Noah's Rainy Day (11 page)

From the corner of his eye, Streeter watched as Liv gave Kelleher a hug, noticing the big smile on Kelleher’s otherwise tight lips. Streeter resisted a sigh, imagining his discussion with her about not only dressing appropriately, but also how PDAs were not typically warranted or expressed by professional agents. Especially first office agents. Then again, Liv Bergen was anything but typical.

As the BlueSky employees whispered to one another, Gates was settling into the chair beside Streeter across from the two men. Gates cleared his throat and leaned across the table toward Benson and Toby Freytag and
said, “Half hour with you and you forget to mention the Williamses are on their way here?”

Toby Freytag’s eyes grew wide as he stammered, “I … uh.”

“When do they arrive?” Streeter asked.

“I … how would I know that?”

“Find out. You get your hands on their flight plans, the ETA, the name of their pilots, the time they left, the mechanic’s shoe size, everything you can on those two private jets,” Gates demanded.

“But I need to stay with Kevin or I’ll—”

“Now!” Gates interrupted, seeing a smile touch Streeter’s lips. “And make sure the instant their wheels touch down, you escort them to the room right next door to us and make sure we have plenty of seats for everyone. Immediately.”

“How can I do that? I don’t have the authority to—”

Gates was punching numbers on his phone. “My deputy is on his way. Deputy Eddie Heisinger. You’ll have the authority to do whatever you need to accommodate my requests. Now do what I said.”

Toby Freytag slunk out of the room with Kelleher, who Streeter knew would stick like glue to the BlueSky manager every minute until Deputy Heisinger was with him. Liv, still unnoticed by the distraught flight attendant at the table, closed the door. Streeter offered Liv a flicker of a once-over, not intended to mask the worry etched on his face. He made a mental note to personally throttle Linwood if he was responsible for her wounds.

Streeter cleared his throat, pushing away any thoughts of Liv or Linwood for later. Streeter clicked a couple buttons on the keyboard and started the video recording, announcing the time, date, location, and all persons present for the official FBI interview. Benson glanced over his shoulder at Special Agent Liv Bergen as Streeter announced her presence. His eyes grew wide at the announcement that this was an official FBI interview. Streeter might have let his glance linger a bit too long on Liv, who appeared impressively formidable even though this was her first time in an interview and he hadn’t had time to instruct her. She stood in front of the door. Her stony-faced expression, wide stance, lowered chin, and crossed arms made her look like a seasoned guard in a maximum-security
prison. And the cuts along her cheek highlighted with dried blood made the effect all the more convincing.

“State your full name, date of birth, and today’s date, please.”

“Oh crap. Oh no. Oh no, no, no.” Benson buried his head in his hands, propping his elbows on the folding table.

“Mr. Benson?” Streeter asked.

“I want a lawyer,” he mumbled, making no more comments about being called “Mr. Benson.”

“And I want to be home with my family,” Gates said. “But I’m stuck with you and you’re not under arrest, so can we get on with the interview, please?”

Benson dropped his hands on the table. The heavy slap of skin against plastic echoed in the metal and tile room. “Great, just great. I’m not under arrest, but I am in trouble, aren’t I?”

“Not as much trouble as you’re going to be in if you don’t start talking,” Gates barked.

After working with his best friend for years, Streeter knew that Tony Gates had a cloudy perspective when dealing with cases involving children. He had a tendency to lose his temper, bully witnesses, and become agitated and impatient ever since the murder of the pageant girl about Max’s age had gone cold—remained unsolved—a couple of years ago. Streeter had learned Tony’s second oldest son, his godson, had gone to school with the murdered girl. Too close to home for the father of six, Streeter supposed.

“Where’s the boy?” Gates asked.

“I don’t know.”

Gates shot a glance Streeter’s way as Benson’s gaze dropped to the floor.

“What happened to him?” Streeter asked.

Kevin Benson lifted his eyes, first toward Liv, then between Gates and Streeter. He drew in a long, ragged breath before blowing it out again.

“I took my eyes off him for a split second and the kid was gone. That’s it. That’s my story. That’s when my world went to shit.”

“WHERE DID YOU LAST
have the child in your care?” Streeter pressed.

“Between gates. On Concourse B.”

“Here in Denver, then?”

