“I do.”
“All right, but why not Birmingham now? We can buy ourcameras and all, drop them off at Eric and Emily’s, and we’ll still be early.It’s just after ten.”
“We have an appointment.”
“With?”
“Benjamin Turner, historian and Internet sensation.”
Chapter 8
Andre could easily see why Benjamin Turner had managed tobecome an Internet sensation.
He was a tall man, fit, with bright blue eyes andreddish-brown hair, a quick smile, and a way of looking very serious andintelligent.
When they arrived—after their visit to the electronics storeand their stop by the house to deliver their purchases to Eric, who wasdelighted to play with the equipment and his computer through the afternoon—aman met them and asked them to wait behind the glass of a home studio.
The assistant wasn’t doing the filming. He’d been sitting athis desk when they arrived, obviously taking care of some mundane things.Perhaps like accounting or the research needed for many of Turner’s littlebroadcasts.
Turner had his studio set up so he managed his own cameras.Andre assumed he did his own editing, as well.
He was currently working on a leading-up-to-Halloween broadcast,revisiting gory events around the world that had occurred right before theholiday.
The most recent one was a piece on the toolbox killers whohad tortured and killed five women, with the last murder taking place in theUnited States on Halloween, 1979.
He went into gory detail, cinematically somber, warning hiswatchers to be safe. Every year, there were more parties in Britain withHalloween becoming more of an event resembling that of the States.
Turner finished with the broadcast and turned off the cameraand microphones he had in the studio.
Then he looked through the glass and smiled at them.
Exiting his recording space, he introduced himself, in casethey hadn’t been aware of who they were watching.
“Hello, welcome. I’m Benjamin Turner. I talked to anabsolutely lovely young American woman a few hours ago, who asked if I wouldspeak with you. I’m happy to do so! I don’t know how I can be of assistance,but if there’s anything I can say or do that might help, I am delighted.”
Andre introduced himself and then Cheyenne, and then jumpedright into the reason for their visit. “We understand that you knew the lastvictim, Sheila Lynsey,” he stated.
Turner’s face took ona pained and dark look. “Sheila was…well, we were casual, but we might have beenmore. I’ll never know now. I was devastated to hear…what happened to her.”
“I imagine you’ll be doing a show on this in the future,”Cheyenne said.
Benjamin shook his head. “Too close,” he said softly. “So,tea, coffee, soft drinks, water? May I get you anything?”
“No, no, we’re fine, thank you.”
“Then please have a seat here in the green room—myparlor—and we’ll talk.”
He led them to their seats on the sofa. He chose an armchairfacing them, his hands folded before him as he leaned toward them anxiously. “Iknow about you. You’re good,” he told them, nodding gravely.
“Through Special Agent Angela Hawkins? She made thisappointment for us,” Andre said.
“Oh, I knew about you before that. I follow cases, you know.I was thrilled when she said members of the Krewe of Hunters wanted to see me.Well, I mean, I wasn’t happy about the circumstances, but…I’m honored to meetyou.”
“That’s very kind,” Cheyenne said. “What more can you tellus about Sheila? Do you have any idea who she might have met? Any clue whatsoeveras to what might have happened to her between visiting two elderly women andwinding up, drained of blood, on a doorstep?”
“The banker,” he said softly.
“Mark Bower?” Andre asked.
Cheyenne gave him a warning look. Nope, he hadn’t likedBower one bit. But he was aware that, sometimes, the nicest person could proveto be a killer while a jerk was…just a jerk.
“She stopped seeing him, you know. She said when she met himthat he was a nice man, polite, caring, concerned. But she was neverhead-over-heels in love with him. She said things suddenly changed after they’dbeen going out for a bit,” Turner told them.
“Changed how?” Cheyenne asked.
“He…he wanted her to do things.”
“Like what?” Andre prompted.
Turner looked uncomfortable and fidgeted a bit beforesighing. “He wanted her to dress up like a French maid. No big deal, I suppose.I have a friend who has a wife who likes him to dress like the pool man. Hedoes, and they have great sex. Sorry, I mean…so, the French maid bit wasn’tanything too weird, but then he wanted to tie her up and pretend to be arapist.”
“And that didn’t work for Sheila?”
He shook his head. “It took me the longest time to get herto talk about…what went on. And it only started because we ran into Mark Bowerwhen we were out at an Italian restaurant one night. We were waiting for atable when he walked in. I believe he had a date with him, but the young ladynever made it through the door. He burst in and headed for the hostess like hewas the king of the world or some such thing, and then he saw Sheila. He turnedand almost knocked her over in his haste to get out. I was about to accost him,I mean, not start a fistfight or anything, just tell him he was rude. ButSheila begged me to just let him go. She told me they’d had a bad break-up, andthen over pasta parmigiana, she told me things had gotten more than weird. Intruth, she didn’t use the word weird. She was too sweet for that. Shesaid he was into practices that didn’t appeal to her. That made me happy. I’m astraight shooter, and I don’t need any props to be pleased, and I sure as helldon’t need them to please someone else.” He stopped speaking as if realizingthat his words sounded almost like an endorsement for his virility.
He turned a dark shade of red and quickly added, “Oh, wow.That was awful. I just meant…Well, forgive me, I’m not judging or anything, Ijust meant that I…that Bower’s way is not…not, oh, man, please, like I said,I’m not judging. Whatever it is, if you have consenting adults, it’s cool. It’sjust that Sheila didn’t want to be a consenting adult in…and…wow, sorry!”
He broke off, looking
