“It’s not uncommon,” Abbey said, nodding in agreement. “People see what they want to see, and that’s especially true in issues of sexual abuse. The offenders are often happily married, pillars of the community. The wives simply don’t want to know. They either look the other way or fabricate some story which makes it all acceptable.”
“What about the other girls? None of them told anybody?”
“We haven’t talked with them,” Abby said, “so we don’t know that for sure, but it’s a good guess they didn’t. Peterson’s type picks on the misfits, kids on the edge of the crowd, kids in need. And he fills that need. Seduction can be a pretty powerful weapon. Cheryl admits he never forced her. At least that’s the way she sees it. Of course, we know that physical force isn’t the only way to gain control. All she saw, though, was the attention, the charm, the appeal of being loved. Peterson made her feel important and special. That’s pretty hard for anyone to turn away from, especially a kid who’s never found much in the way of love elsewhere.”
Abbey paused for a moment frowning. “Then, too, there’s the intimidation factor. Peterson convinced her that if she said anything, nobody would believe her. She would be the one in trouble. He held all the cards, don’t forget.”
“But Cheryl did tell someone finally.” I noted.
Abbey nodded. “That took a great deal of trust on her part. And when Eddie didn’t call as he’d promised, she panicked and ran away, afraid she’d been betrayed once again.”
“Peterson’s probably been getting away with stuff like this for years,” Benson said.
“For years? And nobody knew?”
“We haven’t had time to check into it, but he fits the pattern of someone with a history of sex offenses. He’s moved around a lot, changed jobs. I’d be surprised if this is the first time.”
Abbey nodded. “It happens more often than you’d believe.”
She stood to leave, and I stood, too.
“Stay a minute, why don’t you?” Benson said, addressing me.
I gave Abbey my phone number in case she wanted to get in touch, then sat down again. There was a moment of silence.
“About your car,” Benson began. “You want to press charges?”
I shook my head.
“I figured as much.” He rocked back in his chair. “We’ll have it towed to a shop for you. They ought to be able to tell you whether it can be salvaged. You’ll have to check with your insurance company, see what they’ll cover in a case like this. Technically it’s a stolen car, and you can identify the thief.”
I hoped they’d cover enough to get me out from under my payments. I was beginning to think I wasn’t destined to own a BMW.
Benson pressed his fingertips together and then his lips. He watched me for a moment in silence. “I’ve been thinking about what you said the other day, about Eddie getting money from your father.”
I waited while Benson locked and then unlocked his fingers.
“I think I’ve got some idea what it might have been about. It’s just conjecture, though, understand?”
I nodded.
“I don’t even know whether I should be telling you this, but I suspect you’ve a right to the truth. Maybe it will help you make peace with the past.”
I nodded again, this time in encouragement.
He dropped his hands to his desk and sat upright. “I think your father may have seen it as a way to get back at George Marrero. He told me, just a couple of days before he died, that he’d had a chance to, in his words, stick another burr under George’s saddle.”
I was confused. “I didn’t think they even knew each other.”
“Strictly speaking, they didn’t. But your father blamed George for your mother’s death. He blamed himself, too, of course, but lately he’d become obsessed with the idea that George was ultimately responsible.”
“I don’t understand. Did my mother know George?” Benson shook his head. “It’s complicated.” He hesitated before continuing. “I don’t know if you remember, but your mother was in an automobile accident a couple of months before she died.”
I did remember, vaguely. “No one was hurt though, right?”
“Right. It was George who was driving the other car. He had been drinking and ran a stop sign. Your mother’s car was a mess, but she escaped with only a few minor bruises.” He paused and took a deep breath. “Soon after she became seriously depressed, ultimately taking her own life. Over the years your father became convinced that her depression and suicide stemmed from the accident. There was nothing he could do legally, but he took every opportunity to cause George trouble. It may not have been rational, but to him it was very real.”
There was something about his tone of voice that brought me up short. I had the feeling there was more to the story than he’d told me. “You don’t think her suicide was related to the accident though.”
