Amy K. Green - The Prized Girl

“Am I a suspect?” I asked.

“Right now, everyone’s a suspect, but I wasn’t particularly thinking it. Should I be?”

I smiled as instructed in an attempt to subvert the implication.

“Why don’t you tell me where you were the night of the murder?” he asked.

“At home. In my apartment.”

“Alone?”

“Yes.”

He jotted down some notes. He wrote more than seemed reasonable based on how little I had said. “Your parents were home alone that night too,” he stated.

“Is that abnormal? I think most people are home alone in the middle of the night. What were you doing in the middle of the night on Saturday?”

“And how was your relationship with your sister?” He ignored me.

I shrugged. “Pretty limited.”

“Care to elaborate?”

“I only saw her on Sundays for dinner.” That was a lie. I had seen her more recently. Two times to be exact. It was a sad state of affairs that I could so easily count how many times I had seen my sister outside of Sunday dinner. “I don’t really get along with my stepmother, and Jenny is, was , thirteen years younger than me. We didn’t have much in common.” Nothing I could share about my sister seemed relevant. It also didn’t seem like his business. It’s kind of sick how, since my sister was dead, it was acceptable for this stranger to pry into my personal life.

“You don’t get along with Linda?” he plucked from my statement.

“ Linda? You guys on a first name basis already?”

He looked up for a hot second, acknowledging my point without fueling the fire.

“Linda has always found me to be a burden and I’ve always found her to be incessantly annoying,” I explained. “Over time, we have worked out a comfortable groove of avoidance.”

“How was her relationship with Jenny?”

“Super.”

“Meaning?”

“I don’t know. She thought Jenny was the bee’s knees.”

“And your father? How was his relationship with Jenny?”

“Fine, I guess. He likes her much better than me and nobody killed me, so I guess you can take him off the suspect list.”

“And who do you think should be on the suspect list?”

“Isn’t that your job?”

“I suppose so,” he answered, charmingly unoffended by my obnoxiousness. “Let me ask you something,” he said as if I had to give him permission. “I’m going to show you a picture, OK?”

I nodded. It was nice of him to warn me this time.

He slid out another picture of Jenny’s body. This one was zoomed in on her neck, her face and body cropped out. “Does this necklace look familiar to you?” he asked, pointing at a small gold pendant in the shape of a heart, the thin chain it hung from caked in mud across her collarbone.

“No,” I answered.

He slid the picture back into the folder, nodding. “No one seems to recognize it.”

“Kids have secrets,” I said, shrugging.

“What do you know about Benjy Lincoln?” he asked, transitioning flawlessly.

“Same thing that it probably says in the file.” And a smile.

“Indulge me?” Then he smiled. Too much smiling was happening.

“I don’t really know the details, just what I’ve heard from my father and Linda.”

“Do you think he abused her?”

“I wouldn’t know. We weren’t close like that … or at all, really.” I waited patiently to be judged, but he just nodded.

“Families are tough,” he offered.

I wasn’t sure what the point of this interview was, but I knew it wasn’t to be my personal therapy session. “Are you arresting Benjy or what?”

“We’re trying to find him.”

“He’s on the lam? Seems suspect.”

“I don’t know if he’s on the lam , per se. He left his home a few weeks ago. We’re trying to track him down.” He leaned back in his chair and stared at me like I would have an answer.

“Well, you should try harder.”

He closed the file. “Yes, thank you for coming in, Virginia.” He’d graduated to my first name without my offering it. I was on par with his close friend Linda now.

“That’s it?” I asked.

“That’s it. I just like to meet with the family, create a relationship to move forward with. I want you to feel comfortable coming to me if you think of anything.” He pulled a business card from his pocket and handed it to me. I shoved it into my pocket to be destroyed the next time I washed these pants.

We stood in unison, and he guided me out of the room, putting his hand on the small of my back. “I apologize for not saying this sooner, but I’m very sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you.” One last smile couldn’t hurt. He reciprocated.

I walked out of the station and straight to my car. I hoped it was Benjy Lincoln. It felt like an awful thing to hope for, but she was already raped and murdered. Would hoping it was someone else be any better? I just wanted it to be over. That fucking picture. Now I had five hours to spend thinking about it before it would be dark again.

JENNY’S LAST PAGEANT was on April 19, and almost five months had passed since then. It wasn’t her biggest competition, not even close. She would have won the Grand Supreme title with ease if she had gotten that far.

She hated pageants by this point. It had been years since she actually enjoyed them, but it was Linda’s obsession. Even her father embraced the pageants. He told her it was a real opportunity for her to become something. She wasn’t sure what.

With success comes fans. Even a child beauty queen from a small town can have fans, obsessive ones. Her biggest fan was a grown man with a child’s IQ named Benjy. She started noticing him when she was nine. He was at almost every pageant. He sat alone, watched the entire show, and always gave a standing ovation during crowning.

When she was ten, he gave her a birthday card. She was walking from the stage to her mother in the back of the ballroom when he stopped her. He was bashful and wouldn’t make eye contact. The card was homemade with ten balloons individually cut out from different pieces of construction paper. The message was simple: Happy Birthday, Jenny. You’re the prettiest of all the girls. Love, Benjy.

Jenny made it a point to say hi to Benny at every pageant after that, always when Linda was out of sight. She wouldn’t understand.

Sometimes he would bring her small presents, usually something from a vending machine. Her parents felt strongly that presents were for birthdays and Christmas only, which gave it an added thrill. Occasionally, Benjy would give her letters. They were short and harmless, usually about something she did in a pageant that he liked. Jenny would squirrel the letters away in her pocket, feeding off keeping a secret from Linda.

On April 19, Jenny came to the pageant with her own letter for Benjy. It was one page of notebook paper about how she didn’t want to do pageants anymore. She wrote it down so she could get it out, and then realized she didn’t have anyone else to share it with.

It was a glitz pageant, Jenny’s least favorite kind. It required hours of prep time, with Linda poking and prodding at her hair and face. The pageant had an Easter theme, and the irony of having all these slutted-out children dress as bunnies was lost on the starry-eyed parents. Linda was still in the back, adding last-minute sequins to the tail, when Jenny took the opportunity to give the note to Benjy.

He was sitting in the fourth row, and she waved him over to the corner of the ballroom. He bumbled over to her. “You looked very beautiful onstage. You look beautiful now too, I didn’t mean … I just …” He tripped over his words, worried he had offended her, shifting from one foot to the other.