Page 12 of See How They Hide

“I know this is difficult for you,” Sloane said. “We’re going to try to make it as easy as possible, but that doesn’t mean it’ll be easy, especially losing someone you love to violence.”

Evelyn stared at the stove, waiting for the kettle. “Robert was kind, as I said, but he was also quiet. He never talked about his past. Some of my friends at church were worried that he was a con artist or a thief or was running from the law.”

She didn’t say anything for a long minute, then the kettle whistled and she brought it to the table. She poured hot water into first Sloane’s cup and then her own, then placed the pot on a trivet. She selected a bag, and started steeping. Sloane did the same, added a few drops of honey, and waited for Evelyn to speak in her own time, her own way.

“Before we married,” Evelyn continued, “Robert told me Pastor Henry asked him several pointed questions. I’ve known Henry since I was little, and I’m sure he had noble intentions.

“Robert didn’t want to talk about his life before he moved here, he said it was the past and I was his future. But he said I deserved to know he wasn’t a criminal and had never been married. He told me he hadn’t been physically abused, but that the emotional abuse was almost unbearable. He didn’t go into details, and what he said hurt him to say, so I didn’t push. I suspect he may have been involved in a bad relationship. Abuse isn’t always man to woman, parent to child.”

“True,” Sloane said, sipping her tea. “And he didn’t talk about who was abusive? How long it went on?”

“No. I told him I didn’t need to know, that I trusted him. For ten years, he never did anything to cause me to doubt him.”

“In hindsight, looking back to the days before his murder, can you think of anything Robert said or did that was out of character? Was he quieter than usual? Receive a call that upset him? A letter?”

Evelyn shook her head. “Saturday we attended a wedding for my best friend’s daughter. It was lovely. We were home by eight in the evening, relaxed by the fire with a glass of wine, as was our habit, and were in bed by ten. Sunday, we attend church and open the antique store at noon. When he wasn’t in bed when I woke at five thirty, I assumed he was taking care of the chickens—he loves those chickens. I didn’t—I didn’t realize anything was wrong until he didn’t come in for breakfast.”

Evelyn first checked the barn and then the store; when she didn’t find Robert, and his car was still there, she’d called the police and they came out immediately. Such was a town like Weems, where everyone knew everyone. The responding officer looked around and found Robert dead—throat slit, hands bound, body covered with red poppies—in the woods behind the barn. The coroner determined he’d been killed between two and four in the morning.

There was no sign of forced entry. No sign of disturbance in the house, barn, or store. Evelyn hadn’t woken up, didn’t hear any vehicles or voices.

Robert Benson had left his house quietly and been violently murdered.

The team’s theory was that Robert had received a threat or warning in the days leading up to his death and left to meet his killer because he didn’t want harm to come to his wife. The second theory was that he heard something outside and went to investigate.

Their investigation indicated that the marriage was solid and there was no financial motive. Robert kept the books and the FBI forensic auditor determined they were in order. Robert had brought nothing to the marriage, so if it was the other way around and Evelyn was murdered, they may have looked to a financial motive. Evelyn owned the property and Robert had helped her expand what had been a small antique store into a more successful, profitable business.

No struggle, few forensic clues. Blunt force trauma to the back of the head, but no external injuries, other than the slit throat. The coroner surmised that the victim had been attacked from behind, bound, and had his throat slit while prone.

The flowers held the most potential for evidence, which the FBI lab was still processing. They determined that the poppies were likely grown in a greenhouse, but the roots and petals were undergoing further testing. They hoped to narrow down the region based on plant DNA and might be able to identify fertilizer or pesticides that could be traced.

Robert Benson’s fingerprints hadn’t popped in any criminal database. Didn’t mean he wasn’t guilty of something, but so far they had no idea where he’d lived or what he’d done before showing up in Weems eleven years ago.

With the near-identical murder of Jane Merrifield, they had shifted gears, looking for commonalities. But they were still no closer to answers.

“Evelyn,” Sloane said, “if you think of anything, no matter how small—a name, a place, a memory Robert shared with you—even a good memory, about a time or event before he met you—please call. You have Matt’s number and my number. We want to find who did this to your family.”

“I will,” she said.

“If you don’t mind, may I look through Robert’s personal things?”

Evelyn led Sloane upstairs. Their bedroom was modest in size, all the furniture well-made antiques. The room was timeless—Evelyn, at fifty-four, acted older than her age, and her decor mimicked that.

Who were you, Robert Benson? Where did you come from? What were you running from?

Who killed you?

Evelyn watched from the doorway and didn’t say anything as Sloane slowly turned and observed the room.

Sloane suspected that Robert Benson had been hiding a secret. Were answers hidden in this room?

She ignored Evelyn’s sad eyes as the woman watched her from the doorway. The widow didn’t have to tell her what side of the bed her husband slept on: the left side closest to the window had a historical romance novel on the nightstand, a pair of delicate reading glasses, an antique clock, and a glass flowered lamp. The right side had another glass lamp, but this in a solid green; a digital alarm, and a nonfiction World War II story—an older book that Sloane had read when it first came out calledUnbroken.

She crossed to Robert’s side of the bed and opened his nightstand drawer. Inside was a Bible, box of tissues, coins, aspirin, an unused notepad, pencil, and a nearly complete crossword puzzle magazine.

On the short dresser were many figurines and a long lace doily. On the tall dresser was a framed photo of Robert and Evelyn on their wedding day, and a candid picture of them outdoors, Evelyn laughing and Robert smiling. Next to the frame was a man’s wallet.

Sloane opened the wallet. A Virginia driver’s license for Robert Benson. A business credit card. A photo of Evelyn. Sixty-three dollars in cash.

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