Page 14 of The Guilty Trial

Allie stared out the window as they navigated past the rows of anonymous containers. “Maybe. But if he did, he’s smart enough not to make it obvious. He’s been running this local for years. You don’t survive that long without learning how to cover your tracks.”

Her phone rang before Jason could respond. She answered, putting the call on speaker.

“Bishop.”

“Agent Bishop, it’s Jim MacKenzie. I’ve been pulling Sterling’s old cases like you asked.” His voice carried a sharp edge. “I came across one from four years ago that stood out. Dr. Aris Bennett used to be a star neurosurgeon at Tacoma General. He was at the top of his field, published research, and had a teaching position at UW.”

Allie straightened in her seat. “Used to be?”

“Sterling led the prosecution against Bennett for overbilling Medicare. Turns out Bennett was performing unnecessary spinal surgeries to fund a gambling addiction—half a million dollars’ worth. The case was airtight. Thomas had patient testimonies, billing records, and expert witnesses who reviewed the surgical decisions. Bennett claimed he was providing necessary care, but the evidence showed otherwise. He lost his medical license, his wealth, even his family. His wife divorced him and took the kids.”

“Sounds like he deserved it,” Allie responded. “I take it he went to prison?”

“Yep. And guess who got out three weeks ago?”

“No kidding,” Jason quipped.

“Here’s the thing—I called his parole officer. Bennett was supposed to report Friday at noon. He never showed. He’s been AWOL for over seventy-two hours.”

Allie’s pulse quickened. A disgraced surgeon with nothing to lose, fresh out of prison and off the grid the same weekend Sterling turned up dead by a precise lethal stab and a brand burned into his chest. It wasn’t proof, but it was the kind of coincidence that made her instincts sharpen, made the pattern start to take shape.

“Send me everything you have on Bennett,” she said. “Address, known associates, parole conditions, financial records if you can get them. All of it.”

“Already on it. You’ll have it in ten minutes.”

Allie ended the call and looked at Jason. This case had just shifted and revealed new dimensions that made Bianchi’s anger seem almost secondary.

“Guess we’re not done for the day.” Jason's hands were steady on the wheel as he merged onto the highway.

Allie watched the port fade in the side mirror, the cranes shrinking until they looked like skeletal fingers reaching into the sky. Somewhere out there, Aris Bennett was hiding, and they needed to find him.

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.”