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“Did you ever meet him face to face?” Fletch asks. “Have you ever met Kyle Andrews in person?”
“No. like I said, I stopped paying attention to the business a long time ago. The only reason I recall him at all is because his daughter has a little notoriety amongst her peers. Aaron spoke of her fondly.”
Like she was his own fucking daughter?
“Okay. Thank you.” I push up to stand and grab my things, but before I go, I look down into her eyes and ask, “Can you tell me anything about the car accident Aaron was in when he was a teen, Mrs. Davies?”
“A car accident?” She studies me like I’ve lost my damn mind. “I don’t—”
“The accident that killed his family,” I clarify. “Aaron’s mother and father, and there are mixed reports that a handful of his friends were in the car, too. There were no survivors except for Aaron himself.”
“Oh…” She shakes her head. “Gosh, this isn’t something I’ve thought about in a long time.”
“So you know about it?” Fletch asks. “Aaron discussed it with you?”
“Of course. But there were no fatalities. Aaron’s parents only died a few years back, and not from a car accident.”
“And the other passengers?” I press. “What about them?”
“Uh… there were five of them, right? Five friends.”
“A sports team,” I insert. “Or, part of one anyway. Your husband was a gifted basketball player once upon a time, right? He’s not particularly tall, but he was skilled all the same.”
“That was before our relationship began,” she murmurs, sifting through memories from a lifetime ago. “But no one died in that accident, Detectives. Most of his team graduated high school that year and went on to join the military.”
“All of them?” I prod. “Allof them enlisted?”
“I believe so. Not all the same branch,” she qualifies. “Aaron lost contact with them over the years, so I can’t recall exactly, but I believe there was a massive push for the armed forces back then, especially with our troops in Afghanistan.”
“Aaron didn’t want to join too?” Fletch wonders. “To be with his friends?”
“He couldn’t. He said his missing fingerprints were an issue, and for security reasons, they wouldn’t let him. It’s why he went into aeronautics. He couldn’t enlist formally, but he said that if there was ever another world war, he would be ready and able, just like his friends.”
“And where are they now?” I ask. “The friends who began as a basketball team.”
“They perished at war.” She swallows. “They… all of them fell in the line of duty.”
* * *
“Pretty fucking rough to be the only guy who can’t go to war like your friends,” Fletch mutters as we leave Janice’s interview room. “To be with them all the way through school, and then for them to enlist and leave? And you wanna be one of the guys, but the U.S. government won’t let you because of a freak accident way back in eighth grade.”
“His friends didn’t go to war.” I stop in front of the next room and meet my partner’s gaze. “They died in the car accident that killed Benedict’s parents. But being a smart guy with oodles of money, having time in a hospital with nothing else to do, and an ability to work computers to his advantage, tells me he messed with the details, borrowed a few of those identities, and set them aside for himself. The families knew their sons had died, of course, but the world doesn’t pay as much attention. So as soon as shit cooled down and he had time to think… It’s not all that difficult to use a handful of social security numbers and weave a web. Documents were created, IDs were forged, and those five boys who died in a car accident were reincarnated to provide Benedict the world he wanted.”
I open the door and toss my file folder onto the table so it skids to a stop in front of Diane Andrews.
She jumps when I slam the door, and studies the table as I pull out a chair across from her.
“Thank you for coming in today, Diane. Detective Fletcher and I really appreciate you taking the time to speak with us.”
“It’s okay.” She wraps her hands around a paper cup and watches it like it holds all the world’s treasures. “Do you have news for me?” Bringing her red-rimmed eyes up, she warily watches us as we take our seats. “People are asking when we can hold a memorial service for Kyle.”
“We have questions first, I’m sorry.” I set my arms on the table, my hands on each side of the Florida file, but I soften my expression to put her more at ease. “How are the kids?” I ask. “How are they handling things?”
“M-my kids?” She chews on the inside of her lip and considers us. “Um… they’re okay. Grieving, of course. Confused and scared. But their friends are calling a lot to check in on them.”
“And Lauren?” I ask.The cheerleading captain. The social media star. The diamond from a rough, whose father allegedly hires a private plane to get her from one event to another.“She’s the oldest, right? How is she dealing with all this?”
“Quietly,” Diane answers. She doesn’t want to discuss her kids. Especially notthatkid. “Lauren is a shy girl, Detectives. She’s an introvert whose athletic ability has forced her into the public eye. She prefers the sanctity of our home when she can get it.”
