“Hard, yes. Impossible no. Any cop with half a brain and a digital forensics department would be able to find this stuff. My guess, it was either covered up for some reason, or just plain ignored.”
The cogs in my mind started turning as I tried to process this information. Suddenly things began to fit together and in a flash there was an idea burning in the back of my mind. Within seconds, I had a strong feeling that I had the answer. Now I just needed to confirm that I was right.
“This is pretty messed up, Jamal.” I said. “But thanks anyway.”
“Sure thing. You just keep me in mind when I finish school. You know…if you need an assistant or something.”
“Absolutely,” I said. Silently hoping Jamal’s father didn’t hear.
I hung up and started to get dressed right away. Suddenly, the hangover felt miniscule. By the time I made it outside, it was almost gone. Even the fact that it was raining again didn’t slow me down. I had figured out where I knew Billy Bennett from.
***
I decided not to bother Elizabeth Ellington until I knew I had an absolute case going. And since I didn’t want to go headfirst into the viper’s pit, I thought it might be smart to wait before confronting Billy. Or William. Or whatever the asshole’s name was.
So I found myself driving through a pelting rain that had really picked up, back to Henry Atkinson’s house. I sped the whole way, the revelation of breaking this case pushing me towards a sense of accomplishment that I had long ago all but given up on.
I bounded up his porch and knocked on the door with much more authority than I had showed upon my first visit. I didn’t let the austere nature of the house or the fact that Atkinson had a stellar record interfere with my thought process. It was going to be all business this time.
He answered the door still dressed in his pajamas. It was just after nine in the morning, and I couldn’t remember the last time I had felt so motivated at such an early hour.
“I had asked you to call if you needed anything else,” he growled through the door.
“I know. But I had one more thing I needed to ask. Just to check up on. And I had to head out this way anyhow.”
His facial expression told me that he was skeptical about this. He was pretty sure I was lying, but he slowly opened the door anyway. I walked in, thanked him, and watched him shut the door behind us. I had no illusions that this man would get physical with me, and even as old as he was, with his training he could still do some damage.
I found myself wishing I still had my Glock but I couldn’t have risked trying to bring my old service pistol to London. This country hated guns almost as much as it hated personal privacy.
“What can I do for you, Mr. Blume?” Atkinson asked, clearly irritated. He stood firmly by the door, making it clear that I would not be invited further into his home.
“I need a reference for a job application,” I quipped. “I heard you hand them out to just about anyone that asks.”
“Huh?” he asked, trying to sound as if he didn’t know what I was getting at. I could tell just by looking at him though, that he did. “What do you mean—”
I pushed past him, ignoring his shouts of protest and charging into the living room we had spoken in earlier that week. He followed close behind, grumbling at me to get out of his house. This time I didn’t bother taking a seat, but went straight for the mantle. Snatching the framed photograph that I had asked about, I shoved it in front of his face.
“You never mentioned that you knew Billy Bennet. And you certainly didn’t mention that you knew him a long time ago. Back when he was William Hudson. Your nephew?”
Atkinson looked as if he had been slapped across the face. He took a step away from me, towards the kitchen as if the photograph repulsed him. The photo is why Bennett had looked so familiar to me when I had met him in the pub the other day. The boy in the picture was perhaps twenty years younger, but looking at it again now the resemblance was undeniable.
“I’ll save you the time in trying to deny or back out of it,” I said. “I have seen the files. I have seen a job application, turned in by Billy Bennett, with your name as a reference. Nothing wrong with that, of course — ”
“That’s right,” Atkinson said quickly. “Nothing at all.”
“But I can’t help but wonder why you failed to tell me about it,” I said. “Why you, in fact, didn’t even bother to tell anyone that you knew Billy Bennett at all.”
“He was a friend. That’s all. I helped him get a job. He was having hard times.”
“And do you know why?”
Here, Atkinson seemed to go a shade of grey. “Do you?” he asked.
“I’ll ask the questions,” I said, trying to keep the pressure on. “Did you know about the crimes he committed under his real name?”
The look on Atkinson’s face was a clear indication that he was shocked to find that this information had come to light. Still, I had to give him credit. He didn’t even try to deny it. I had a feeling I knew the story here, so I folded my arms and waited for the inevitable train wreck.
“We hadn’t spoken in a long time when I finally heard from him, six or seven years ago. He told me what he had done…the molestation charges. I was shocked. The Billy I knew… he wasn’t capable of such a thing. I knew that wasn’t the real him. So I invested in him. I helped him get professional help.” Atkinson looked like he wanted to say more. I sensed there was something else going on here but he wasn’t going to give it up.
“And did it do any good?” I asked.
“It seemed to. I spoke to his counselor. Things were going great. So when he asked for that job reference, I was happy to do it. I thought I was helping him get his life back together.”
I let out a sick bray of shocked laughter. “I don’t care how good someone’s counseling is going. What the hell were you thinking when you helped a registered sex offender of children get a job driving a fucking school bus?”
“I – You have no right to take that tone with m—,”
“Stop it right there,” I said. “I know your history. I know how much of a big shot you were with the police. So I assume that if this came to light and the case was re-opened with more focus on Billy, you could get into some trouble. Am I right? If the cops start looking into Billy again, it won’t take them long to make the connection to you, will it?”
To my surprise, he stepped forward and gave me a sneer. “Get out of my house.”
“I think you owe it to Jack Ellington to—”
“I’m retired,” he said. “I don’t owe anyone anything. Now get off of my property.”
“Or what?” I asked. “You’ll call the police? Go ahead. I have some things to tell them anyway. You know another kid is missing right?”
He stared a hole through me, and I could feel the hate coming in waves. I made the decision as he stared at me to just let it ride. To hell with Atkinson. I didn’t need him to crack this case. He’d basically given me everything anyway. I just had one last place to investigate.
I shrugged and turned my back to him. I opened his door and looked out into the pouring rain. I paused and without turning back, I added: “If you did in fact have something to do with Billy…if he is the reason behind Jack Ellington’s disappearance —it’s not too late for you to help…to do the right thing. If not, your entire reputation, your medals and awards? All of it is built on a cheap lie.”
I fully expected a shouting match or maybe even a swift kick to help me out of the door, but I got neither. There was only the sound of distant thunder and a sense of things coming to a close as I stepped through the rain towards my car.