Benson nodded. “We got off the plane at gate B31 and went to B51. We had some extra time so we came back to get ice cream. I stopped to use the restroom and he disappeared.”

“You left him in the concourse alone?” Gates asked.

“No, I took him into the bathroom with me. Put him in the stall next to me.”

“Which bathroom?” Streeter asked.

“The … I don’t know, I don’t know.” Benson cradled his head, shaking it from side to side like he might rattle the truth loose or something.

“What do you mean, you don’t know?” Gates asked. “You’re a Denver-based flight attendant. You probably know every square inch of this airport.”

“I know, I know. I mean, I can’t think,” Benson said. Lifting his face from his hands and narrowing his eyes at Chief Gates, his gaze slid occasionally over to where Liv was standing. “You’re freaking me out.”

“Freaking you out? I’ll show you freaking—” Gates started.

Streeter interrupted, “Where’ve you been? You must know we’ve been looking for you.”

Benson’s horsey face looked even more ridiculous with his mouth hanging open as he gawked at the two men interviewing him. “I was looking for the kid.”

Streeter glanced at his watch, saying nothing but implying it had been hours since the boy went missing.

“At first, I mean. I looked all over. Walked this entire airport. Twice. Which accounted for the first two hours. Then, I headed out to the taxi stand, the bus lines, asking if anyone had seen a little blond boy wandering around. I asked everyone. So by 4:20 p.m., about the time when the kid was supposed to be landing in LA, I panicked and took off.”

“To the bar,” Streeter said.

“No. Well, yes. See?” He buried his fingers in his mop of hair. “You’re getting me all confused.”

“Take your time,” Streeter offered, his inflection even, his tone rough.

“Yes, I ended up at the bar. Eventually. First, I went to my apartment. My girlfriend kicked me out. Then, I went to the bar. Been there ever since.”

“You lose a kid, drink yourself stupid, and at no time did you ever think to mention to anyone at BlueSky or to the police that you’d lost a five-year-old boy?” Gates pressed.

“I told you. I got scared.”

The perspiration that beaded on his forehead appeared to be genuine to Streeter.

“Benson, I know you’ve had a long day. You’re probably getting tired and you just want to go home,” Streeter noted.

Benson didn’t let him finish. “Home? I don’t have a home anymore. And I’ll be fired before I ever leave this room. Freytag’s probably already cutting my final checks to hand to me the second that scary chick over there opens the door.”

“She’s not a chick.” Streeter glared at Benson. “That’s Special Agent Liv Bergen.”

Gates added, “But you’re right about her being scary, so watch your mouth or we’ll let her show you just how scary she can get.”

Streeter noticed a slight arch to Liv’s eyebrow. He could tell she’d liked
that. “And I have no sympathy for whether you have a home or a job, so get back to the story about the child.”

Benson held up his hands and shrugged. “What do you want me to say? This is the story. I took my eye off of him for one bloody second so I could take a leak, and the kid bolts. By the time you’re done grilling me about it, I’m without a job. I’m already without my apartment. Do you know how much an apartment costs these days? A fortune.”

“Where’s the boy?” Streeter asked.

“I told you. I have no clue.” Benson looked at Streeter, then at Gates. “I misplaced him. Okay?”

“Not okay!” Gates shifted as if he were winding up a punch for the guy and barked, “He’s a child. Not a set of keys, you piece of—”

Streeter interrupted, “When’s the last time you saw him?”

Benson didn’t seem to notice the danger he was in by inflaming Gates, the father of six kids, two about the age of the missing child. Streeter could see how inattentive the man could be, unaware of dangers around him. It would have been easy for someone to lure a child from his not-so-watchful care.

“I told you already. Just after we arrived. We were in the bathroom. Between B31 and B51. He went in one stall and I went in another. He was gone when I came out.”

Streeter believed Benson was lying, about something. But he didn’t think Benson had the ability to actually plan an abduction or was capable of any other menace, besides neglect. He simply wasn’t aware enough for such a broad undertaking. He wasn’t present enough to have carried off an abduction without someone noticing or without losing his composure during this interview. Streeter’s focus shifted quickly to Benson as a witness.

Streeter decided to turn up the heat to confirm his speculation and to find out what Kevin Benson actually knew. “Which bathroom, exactly? And what time, exactly?”

Benson answered, “Around 1:00, 1:30.”

