2.

I watch him as he drives with both hands on the wheel, arms locked, face contorted in a mix of fear, pain, and anger. Three emotions I don't generally associate with John and don't like seeing on his face, ever. But at least they aren't directed at me. I put a tentative hand on his thigh, sometimes he doesn't like to be touched when he's too tense. This doesn't seem to be one of those times. He doesn't flinch and unhappiness doesn't cross his features. He doesn't appear to react to it at all.

"Let's go home," I say. His head jerks around quickly to me then snaps back to the road. He shakes it vehemently.

"No."

I frown, squeeze his thigh and let it drop. We stop at a red light; Troy's car is in front of us. He called his mother as we stood in the front lawn of Stephanie's house. He told her we were coming by, John included. She appeared to have a few choice words for Troy, but he'd walked away from us so that we were unable to hear the conversation. I could probably have observed him and gained all the information but I was more interested in my husband. He'd been angry almost immediately. John doesn't handle being lied to or manipulated very well. Given what I've learned the last few days I understand his reasoning for that. I just stood next to him, making my presence known while he worked himself into quite a fury.

Troy had apologised before offering to lead us to his brother's house. I'd accepted on behalf of John; he wasn't in a position to communicate verbally, at least not in a pleasant manner. I'd have offered to drive if I knew how. I doubted it could be that difficult, but I knew John would be reluctant, even while infuriated, to let me experiment today.

The light turns green and John hits the accelerator. I watch him for another moment, his lips are twisting and he's alternating between chewing them and puckering them. It's a cross between his nervous habit and his angry habit. I squeeze his thigh again.

"She blames me," he says and I nod my head. I manage not to roll my eyes; that was obvious. "Bella never told them, she - she let them think it was me."

"They thought you just left her," I add, understanding. He nods his head and purses his lips again. The emotional blows he suffered would only have been increased by the tarnish to his honour. I'd imagine even in his youth he would have been concerned about things like that. My husband has always been a man of integrity, sometimes annoyingly so.

"Troy confronted me, beat me up actually. I refused to fight back. They didn't know even when I left. They thought I was just leaving her and my - and the baby." I squeeze again and he glances at me. He offers a half smile and turns his attention back to the road.

"When did they find out?" I ask, although I could probably make an educated guess about that.

"In her suicide note," he says confirming what I suspected. "She admitted I wasn't the father and that, in fact, she didn't know who he was. She said she did it because of her guilt about what she did to me, about lying, about being a mum and her fear that she wouldn't be good at it." He bites his lower lip and a flash pain crosses his features for a split second. "They continued to blame me though, at least her mother did, she said if I'd just forgiven her and done right by her then Bella wouldn't have, well she wouldn't have done what she did. Maybe, but I couldn't do it. I wanted to, but I couldn't."

"It wasn't your responsibility." I state simply and he nods. He doesn't feel guilt about her death now, but I know John and I wonder how long he did. How long did he blame himself? The thought makes me frown. We turn onto a side street and Troy stops in front of a red brick house. John stops our car behind him. We sit for a minute and watch Troy get out of his car. I watch John take a deep breath. His knuckles are white on the wheel and I watch him force his hands open and reach for the door.


Judy Benson is in her early 70s but looks significantly older. I can tell by the look that John gives her that she has not always looked this way. He is initially surprised and then there is a flash of concern. He is a doctor, always. The small flat has the heavy air of stale cigarette smoke. There is a fairly new pack on the coffee table next to a crumpled one that was finished relatively recently. I'd estimate her at a pack to a pack-and-a-half a day smoker, but that has increased with the stress. The ash tray is overflowing with cigarette butts and there is a collection of ash all around the dish. The scene is repulsive and I can't quite believe I maintained a smoking habit for so long. John's nose crinkles in disgust at the smell and I frown. Another reason I'm glad I stopped - I imagine he'd be horrible to live with if I still maintained the habit. He'd probably bring home photos of blackened lungs and patients on ventilators.

There are no societal pleasantries or typical welcoming gestures. She reluctantly allows us into her small sitting area and, after offering John an initial glare, she seems to be ignoring his presence. For his part, John is standing straighter than I've ever seen him do and has his chest jutting out slightly. He's putting on a brave face but doesn't want to be here. He'd prefer not to have this encounter, especially since she was unaware of our, or rather his, involvement in this case until 23 minutes ago. I have the urge to take his hand but I refrain. This is a case - granted an unusually personal case - and we have established rules. I don't believe the gesture would be welcome.

We take the seats Troy suggests and he sits on the couch with his mother. She grabs her pack of cigarettes and lights one.

"Troy said he was hiring a detective and I supported the idea." She glares at John. "I expected that he'd hire a competent one though."

I smile despite myself. "I am more than competent to handle a simple missing person case; in fact, this is significantly below my skill level. And as I am attempting to locate your missing granddaughter - I assume as you do want her located - you will cooperate with me fully." She glares at me and then looks disgustedly back at John. I roll my eyes and stand. "Let's go, they clearly are not interested in our assistance."

John stands, too, and Troy's eyes go wide. Judy takes a drag and looks towards her son. Their eyes meet and a look of concern crosses between them, she turns back, nods, and looks towards the floor. We both take our seats again.

