Page 14 of See How They Hide

“It also tells us something.” She paused. “These murders aren’t random. The victims werespecificallytargeted. There are multiple people involved, at least two killed Robert Benson based on the evidence, and one or more in Oregon.”

“They coordinated the killings,” Matt said. “Maybe to prevent the victims from hearing about the other murder? Except, there is no indication that Benson and Merrifield knew how to contact each other.”

Sloane spoke up. “If they knew each other, they may have memorized contact information to avoid their connection being discovered.”

“Possible,” Catherine said. “Though so far, no phone or email records indicate they have communicated. Matt, are you on your way back to Quantico?”

“We’re going to talk to the Bensons’ pastor first,” Matt said. “Should be back in a couple hours.”

He ended the call and drove the additional block to the church.

Matt and Sloane had met the pastor at the Benson house when they first spoke with Evelyn. Henry Duncan was a tall, broad man with large calloused hands. He was in his late seventies and had a full head of shaggy white hair that reminded Matt of Albert Einstein.

“Agent Costa, Agent Wagner,” Henry said. He motioned for them to sit in comfortable chairs and took a seat across from them behind his desk. The office was simple and uncluttered—chairs, desk, cross, books. The only personal items, other than a worn, personalized Bible that sat on the desk, were two framed photographs side by side on the wall between two narrow windows. One of a much younger Henry on his wedding day at least fifty years ago, and the other of Henry about ten years ago with his wife, who sat in a wheelchair, and dozens of people of all sizes surrounding them—likely his family.

Henry saw Matt looking at the photos and smiled. “My wife, Eloise, died the year after that picture was taken. It was the last time she was with all our children, grandchildren, and at the time two great-grandchildren. Since, I’ve been blessed with one more grandchild and two more great-grandchildren.”

“Lucky man,” Matt said.

“I am. You are here about the Bensons.”

Matt nodded. “We spoke again with Mrs. Benson and went through Robert’s personal items. We have some follow-up questions for you.”

“I haven’t thought of anything I neglected to tell you,” he said.

“Evelyn mentioned that you had a conversation with Robert before they married,” Matt said. “Did he tell you anything about his past, before he settled here in Weems?”

Henry leaned back, steepled his fingers, and looked directly at Matt. “He spoke to me as his pastor,” Henry said. “While I am not under the same restrictions as a Catholic priest, I take personal counsel extremely seriously.”

“I respect that,” Matt said, “but our forensic psychiatrist believes that Robert’s murder wasn’t a random act of violence, but directly related to his past. I’m looking for information about where he’s from, if he mentioned friends or family from his past. There are more than two killers out there—a pair killed Robert Benson, and a pair killed a college girl in Oregon on the same night.”

Henry frowned.

Matt continued, “Evelyn said he was from Colorado and may have been abused as a child or while in a relationship. She didn’t have details, said she didn’t want them.”

“I see,” Henry said. He paused again, but Matt didn’t get the impression that he planned to lie. He seemed to be searching for a way to share information without revealing a confidence, or weighing, perhaps, what was relevant and important.

“Evelyn’s information is correct. Robert shared more with me, but not much. I had been concerned that Robert wasn’t the good Christian he seemed to be. A stranger in a small town, involved with a small-town woman who was several years older than he was, no family left in the area. We talked many times, and by his actions, not only his words, I learned to trust him. He loved God, and he loved Evelyn, in that order. I’ve known Evelyn’s family all my life, and her father didn’t manage the store well. When he died, she quickly became overwhelmed, almost to the verge of having to sell and lose her livelihood—the business and the house—when Robert came into her life. He’d told me he had been an accountant.”

“Did you see his license? Was he licensed to practice in Virginia?”

“I never asked.”

They knew he wasn’t licensed under the name Robert Benson. But you didn’t need to be a certified accountant to run your own business.

Henry continued, “Within a year, Evelyn was no longer on the verge of losing her property, and within two years the store was in the black. He worked hard. He was kind and soft-spoken. Yes, he had secrets. He told me as much.” Henry paused. “As far as I know, he lived in Colorado before he came here, but I don’t know if he was raised there. He had been in an abusive relationship with a woman he wasn’t married to, but had been in the relationship for more than a decade. He left because, in his words, he was worried about losing his soul. That was all he said about it. I told him to tell Evelyn, and as far as I know he did, but he may have been vague about the details.”

“Was he was physically abused?”

“I was under the impression the abuse was emotional. And while I felt there was more to it than that, I didn’t press him.”

“Do you know the name of the woman he had been with?” Matt asked.

Henry shook his head. “I would tell you if I knew, but he never said.”

Matt stood, thanked Henry for his time, and asked, “Would you object if I or someone from my team attended Mr. Benson’s memorial on Wednesday?”

“Of course you may. It’s at four in the afternoon. I expect a full house.”

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