“Yes.’’
“Do you know anyone else at the church?’’
“Not really.’’
“Are you sure?’’
Benny gazed at his mother and began to rock again. Then he looked to the floor and Lydia followed his eyes. Benny was wearing a pair of Timberland Toledo boots. Lydia took her cell phone from the inside pocket of her jacket and handed it to Jeffrey, who took it and walked outside.
“I want you to think carefully, Benny. You are not in any trouble and you haven’t done anything wrong. Has anybody taken you for a ride in a green minivan? Did someone take you to the park the other day?’’
“Benny, what’s wrong?’’ Greta asked, as she saw his eyes grow red and well up with tears.
Benny released a low moan and shuddered. Greta pushed Lydia aside to get near her son and put her big arms around him. “It’s all right, honey. Try to relax,’’ she crooned.
“Ms. Savroy, where was your son on the night before last?’’
“He was in his bed. Where do you think he was? He’s nothing but a child mentally. He doesn’t go out by himself at night. What is going on?’’
Benny’s moaning grew louder. He rolled his head back and his mother tightened her grip on him.
“What about yesterday between the hours of six a.m. and eight p.m.?’’
“I don’t know. That’s when I work. I’m an ER nurse at the hospital and I worked a double shift yesterday. Here probably, or at the church. He can’t drive.’’
“Flowers,’’ Benny said, his breathing becoming shallow, “belong in the ground.’’ In the next moment he fell to the floor, convulsing. And Greta, pulled with him, began screaming, “I told you! I told you not to upset him. This is what happens. Oh, God, Benny! Someone call 911. He’s having a seizure.’’
Lydia ran to the kitchen phone and dialed 911. As she explained the situation and gave the operator their location, she noticed one of Father Luis’s crucifixes hanging on the wall above the phone.
Lydia watched as the paramedics loaded Benny’s unconscious body into the ambulance and Greta crawled in after him. She had felt guilty and sad as she instructed a police officer to remove Benny’s shoes to compare to the print mold they had taken. She recognized Benny as a pawn in the killer’s game
– just like she was. She didn’t know how Benny had been involved, but she knew that he was, and that she had made him remember things he had probably been able to forget, causing him to seize. Through the back window of the ambulance Greta glared at Lydia with unabashed hatred as they pulled away, headed for the hospital. A squad car followed behind.
“I like flowers. They never do bad things. They’re just quiet.’’
“Well, the shoes are the same size as the print we found at the park and the forensic report stated that the impression was made by someone upwards of two hundred fifty pounds,’’ Morrow said, startling Lydia as he came up behind her. “It looks like we might have our man.’’
“You’re kidding,’’ said Lydia.
“You don’t think so?’’
“No,’’ she said, incredulous. “He’s fucking retarded.’’
She shook her head and walked away toward Jeffrey. Lydia had been starting to hate Morrow a little less, wondering if she had been too hard on him, even feeling a bit guilty for having held a grudge since St. Louis. Now she remembered why she disliked him so intensely. He hadn’t given a shit about the prostitutes that were killed in St. Louis. He’d just written them off. He’d said, “Johns kill whores every day, Miss Strong.’’ And he’d ignored her when she’d told him more would die if he didn’t listen to what she had to say. Whether it was because he was lazy or because he didn’t want to admit that something like that was going on under his nose, he’d shut the door on her. Three more women had died before the case was solved by the FBI. Now he was just jumping at the first person that came along as a suspect: someone who obviously couldn’t have committed these crimes, whatever his involvement turned out to be. Someone who would have a hard time defending himself.
“We are not going to let Benny take the fall for this just because these locals are looking for a victory here.
He’s not the one,’’ she said to Jeffrey, as she passed him and went back into the house. She took the stairs up to Benny’s room.
Jeffrey watched her storm off and turned to see Morrow, who seemed to have had all the air knocked out of him. Morrow wasn’t aware that Jeffrey was observing him while he followed Lydia with his eyes. There was something in the way Morrow looked at her that made Jeffrey, unconsciously, put his hand on his gun.
Moving past the police officers who were overturning cushions and looking into drawers, she sat on Benny’s bed made up with Star Wars sheets. It was a child’s bedroom – shelves were filled with toys, posters of Power Rangers hung on the wall, an old computer sat on a blue faux-wood desk. A wastepaper basket was shaped like a football. An oversize polar bear sat on a wicker loveseat by the window. Next to Benny’s bed on the nightstand was a photography book filled with color shots of flowers. She flipped through the pages, wondering how long it would be before Benny was able to speak again.
“Flowers belong in the ground,’’ he had said. What did he mean by that? It had raised goose bumps on the back of her neck when he’d said it. “I like flowers. Flowers don’t do bad things. They’re just quiet.’’
“Flowers don’t do bad things. But people do, right, Benny?’’ she whispered. Then she slapped the book shut, standing up suddenly, and ran down the stairs.
“Jeffrey,’’ she said, as she came out the front door…and walked over to Benny’s flower garden. She touched the earth with the toe of her boot and wondered if her thoughts could be right. “Flowers belong in the ground.’’ But people don’t, right Benny? Jeffrey had come to stand beside her.
“What’s up?’’ he asked.
“I think we need to dig up this flower garden.’’
Lydia wanted to be the one to tell Greg. He needed to hear this news from someone who knew what it was like to lose the only person that mattered. But she didn’t have to take it on alone. When Jeffrey had offered to come with her to Greg’s garage, her first instinct had been to tell him no.
“I can handle it,’’ she said.
“No doubt,’’ he answered, “but I want us to be a team, Lydia. Let’s deal with the hard stuff together from now on.’’
He’d looked a little surprised when she agreed. “Can I drive?’’ he asked, smiling.
“You’re pushing your luck,’’ she answered, but walked to the passenger side of the car.
“Wow, this is just like The Taming of the Shrew.’’
She smacked him hard as they got in the car.
She had watched them load what was left of Shawna’s body into the ambulance. The killer hadn’t even used a body bag for her, just put her in the ground underneath the red larkspurs in Benny’s beautiful, perfectly tended garden. It made Lydia so angry to think that some people never even had a chance at happiness in this world. All those New Age psychobabblers talking about how you make your own happiness and create positive energy in your life didn’t know shit about Shawna Fox. One of the faceless shrinks Lydia had gone to see had accused her of wallowing in her grief for her mother, had told her she was destroying her life with negative thinking. “Maybe you’re right,’’ Lydia had answered. “When someone cuts your heart out of your chest and expects you to walk around the rest of your life without it, you let me know how it feels. You tell me when you find a way to stop ‘wallowing.’’’ The irony of that statement was hitting her only now as she and Jeffrey drove to Greg Matthews’s garage, to tell him they’d found Shawna’s body.
“Oh my god,’’ Lydia said.
“What?’’
“I was just thinking, when you lose someone you love, if feels like someone has taken your heart.’’
“Okay…’’ he answered, not sure where she was going.
“Remember how we were talking about what that meant? To lose your heart or to have your heart taken?’’
“Yeah. So you’re saying maybe the killer lost someone close to him?’’
“Right. And maybe that’s why he wants vengeance.’’
“Against whom, though?’’
She remembered something Juno had said to her on the first day they spoke. He’d said, “There are many
