Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Darla Bennett’s Residence
Puyallup, Washington
Allie pulled up to the Bennett house just as the garage door was rolling down.
She glimpsed a silver Honda and heard it ticking as its engine cooled.
The house was a well-kept split-level ranch with trim flower beds and a pair of carved pumpkins flanking the front steps.
Paper bats hung from the porch eaves, swaying gently in the evening breeze.
She approached the front door and rang the bell. A moment later, a woman answered, her posture wary until Allie held up her badge.
“Mrs. Bennett? I’m Allie Bishop. I called earlier about your ex-husband.”
Darla’s shoulders sagged slightly. “Right. You said you had questions about Aris.” She gestured inside. “Come on in. I just got off work, so you’ll have to excuse me if I seem distracted.”
The interior was clean and organized, though signs of a teenager’s presence were everywhere—sneakers by the door, a backpack slung over the banister, the faint scent of vanilla body spray lingering in the air.
Darla led Allie through to the kitchen. School photos and report cards covered the refrigerator door, held up by alphabet magnets.
“I hope you don’t mind if I get dinner started while we talk.” Darla moved to the counter where chicken breasts and vegetables were already laid out. “My daughter gets hangry if I’m late with food.”
“Not at all.” Allie took a seat at the small dining table that occupied one corner of the kitchen.
Darla pulled out a cutting board and knife and began dicing the vegetables with practiced efficiency.
“So what’s Aris done now?” she asked without looking up. “The parole officer already called me last week asking if I’d seen him. I haven’t. Nothing’s changed there.”
“We’re still trying to locate him,” Allie said. “I’m sorry if I end up treading some ground you’ve already covered. When was the last time you spoke with him?”
“Two years, probably.” Darla began dicing an onion with quick, precise cuts. “We divorced while he was inside. I couldn’t deal with the lies anymore, and I wasn’t about to wait around for him to get out and drag us down with him again.”
Allie pulled out her notepad. “Did your daughter have any contact with him after his release?”
“I asked her that when the parole officer called.” Darla’s knife paused mid-cut. “She said no. Why?”
“We pulled the records from a pre-paid phone your ex-husband purchased,” Allie said carefully. “One of our analysts found several calls made to your daughter’s number over the past two weeks.”
Darla’s hand tightened around the knife handle. “What?”
“I’m sorry,” Allie said, meaning it. She knew how it felt when someone you loved was dishonest with you.
Darla slowly set the knife down. She turned, and Allie was now looking at the face of an angry mother. “Scarlett!” Her voice echoed through the house, even though she hadn’t shouted. Allie thought her level of control was impressive.
Footsteps thundered down the stairs, and a moment later, a teenage girl appeared in the doorway. She had her mother’s dark hair but wore it longer and pulled into a messy bun. Her hazel eyes widened when she saw Allie.
“Yeah, Mom. What’s up?” The girl’s voice was small, uncertain.
“You need to be honest with me,” Darla demanded. “I’ve got the FBI here, so it’s not the time to skirt the truth. Did your father call you? After he got out?”
Scarlett’s gaze dropped to the floor. “Mom—”
“Did he?”
“Yes.” The word came out barely above a whisper.
Darla pressed her hands flat against the counter. She closed her eyes tight and inhaled deeply. “I asked you specifically if you’d heard from him.”
“I’m sorry.” Scarlett’s eyes glistened with tears. “I didn’t want him to get in more trouble. The parole officer said he wasn’t supposed to leave King County, and I thought maybe you’d have to tell them if you knew.”
Darla let the anger fall from her face and looked at her daughter with compassion. Allie watched the shift happen in real time, the anger folding inward to make room for something softer. “I’m not mad at you, honey. I’m mad at—yes, I’m upset you lied, but I’m not mad at you.”
Allie kept her voice gentle. “Scarlett, I need to ask you some questions about those phone calls. Can you sit down?”
The girl hesitated and glanced at her mother. After Darla gave her a reassuring nod, Scarlett slid into the chair across from Allie. She wiped at her eyes with the sleeve of her sweatshirt, a nervous gesture that made her look even younger.
“How many times did your father call you?” Allie asked.
“Four or five, I think.” Scarlett twisted her hands in her lap. “Maybe six.”
“What did you talk about?”
