Page 40 of Not the Bodyguard's Widow
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The FBI office was what she expected and less. Kimberly removed her sunglasses and the floppy hat matching the pink floral maternity dress Abbie had loaned her. Abbie insisted pink was the best choice as it was feminine and vulnerable. Alex’s twin knew enough about color theories to be dangerous. Kimberly had chosen the dress for another reason—one Alex would not like and might try to forbid if he knew.
After they pinned on their visitor badges, a young man in a generic blue suit showed them to an office marked “Deputy Director Hastings.” A gray-haired man stood as they entered, and shook Alex’s hand, then Kimberly’s. “Water? Coffee?”
“Just water, please.” Kimberly sat in a chair designed to look comfortable while it kept its user on edge.
“In a few minutes, we will go into a conference room where Kimberly will talk with the agents from San Francisco. Alex, even though I understand you are now her husband, you get to stay here.” He turned his focus back to Kimberly. “From what I understand, the questions are a follow-up to the questions you raised after your husband’s death. You are not a person of interest in his death. We will record the conversation as it is being cast via closed circuit. Do you have any questions?”
Why didn’t you believe me before I disappeared?“Not yet.”
The younger man in the blue suit appeared at the door and nodded.
Kimberly followed him down the hall. The conference-room chair was more comfortable than expected. On the screen in front of her, a younger man and woman sat in a room like hers.
“Agents, this is Kimberly Benoit Thompson and, as of yesterday, Hastings. Which makes her my nephew’s wife, so yes, there is a relation, but since this case is not mine, I have no conflict of interest. I will sit in.” Deputy Director Hastings’s voice was one few could ignore and hopefully not dispute.
Agent Danes responded first. “Yes, Deputy Director. Hello, Mrs. um...”
“It may be simpler to call me Kimberly.”
“Thanks, Kimberly.” Agent Garcia tucked a hair that had fallen out of her bun behind her ear. “Our first question is, why did you contact the FBI after your husband’s death?”
“Because I thought you might know more than I did.”
“Why is that?”
“Jeremy told me he was meeting with agents because not everything at work was honest.”
“When did he tell you that?”
Kimberly disclosed what little she knew, the twenty-questions thing getting old fast. “Last Thanksgiving, Jeremy and I took a cruise—no other family, no bodyguards. We needed to be alone. I was trying to decide if I should file for divorce. Our marriage had gone downhill since we moved to California three years ago. I couldn’t decide if it was work or my father-in-law. During our discussion, Jeremy told me that not everything was legal and promised me he would go to the... SCC, I think? I told him I would stand by him if he was trying to do the honest thing. A few days before Christmas, we went to look at lights at this park, and Jeremy quietly shared with me that he’d met with the FBI too. But he wouldn’t give me any details because he didn’t want his father knowing and the bodyguards were watching. He told me it was safer for me not to know, and we couldn’t talk about it in the house. After that, he hardly spoke to me. He worked late and had odd arguments with his father. Jeremy was so distracted he didn’t even realize I had morning sickness. On Valentine’s Day, I called him at the office and told him I’d prepared a special dinner. I was going to tell him about the baby. He said he’d be home in a half hour. As you know, he never made it. He didn’t drink around me and only rarely for social events. He knew I didn’t like him drunk. He would not have driven to Oregon drunk, and not when he’d promised to be home in half an hour.”
Alex’s uncle handed her a box of tissues.
“You are sure about the time you called him on February 14?”
“Very sure. I didn’t want the chicken to be dry. I had an ultrasound picture to show him. We’d lost three babies before. I’d never made it to twelve weeks. I looked at the clock a million times as I waited. The bodyguards knew he was dead before the police told me. They shouldn’t have known.”
“You’re sure they knew?” asked Agent Garcia.
“Jax told me I needed to answer the door and talk to the police, then stayed and waited while I talked to them. I thought nothing of it at the time, but it was as if he knew I would faint as I do far too easily during the first weeks of my pregnancy. My bodyguard confirmed it at the funeral home. Gave me one of the superior looks he always did when he knew things. Of course, the staff and bodyguards knew what my husband didn’t because they watched me all the time.”
The two agents exchanged a look.
“I know it sounds paranoid, but they did. After the funeral, it got worse. My father-in-law kept asking if Jeremy had left a key, or a letter, or something. Then, one day, I found a camera hidden in my studio. Someone had been through my paintbrushes. I am very particular about them. And yes, I am Leigh Benz. My attorney and agent can verify that for you.”
The passive look on Agent Dane’s face slipped for a moment.
“Then I realized someone had also gone through the drawers in my room. The bodyguards even started staying inside the church with me. It had been the one place I could be me.”
“One day, I came home and discovered that the books in the library had been rearranged, and I found another camera. It took me three weeks to work out an escape. If you all didn’t want to talk to me, I would still be out there.” Kimberly pointed in the direction of the door.
“You are sure your husband never gave you a contact name or anything?”
“He didn’t. I don’t think we spoke more than a few sentences after Christmas, and it was always the same thing. Either ‘I’ll be late’ or ‘Sorry, I’m late.’ He even stopped sleeping in our room because he ‘didn’t want to disturb’ me.”
“Director Hastings said you got married yesterday. Wasn’t that fast?” asked Agent Garcia.
