Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
U.S. Probation Office, Foss Annex
Tacoma, Washington
Allie studied the strip mall that slouched in front of them.
It was a relic from decades past, now pressed into service as an administrative annex.
The former retail space had been converted into offices for overflow bureaucracy.
Faded paint peeled from the stucco facade, revealing layers of previous color choices beneath: mustard yellow, then beige, then something that might have once been coral.
Suite 108 waited at the far end. Jason pulled open the glass door, and they entered a space no larger than a cell phone store. Four desks punctuated the room, and water-stained ceiling tiles sagged overhead. A woman seated at the farthest desk looked up from her computer and waved them over.
Allie crossed the small room. “Special Agent Bishop. This is Special Agent King. Thanks for agreeing to see us so quickly.”
The woman stood, tall and lean, with graying hair pulled back in a practical ponytail. Deep lines etched her face, the result of years spent navigating the criminal justice system and probably too many cigarettes. Her voice confirmed it: rough, gravelly, like sandpaper dragged across wood.
“Elaina Grier. I’m Bennett’s parole officer.” She gestured to two metal chairs opposite her desk. “Sit, please.”
Allie lowered herself into a chair as she glanced at the desk.
The stacks of paperwork looked like they might fall over if she placed one more file on them.
Among them were a coffee mug with a chipped handle and a framed photo of two golden retrievers.
Grier settled back into her chair and crossed her arms. She had the look of someone who'd heard every excuse in the book and stopped being impressed a long time ago.
“So you heard Bennett didn’t show up for work Friday.”
“That’s right,” Jason said. “We’re investigating a homicide, and his name came up.”
Grier’s eyebrows lifted slightly, but she didn’t seem surprised. “Homicide. Interesting.” She reached for a file folder and flipped it open. “Can’t say I’m shocked. You want to know if he’s capable of it?”
Allie rested her forearms on her knees. “We’d love your take on it.”
Grier studied the file for a moment before looking up. “Some people use their time under incarceration to re-examine their lives. They come out ready to do better, be better.” She closed the folder with a decisive thud. “Bennett’s not one of them.”
“How so?”
“He’s bitter. Angry. Considers himself a victim of the system.
” Grier’s mouth twisted into something that wasn’t quite a smile.
“At the time of his trial, he had enough money to hire a really good lawyer. Best money could buy. According to the sentencing guidelines, he should have gotten fifteen years minimum for what he did. The man performed illegal surgeries, putting people at risk for profit. Not only that, he cut corners to maximize his income. But his lawyer worked magic. He got off with eight years and a first parole hearing after four.”
“And the parole board let him out?” Jason’s tone carried an edge of disbelief.
“A model prisoner, apparently.” Grier’s mouth formed a tight line.
“He kept his head down and didn’t cause any trouble.
Even took some correspondence courses. On paper, he looked rehabilitated.
But I’ve been doing this long enough to know the difference between genuine reform and someone playing the game.
But I’m not on the parole board, am I?” She tapped the file.
“Bennett played it well. Convinced the board he’d learned his lesson, that he wanted to contribute to society.
He said all the right words, gave all the right answers.
Parole boards love a good redemption story,” Grier added. “Even when it's fiction.”
Allie felt her jaw tighten. “So you didn’t buy it.”
“Not for a second. First meeting we had, I could see it in his eyes. They were brimming with resentment, entitlement. He thinks he got railroaded, that the prosecution made an example out of him.” Grier sat back in her chair, and the metal creaked again.
“He kept saying things like ‘they destroyed my career’ and ‘I was just trying to help people.’ No acknowledgment of the harm he caused and the lives he put at risk. Just blind self-pity.”
Jason crossed his arms over his chest. “And he got out three weeks ago.”
“That’s right. Been residing at a halfway house a few miles from here. I got him a job at a machine shop—nothing glamorous, but it’s steady work. Or it was, until Friday.”
Allie watched Grier’s face, noting the tension in her jaw and the way her fingers tapped against the desk. “You’ve been his parole officer since his release?”
“Yep. Just me. We’ve had three meetings so far.
He shows up, goes through the motions, answers my questions.
But like I said, there’s no remorse. No acknowledgment of what he did wrong.
” Grier shook her head, delivering her assessment without drama.
“Prison didn’t rehabilitate him. It just made him angrier. ”
“Do you think he’s capable of murder?” Allie directly.
Grier didn’t hesitate. “He was willing to perform high-risk operations on people to make more money. He didn’t care about the consequences, didn’t care if they lived or died.
Some of his patients had serious complications—infections, botched procedures.
One woman nearly bled out. Another ended up with permanent nerve damage.
” The disgust was evident on her face. “And prison? Like I said, it only made him worse. So yeah, I’d say it’s a possibility. ”
Allie exchanged a glance with Jason. His expression mirrored her own thoughts.