Scarlett’s shoulders hunched forward. “The first couple times, he just complained. About how awful prison was, how unfair everything had been. He said the guards treated him like dirt, that nobody cared what happened to people like him once they were locked up. He kept saying the system was rigged against people like him, that he never should have been in there in the first place.”
Allie made notes while Darla stood frozen by the counter with her jaw clenched tight. She could see the woman’s hands gripping the edge of the countertop, her knuckles white. “And after those first calls?”
“Then he, well, he started asking for money.” Scarlett’s voice dropped even lower. “He said he needed help getting back on his feet. I told him he should ask Mom if he needed money.”
Darla exhaled loudly. She turned around and put her back to both her daughter and Allie, then crossed her arms and lowered her head.
Allie knew she must be feeling every emotion right now. But she let her be and continued with Scarlett. “And what did he say to that?”
“He said things were complicated and asked how much I could loan him. Said he’d pay me back soon, once he got settled.”
Darla, still turned away, made a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob. “Of course he did.”
Allie leaned forward slightly. “Did you give him any money, Scarlett?”
The girl nodded as fresh tears spilled down her cheeks. “I met him at the bank on Friday afternoon. I gave him two thousand dollars.”
Darla spun around. “You what?” Her voice cracked. “Scarlett, that was from your ice cream shop job. You’re saving for college.”
“I know.” Scarlett’s face pinched into a confusion mask of grief. “I’m sorry. He said he really needed it and he couldn’t get it anywhere else. He’s my dad.”
Allie waited a moment before continuing, giving the girl time to compose herself. “Scarlett, did your father tell you what he needed the money for?”
She shook her head without lifting her face. “No. He just said it was important. I just wanted to help. He’s been through so much.”
“Has he contacted you since you saw him?”
“No.” The word was muffled by Scarlett’s hands. “I haven’t heard from him after that.”
“And did he mention anyone else during your conversations? Any names? Any plans, perhaps?”
Scarlett lowered her hands, wiping at her face again. “He said something about how things were going to change from now on.”
Allie made a note. “Did he say what he meant by that?”
“No. Just that the money was going to make everything better.” Scarlett sniffled, and her voice trembled. “Why is the FBI asking about my dad? Is he in trouble?”
Darla moved around the counter, turned her daughter to face her, and hugged her. “Go upstairs, sweetheart,” she said gently. “We’ll talk about this later.”
“But Mom—”
“Now, Scarlett, please.” Darla kept her voice soft, but it was obvious there was no arguing with her.
The girl stood slowly, casting one more uncertain glance at Allie before leaving the kitchen. Her footsteps were heavy on the stairs, followed by the sound of a door’s latch clicking into place.
Darla waited until the house fell silent before sinking into the chair her daughter had vacated.
She stared blankly at the table for a long moment, and when she lifted her head, her eyes were bright with unshed tears.
She looked ten years older than she had when Allie had arrived.
“She was twelve when Aris went to prison. It was a very troubling time for her. Watching her father get arrested, the trial, all of it. She had nightmares for months.”
“I can imagine,” Allie said, knowing that Darla had no idea just how true that statement was.
“She always held out hope that he would be a part of her life when he got out.” Darla’s laugh was bitter. “I tried to prepare her for reality, but teenage girls don’t listen to their mothers about things like that.”
Allie looked at her notes. “Scarlett said he couldn’t get it anywhere else. Do you know who else he might have called first?”
Darla nodded slowly. “Vinny Lucas, if I had to guess. He’s a bookie.
Before Aris was arrested, he used Vinny to enable his gambling habit.
He’d bet on anything—football, basketball, horses, you name it.
It didn’t matter what sport or what odds.
If someone would take his money, he’d bet it.
” Her voice grew harder. “We nearly lost the house twice because of it. I’d come home from work and find collection notices in the mailbox.
Men would show up at the door asking for him.
I had to take out a second mortgage just to keep us afloat, and then he turned around and blew that money too.
We had to move after he went to prison. We’re just renting this place. ”
Allie thanked Darla and left, fully understanding the grief and anger the mother and daughter would be dealing with for a long time yet.
This was the worst part of her job, she reflected.
Upending people’s lives who had already been dealt a raw hand, getting a front row seat to the pain and trauma caused by other people’s poor and selfish decisions.
She texted Jason from her car. Got a lead on Bennett. Pick you up for a surprise visit?