“You weren’t completely wrong,” Binder said. “Of all the diners, only Phil Bennett recognized Austin Lowe.” The portraitist. Just as he’d recognized Michael Smith’s features in Quinn’s face. “When Bennett realized that all but one of the living guests from the fatal New Year’s Eve party were there in your restaurant, he figured there was something wrong. He put the Valium in Lowe’s drink. He’s confessed to this. He’s also confessed to breaking into your building three times and to stealing the gift certificates, as well as your copy of the yacht club photo, along with the one from the yacht club. Apparently tonight he was after the copy of the insurance report you picked up in Guilford, though why he thought getting rid of a copy would make a difference, I don’t know.” Binder squinted. “You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”
I sat, still and silent. I was already in enough trouble.
When Binder understood I wasn’t going to speak, he said, “There’s no one left to prosecute for Austin Lowe’s murder. I’ll talk to the DA’s office about bringing charges against Bennett on the Valium, but I doubt they’ll want to pursue it.” He moved some papers around on his desk, obviously buying time for whatever was coming next. “In the meantime, it’s a local matter, but I’d recommend you drop the trespassing and burglary charges against Bennett in exchange for his dropping the assault charges against you.”
“Assault charges!”
“You broke at least two of his ribs, Julia.”
“I was defending my home.”
“Were you in your home when you assaulted him? You chased the guy for a hundred feet underground and up a ladder. And what was the monetary value of the items he took?”
Flynn looked at me for the first time in the interview. His face was triumphant.
I was crushed, and mortified. On three previous cases, I had been a real help to these detectives. Now I’d shredded whatever standing I had with them in a single day.
Binder took my silence as indecision. “Perhaps it would help if you and Mr. Bennett spoke,” he suggested.
*
We sat side by side in folding chairs. Binder and Flynn had left the room to give us privacy. Bennett was obviously in pain. His next stop was the hospital.
“You broke into my place three times.” I wasn’t cutting him any slack. “You stole from me. You scared the crap out of me. And Chris.”
“I’m sorry. I really am.” Phil shifted in his seat. “That whole evening at your restaurant was like a bad dream I couldn’t wake up from. To walk in and see Henry and Caroline sitting there. And then the Walkers and the Smiths. Deborah had her back to the room, but I was staring out at all those people. And that man had come in and sat at the bar.
“Even though I hadn’t seen him in forty years, those eyes of his were something I’ll never forget. I thought they would drill right through me. When I got up and went to the men’s room, I came back by way of the bar. As soon as I spotted the scar on his neck, I knew absolutely the man was Austin Lowe.
“I wasn’t sure what was planned, but we were all there, including Austin, so it felt ominous. I went back to our booth, hurried Deborah through her meal without telling her why, and got ready to leave. Just as we finished, Officer Dawes arrived to say the road was blocked. We were stuck. My anxiety climbed by the minute.
“When we moved into the bar, I observed Austin more closely. He was jumpy, no doubt about it. I became convinced he planned some sort of public accusation.”
A public accusation. If only that had been all Austin Lowe had planned.
“I carry Deborah’s anxiety medication in my jacket pocket whenever we go out,” Phil continued. “I went into the restroom, crushed ten tablets with a spoon, and on my way back, I stopped at the bar and slipped them into his drink. I didn’t want to hurt him. God knows we’d hurt that boy enough. I wanted him to be sleepy or mellow and forget about whatever he’d planned to do.
“I thought I’d succeeded. There was no public scene. No one was more astonished than I was to wake up the next morning and learn he’d been murdered. And I never, ever would have hurt you or Chris. I only wanted to get rid of the evidence of our connection to one another and to the fire. You have to believe me.”
“You took a lot of risks,” I said.
“I didn’t do it for myself.”
I realized he was telling the truth. As I’d guessed, Phil Bennett had crept out in the night, broken into my apartment, and stolen evidence all for love. “You did it for Deborah, because you’re afraid she was the one who left the cigarette.”
“Deborah?” Phil sat back in his chair. “I never thought Deborah burned down that house. I thought it was Sheila.” He looked down at his lap. “I did it for her.”
“Sheila?” The last piece of the puzzle and I couldn’t even get that right. I was never interfering in police business again.
“I was the reason Sheila was drunk and out of control that New Year’s Eve,” Phil said. “I had hurt her, and then she killed Howell and Madeleine. She never intended what happened. So much time has gone by. To prevent the truth from coming out was the least I owed her.”
I hadn’t liked Phil much when I first met him, but my heart went out to him. This tortured man deserved the truth. “The insurance report was inconclusive. Austin Lowe never figured out who was to blame. His plan was to kill you all by setting fire to the restaurant. Enid Sparks murdered him to stop him.”
“Oh, my God.” Bennett gave into his emotions and his physical pain. Like a landslide, his defenses came down. He took off his glasses, put his head in his hands, and wept. “We were all so young and careless. Look at what we’ve done.”