CHAPTER NINE
When they arrived at the Wells residence to speak with the family of Benjamin Wells, Rachel found the exact opposite of what had been waiting for them at the home of Kevin Warren. Benjamin Wells lived in a well-spaced-out subdivision, the sort where each house had about two acres of land between their house and their neighbor. It was the sort of brick house that seemed to have taken over white-collar America in the 1980s; two stories with a pool in the back, but somehow not seeming all that glamorous.
There were five cars in the half-circle parking lot when they arrived. And when Jack knocked on the door, it was answered right away by two women who seemed polar opposites of one another. One of them greeted the agents with a smile while the other could barely hold eye contact with anyone, her eyes red and worn down from weeping.
“Can I help you?” the smiling woman said.
“We’re Agents Rivers and Gift,” Jack said, showing his badge. “We were hoping to speak to someone regarding Mr. Wells. A spouse, perhaps?”
“Of course, come on in.”
As they walked through the door and Jack put his badge back inside his inner coat pocket, it occurred to Rachel that she was on a case without her badge or sidearm. It was a strange feeling that made the entire encounter feel more like a training exercise than a case.
“I’m Amy, Benjamin’s niece,” the smiling woman said. “His wife, Melinda, is in the den. I think she’d be up to speaking with you. But, as you could probably see from the little traffic jam in the driveway, she’s got a lot of guests right now. Would you mind if I asked you to sit out on the sun porch? I’ll send her right back to you.”
“That’s perfectly fine,” Jack said.
“Cut through the kitchen, down the hall, and the door to the sun porch is right there at the end.”
They followed these directions and found the sun porch easy enough. They stepped out on it and found a small lounger couch and a glider. It all looked out into the pool, which was still covered even though it had been warm enough to use it for a few months now. The porch had a cozy feel to it and the wear of the couch and the empty glass on the small coffee table indicated that it was used rather frequently. They both sat on the couch, leaving the glider for Mrs. Wells whenever she came out.
It took less than thirty seconds for the door to open and for the recently widowed Melinda Wells to come out onto the porch. The poor woman looked tired but also having just come out of the heavy-crying phase of having just learned her husband had been killed.
“Amy says you’re with the FBI?” she asked, her voice soft and delicate.
“Yes ma’am,” Jack said, again taking out his ID and showing it. “And we’ll do our very best not to take up too much of your time.”
Mrs. Wells settled into the glider and waved the comment away. “Oh, you take all the time you need. This will be a welcome change from hearing people tell me how my Ben is in a better place and such rubbish. He may very well be for all I know but…well, I want answers.”
“We do, too,” Rachel said.
“Mrs. Wells, the police reports show that the cops already asked you about any enemies your husband might have had and that you could come up with nothing. No business rivalries, no hardened friendships from the past…nothing. Have you been able to think of anything at all over the last few days?”
“No. Nothing at all.”
“Can you tell us a bit about his cancer diagnosis?” Rachel asked. She had no real idea why but she found that she was almost afraid to hear the answer.
“He was diagnosed with prostate cancer seven months ago. He underwent chemo, saw a few specialists, and stayed in the hospital for a while. About eight weeks ago, it looked like he was going to beat it but then he took just an awful turn. The doctors told him it wasn’t looking good—that even the chemo wasn’t going to be of much help.”
“The report also says that you were with him when it happened, right?” Jack said. “You were in the parking lot with him?”
“I was,” she said. At this, she showed the first signs of true sadness. Rachel could see her fighting for control, her lips quivering and her breath shaky. “He was standing by the passenger’s side door, waiting for me to unlock the doors. I was on the driver’s side, digging the keys out of my purse. My head couldn’t have been turned away for more than five seconds. But that was all it took. I heard the sound…something heavy hitting him. And by the time I looked up, he was falling.”
“You never saw the attacker?”
“I caught sight of him as he was running away. He’d already managed to get a good distance away and was weaving in between the cars two rows ahead of us. I think…I think if I had called the police before going over to check on Ben, they might have caught him. But I was too worried. I wasn’t thinking straight. Jesus…a good minute or two passed before I even thought about calling the cops.”
“Did you see any part of the attacker that could be useful in trying to find him?”
“No. I know he was wearing a ball cap and a thin jacket—the sort that looks almost like a windbreaker but has more of an athletic fit about it. But that was all. No clue about age or height or hair color.”
“And nothing was stolen?” Jack asked.
“No. This man killed my husband just for the sake of killing him,” she said sternly. “It makes no damned sense.”
“Did Mr. Wells have a cellphone he used regularly?” Rachel asked.
“He had one, but he only ever used it to FaceTime his daughter. And those damned crosswords he enjoyed so much.” She smiled wanly and shook her head. “Our daughter is here, too, in the den. She’s taken it quite hard. Hasn’t spoken more than three sentences since she arrived. If you’re curious about appointments, doctor’s visits and things like that, I handled all of it.”