“People who commit crimes for money usually aren’t violent,” he told Grier. “They’re in it for profit, not bloodshed.”
“True,” Grier acknowledged. “And I’m not saying Bennett is the man you’re looking for.
But he wasn’t just about money. He had an ego.
He thought he was smarter than everyone else, that the rules didn’t apply to him.
When the prosecution came after him, he had to pay consequences, probably for the first time in his life.
” She tapped the file on her desk. “In my experience, that’s when people become dangerous. When their pride gets shattered.”
“When did you realize he was missing?” Jason asked.
“Friday. The machine shop called me, said he hadn’t shown up for work.
I started chasing down every lead I could find.
” Grier ticked them off on her fingers. “I went to the machine shop, the halfway house. Nobody’s seen him since Thursday.
He clocked out at five, said he’d see them Friday, but he never showed.
Hasn’t spoken to his ex-wife in two years, and she wants nothing to do with him.
When I called her, she laughed. Said if he was in trouble, good, he deserved it. ”
“What about family?” Allie asked.
“Two siblings, one in Portland, the other in Spokane. Neither one’s heard from him.
The brother in Portland said they haven’t been close since before the trial.
The sister in Spokane wouldn’t even talk to me, just said ‘no comment’ and hung up.
” Grier paused, frustration evident in her features.
“I called old inmates he was in with who’ve been released—tracked down four of them.
But nothing. One guy said Bennett kept to himself inside, didn’t make friends.
Another said he talked sometimes about what he’d do when he got out, but it was all vague. ”
Jason frowned. “What about his living situation at the halfway house? Did anyone there notice anything unusual?”
“I interviewed the house manager and two other residents. They said Bennett was quiet and stayed in his room most of the time. Went to work, came back, ate dinner, went to bed. No visitors, no phone calls from the house phone. One resident said he saw him reading legal documents a few times, but that’s not unusual.
Lot of guys in halfway houses are still dealing with their cases, filing appeals, that sort of thing. ”
Allie absorbed Grier’s assessment. Bennett had been methodical and careful. He kept his head down and hadn’t drawn attention. But he’d been reading legal documents. Case files, maybe. Transcripts.
“Did he get a look at what he was reading?” she asked.
Grier shook her head. “Didn’t think to ask at the time. This was before he disappeared. But I can follow up with the house manager, see if there’s anything left in his room.”
Allie sighed. “So he just vanished.”
“Looks that way.”
“What about his cell phone?”
Grier reached into a drawer and pulled out a plastic evidence bag containing a basic flip phone. “Left it at the halfway house. I’ve already been through it. Nothing useful. A few calls to the machine shop, one to a pizza place, that’s it. No texts, no contacts saved.”
Jason leaned in to examine the phone through the bag. “He’s smart enough to know we’d track him with it.”
“Or he’s using a burner,” Allie added.
“Probably both.” Grier set the bag on the desk. “Look, I’ve dealt with plenty of parolees who violate their terms. Some of them run because they’re scared, some because they’re stupid. Bennett’s neither. He’s calculating. If he’s gone, it’s because he planned it.”
Allie nodded. Bennett had been out for three weeks. That was enough to settle into a routine, to observe his surroundings, and plan an escape if he needed one. Or long enough to plan something worse.
“Did he ever mention anyone from his past? Anyone he blamed for his conviction?”
Grier’s eyes narrowed. “You mean like the prosecutors? The judge?”
“Anyone involved in his trial.”
“He mentioned them, said they destroyed his life and ruined his career. He didn’t name names, but the resentment was there. Thick as mud.”
Allie’s pulse quickened, but she kept her features neutral. “Did he have access to case files? Transcripts?”
“Not that I know of. But he’s had plenty of time to dig around, especially if he’s been planning this for a while.
” Grier crossed her arms again. “Whatever he’s up to, wherever he turns up—he’s going back to jail.
That’s for certain. Violating parole is bad enough, but if he’s involved in a homicide?
” She shook her head. “He’ll never see the outside of a cell again. ”
“We’ll need copies of his file,” Jason told her. “Contact information for his ex-wife, the siblings, anyone he might reach out to.”
“I can get you that.” Grier stood and moved to a filing cabinet against the wall. “But I’m telling you, I’ve already talked to all of them. If any of them know where he is, they’re not saying.”
Allie watched as Grier pulled files and began making copies at a machine in the corner. When it was done, she gathered the pages and tapped them against the desk to align the edges. “Here. Everything I’ve got on him.”
Jason took the papers and tucked them under his arm. The stack was thin. For a man who'd once had a career, a family, and a reputation, Bennett's post-prison paper trail was almost nonexistent. “If he contacts you or turns up anywhere—”
“You’ll be the first to know,” Grier interrupted. “Believe me, I want him found as much as you do. Maybe more. I really hate it when they skip on me.”