grocery shopping?” Conor asked.
“I did. That part I did after work Thursday.”
“Where?” Conor asked.
“Black Hall Grocer’s,” Benson said.
“And who did the loading, down at the boat?” Jen asked.
“Me. But not Thursday night. It didn’t quite work out that way.”
“Then when did you do it?” Jen asked.
“Friday morning. The day we left.”
“Mr. Benson, what kind of car do you drive?” Conor asked.
“A BMW.”
“Do you have a Ford?”
“No, why?”
“Did Sallie?”
“No, she had a Suburban.”
Conor nodded. So if that spidery handwriting in Sallie’s letter did say Ford, it wasn’t about a family car.
“All right,” Conor said. “What time did you load the provisions onto your boat?”
“Nine a.m.”
“Friday morning, right?”
“Yes, I already said that.”
“Did you call the school and tell them the kids wouldn’t be there?” Jen asked.
Benson shrugged, winced as if he’d moved the wrong muscle. “Sallie took care of things like that. But, yes, she probably called.”
“So you left the dock that morning?” Conor asked.
“No,” he said, letting out a big exhale. “It wound up being early afternoon.”
“Why is that?” Jen asked. “What was the holdup?”
“Sallie,” he said, looking stone faced.
“Why?” Jen asked.
“It started the night before. She said she didn’t want to go.”
“Did she say why?” Jen asked.
“She didn’t feel good. She didn’t think she could handle the boat ride and a whole weekend away.”
“That must have been frustrating,” Conor said.
“Yeah,” Benson said.
“She screwed things up?” Conor asked.
“You could put it that way. I finally convinced her to go. I ran out to load up the boat before we all headed to the dock . . .”
“Just you?” Conor asked. “I wonder why that is, considering you were all planning to go down there and take off that morning. Couldn’t you have done it all in one trip? The provisioning and getting the family on board the boat?”
“Trust me, when you have little kids, you want to get as much done as you can before they get there—they get impatient, you know? Waiting around while we stow the food, put ice in the icebox, fill the fuel tanks. Trust me, it’s not fun. So I did it myself, then went back home to pick everyone up.”
“What time did you get home?” Jen asked.
“About ten thirty. We had the kids all set, practically in the car, when Sallie broke down again, said she didn’t want to go at all. She started to cry—almost hysterical.”