“That’s the best you can do? Are you kidding me?” Gates asked.

Benson plowed his long, thin fingers through his mop of dark hair and blew out his cheeks. “Okay, the plane landed at 12:40 p.m. We were off the plane and away from the gate within ten minutes. The boy and I took off
for the gate of our next flight, which was only a few gates away. At B51. We landed at B31. So we were there before 1:00.”

“And then?” Streeter asked, noticing Liv shift near the door, her expression as agitated as he felt.

“I took him back to the shops above the underground trains so he could get an ice cream. He whined about passing it the first time. Said he had to have it. So I took him back, went to the bathroom nearby, and the kid took off before I could finish my business in the stall next to him. I looked for him for hours.”

“Before you gave up and headed for the bar,” Gates sniped.

Streeter had noticed the alcohol on Benson’s breath when he first shook his hand, but wouldn’t have thought Benson was drunk. “Go back. Tell us from the beginning what happened,” Streeter coaxed. “Where exactly in the airport were you? Which bathroom? Who else was in the bathroom with you? What did you hear? What did you see? Give us every detail.”

Benson sighed and slumped, his elongated frame folding like a misshapen jackknife, as if Streeter had asked him the impossible.

“Do you have a problem recalling what happened?” Streeter asked.

“No,” Benson said. “I have a problem recalling the details. Maybe it’s because I drank too much. Maybe it’s because you’re freaking me out. It’s all just too upsetting to me.”

“Upsetting to you?” Gates asked.

“Give me a break, will you?” Benson whined. “That kid ditched me. He’s the one to blame for all this. I’m the victim here.”

Gates stood up so suddenly that his chair toppled backward. Within four quick steps with his long legs, Gates had rounded the table where Benson sat, too fast for Streeter to react in time. Gates had already grabbed the shirtfront of Benson’s BlueSky uniform under the sniveling man’s chin and was pulling him out of his chair.

I WAS CURIOUS ABOUT
why Kevin Benson wasn’t seeing what I was seeing. I mean, I could chalk it up to it being his first time meeting the chief, but this was my first time seeing DPD Chief Tony Gates in action, too, and it seemed overly obvious to me that Benson was about to get his teeth knocked out if he wasn’t careful.

I couldn’t believe Benson had actually implied—in so many words—that the missing boy deserved whatever he got. Clearly Chief Gates had the same thought, since he was rounding the table to clobber Benson. I decided to abandon my post at the door and ready myself to be wedged between the two tall men, given I was the scary chick, the badass agent. I wasn’t quite feeling that way, but I had to make Benson and others believe it. I’d been in a few near-brawls during emotional permit hearings, but nothing like this.

“
You
are not the victim here, you piece of shit. There is a little boy who’s the victim. Stop the bullshit and tell us where he is!” Gates spat at Benson.

I wasn’t sure if Chief Gates was going to punch Kevin Benson. But I sure hoped he would. I knew by the look in Streeter’s eye that he was irritated, but he hadn’t yet been pushed to the brink of punching anyone.
I wasn’t so sure about Gates. All I knew is that Streeter adored the chief. Talked about him all the time.

“Whoa, whoa, now,” Benson was saying, “I told you the truth. I don’t know where the kid is.”

Streeter was at Gates’s side and I moved instantly behind Benson, ready to take him down just in case a full-out fight erupted. I kind of figured Gates didn’t get to be chief of police by being a hothead or a street fighter, but I was there just in case. Gates was rumored to have killed a Lucifer’s Lot member once when the motorcycle club had suggested that a young thug rape Gates’s elderly mother as an initiation, but I also heard no one could ever prove that Gates did anything wrong or that the kid was dead. But no one had ever heard from him again. Can’t say that I blamed Gates for stepping over that thin, blue line. In fact, I could see myself doing the same if anyone ever threatened my family. The easiest part of knowing whose side I’m on is when my family’s gathered, regardless of who’s standing on the other side.

All I know is that Chief Gates was notorious for getting information from the tightest-lipped witnesses and for using his street sense to extract it. Quickly. So I was looking forward to watching him work his magic tonight.

Gates pulled Benson’s face closer to his, still gripping the man’s collar in his fist, and said, “We’re not buying your poor-pitiful-me story. So what aren’t you telling us? Because sure as I’m standing here, you’re lying, you piece of crap.”