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“What about?” he said, eyes narrowed distrustfully.
“We’d like to ask you questions about the recent murders of Barbara Ames and Marvin Prescott,” Faith said.
He showed no sign of recognizing those names, but that didn’t necessarily mean he was innocent. They hypothesized that the killer knew his victims, but they could be wrong about that.
“I don’t know anything about no murders,” he replied.
“Can you account for your whereabouts this past Thursday night?” Michael asked.
Benitez flicked his eyes to Michael and said, “Do I need a lawyer?”
“Do you think you need a lawyer?” Michael asked.
Benitez looked between the two agents, frowning with concern. Finally, he said, “No. I don’t need a lawyer. I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Perfect,” Faith said, “then this will only take a minute. Can you answer my partner’s question, please?”
“Yeah. Okay.” Benitez straightened but remained tense. “I was at home. I was up until about midnight, then I went to bed.”
“What were you doing up late?” Faith asked.
“That’s not late for me,” he said. “I dig my graves during the day.”
“Never at night?”
“No,” he said. “I got hurt falling into an open grave that somependejodidn’t mark, and I decided I was only digging during the day from now on.”
“Can you describe the nature of your injury?” Michael asked.
“Threw out my back in three places,” he said. “Couldn’t walk right for six months. I had to have surgery to fix it. Hasn’t been the same since.”
He patted the considerable bulge in his midsection. “I used to have a six-pack,” he said a little wistfully. “Can’t exercise anymore.”
“So you use that to dig?” Michael asked, gesturing to the backhoe, painted the pastel blue that for some reason the world had decided was the proper color for an electric vehicle.
“Yeah,” Benitez said. “That okay?”
“Why are you so confrontational?” Faith asked. “Are you hiding something?”
“No, I’m not hiding anything,” he said, “but you guys clearly think I am, and it makes me nervous. How do I know you guys haven’t already decided I did this? I mean, you know I got into trouble when I was younger. Maybe you think I’m still that same guy.”
“Are you?” Michael asked.
“No!” Benitez shouted. He frowned and took a defensive step backward. “You know what, maybe I do need a lawyer.”
“Let’s back up a bit,” Faith said. “You recently accepted contracts with Hillside Memorial Cemetery and Humble Memorial Lawn. Is that correct?”
“Yeah, so?”
“So the victims—Barbara Ames and Marvin Prescott—were buried at those cemeteries,” Faith said. “I’d like to know if you saw anything suspicious while you were there.”
Benitez’s eyes narrowed further, but if there was a trick in that question, he couldn’t find it. “No,” he said finally. “Nothing suspicious. I mean, I think I saw a drug deal go down across the street from the Humble cemetery, but I didn’t stop to ask.”
“Got it,” Faith said. “No one else was working there digging graves?”
“No,” he said. Then he frowned. “Wait a minute, you think I was like, digging graves to bury murder victims?”
“I didn’t say that,” Faith replied.