“Not directly.” Benson ran his tongue over his bottom lip, then stared up at the ceiling. “This is the hard part, Kali.” He took another deep breath. “Your mother was . . . well, I was in love with her. I guess you’d say we had an affair, although I don’t like that word. It sounds so crass. And what we had together was . . . well, it was more about laughter and long conversations and picnics in the grass than sex, although I won’t deny the latter was part of it.”
I swallowed and struggled to find words. “Did my father know about this?”
“No. He knew she wasn’t happy in their marriage, but I don’t think he was aware she was involved with someone else.”
Benson lowered his gaze again and looked at me. “Your father was a good man, an honest man, but he lacked passion and imagination. Or at least he lacked the ability to communicate those qualities. And your mother was just the opposite — high-spirited, impulsive, temperamental. She used to complain that he never reached out to her, never sought to look into her soul, never, in some sense, really wanted her. Although, of course, he did.”
“And you,” I said, “had passion and imagination?”
I didn’t intend for the words to carry reproach, although I’m sure that’s what Benson heard. His jaw tensed, and his eyes clouded over. “I loved her, and I think that, to a degree, she loved me. But had I been her husband, I doubt that I’d have made her any happier than your father did. I’m not sure, in truth, that any man could have.”
We were silent a moment, each lost in our own thoughts. Finally, I asked, “If the accident didn’t precipitate her suicide, what did?”
Benson hesitated. “She was pregnant. She’d just found out and had come to tell me. The accident happened on the way home.” He cleared his throat, looked die other way. “She was pregnant, and she didn’t know who the father was. The accident may have contributed in some way, but mostly it was guilt and despair. She felt suddenly the weight of her sins. It was a heavy burden.”
I found my eyes were wet.
“I’m sorry, Kali. I loved her, and in the end that wasn’t enough. Your father loved her, too. Neither of us were able to give her what she wanted. And neither of us were able to save her.”
<><><>
I called Tom to come pick me up. And then I called Jannine to tell her the news — all charges against her were being dropped. While I waited for Tom, out front under the vast velvet sky, I thought about love and happiness, and how it happened that one did not always follow the other. In fact, during this last week I’d glimpsed enough of the rough underside of love to make me wonder if it wasn’t an overrated phenomenon.
I didn’t have a chance to pursue the thought because Tom pulled up just then. Record time. He must not only have broken die speed limit, but thoroughly shattered it.
He got out of the car and greeted me with a loopy grin. “You sure have a knack for finding trouble,” he said.
“Actually, I lead a very dull life.”
He looked me over from head to toe, checking out the new scrapes and bruises. “Could have fooled me.” He opened die door and helped me into
the car. “Do I get the first scoop on this story?”
“Depends on what you’re offering in return.”
Tom raised an eyebrow in an exaggerated leer.
“Not that. I was thinking more along the lines of food.”
“Oh.” His face fell. “Well, I can probably manage that, too. How does pizza sound?”
“If you throw in a bottle of wine, I’ll give you an exclusive.”
“Deal,” he told me, and leaned over to seal it with a kiss.
A warm, wonderful kiss that made me think once again about love and happiness. Only my thoughts this time around were very much brighter.
About the Author
Jonnie Jacobs is the bestselling author of thirteen mystery and suspense novels, including the most recently released Paradise Falls. A former practicing attorney and the mother of two grown sons, she lives in northern California with her husband. Email her at [email protected] or visit her on the web at http://www.jonniejacobs.com.
Books by Jonnie Jacobs
Kali O'Brien Novels of Legal Suspense
SHADOW OF DOUBT
EVIDENCE OF GUILT
MOTION TO DISMISS
WITNESS FOR THE DEFENSE
COLD JUSTICE
INTENT TO HARM
THE NEXT VICTIM
The Kate Austen Mysteries
MURDER AMONG NEIGHBORS
MURDER AMONG FRIENDS
MURDER AMONG US
MURDER AMONG STRANGERS
Non-series books
THE ONLY SUSPECT
PARADISE FALLS
Shadow of Doubt (A Kali O'Brien legal mystery) Page 24