"Your son insists that Stephanie would never have just left her daughter, do you concur with that assessment?" She flicks off some ash and I have the urge to clean out the ash tray. For me to have the urge to clean something is very unusual. I dismiss it.

She nods, "I'd be surprised if she just left", she answers, "Stephanie loves that little girl, but…" She looks at John. "It's hard being a parent, especially a mother, especially alone. We help her when we can, but children can be difficult, especially when you're young." She grounds out the cigarette and reaches for another one. "Maybe she's like her mother, Bella couldn't handle it either. I was surprised when she killed herself, Mr. Holmes." The sound of the lighter fills the small space followed by the smell of freshly lit cigarette. "Perhaps if she hadn't been alone she wouldn't have." She glances to John. I flick my eyes to him and he stiffens, but I know that it is only noticeable to me. For the first time since he brought the folder into our flat I think this is a bad idea. I knew John was reluctant and I knew it might be unpleasant, but John can be very stubborn. He will push himself far beyond what is healthy to prove a point to himself, or me, or the Bensons.

I focus on her for a moment. "Does Stephanie have any interaction with her biological father? Is he even known?" John glances at me, knowing that I know he was unknown to Bella, so must have been unknown to Stephanie. However, Judy Benson doesn't know that I know this.

A smirk crosses her face and she shakes her head, "No, Bella didn't know who the father was. She only knew who she wanted it to be. He couldn't handle that though and look what it cost all of us, especially Stephanie."

John sighs next to me, annoyed now.

"Some part of it might be for the best though," she continues, "Better an unknown dad than one who sleeps with men, especially just months after…"

"Oh please," John says, interrupting her. "This is pointless. I'll leave if it will help. I can wait in the car." He stands and looks down at her, then at me indicating that I should stay. I don't like that at all, but do not move. "I loved Bella, you damn well know that. She's the one who betrayed me; she's the one who lied. She lied to all of us if you'll remember correctly. I'm sorry that I wasn't a better man and that I couldn't get over it. I tried, you'll never know how hard I tried. How much I wanted," he pauses, inhaling sharply. "You'll never know how much I wanted things to be different. How much I wanted what she was trying to sell me. I couldn't do it though, maybe if she'd been truthful…"

"She loved you," Judy snaps. "She was scared of losing you. She was just a child."

"So was I," John snaps back, voice rising. "And I was trying desperately to do what was right! All for naught - it was all lies. She wasn't the only one who lost something, I lost two of them!"

Judy stands and points her fingers, cigarette secured between them, at John. "You could have made it right! You could have fixed it! Instead, she comes to you at your high class university to beg your forgiveness, to beg you. She was going to BEG YOU. And what does she find, you in bed with a man! Less than six months after that baby was born you are in bed with a fucking man, queer boy." She takes a breath and John seems surprised by the insult. I'm surprised to learn he was involved with a man immediately after. Perhaps I really should have taken time to learn more about my husband's past. I stand, ready to intercede, but she continues. "Three weeks later my little girl was dead, my sweet baby girl. It's your fault as sure as if you'd bought her the pills or forced them down her throat. It was you, you and that baby, Stephanie, that ruined everything for her. Everything. You killed her."

John takes a step back and I know that it is because of the accusation against Stephanie not him. She blames her granddaughter as well, a child who did not ask to be conceived or born. I watch him take a deep breath and look at her.

His voice is calm when he speaks again, "Like I said, pointless. We are just here trying to find Stephanie. I'm here because Troy asked me to be, because Bella would have wanted my help, his help." He points at me. "I'm going to go wait in the car. Hate me all you want, Mrs. Benson. I'll take all the blame you can throw at me. That's fine. It's all my fault, but he can help you. He can find your granddaughter. He can find Stephanie. Let him. I'll go wait outside so that you can pretend I'm not here. Pretend I never came back."

He looks at me, the anger apparent on the surface, but his eyes are pleading as he asks me. "Stay please? I need you to find her." I open my mouth to say no. No we are going home and are never coming back here. He is never coming back here, but I nod my head and return to my chair.

Gratitude crosses his features as I do so. "I'll be in the car." I nod again.

He takes a step towards the door and it opens. Another man walks in, Matthew Benson if the family resemblance is any indication. The girl with him is obviously Isabella, Izzy. She bounces into the room with a doll in one hand. She looks towards her great-grandmother, Troy, me, and then settles on John. He is unsteady on his feet for a minute and he closes his eyes. I grab the arm of the chair to stand again, to move John out of here. He opens them then and smiles down at her. She is perplexed a moment before smiling back at him.

"Hi," she manages, and holds her doll out for him to see.

"She's pretty," John says, and her smile grows. "What's her name?"

"Suzy," replies Izzy and takes a moment to examine her. John kneels down to her level.

"And what's your name?" he asks, successfully hiding, even from me, any distress that he is feeling at this encounter. She could have been his granddaughter; however, I suspect that if Stephanie had grown up with John she would not have found herself pregnant at 18. She probably would not have been allowed to speak to boys until she was 25.

"Izzy," she says looking over her shoulder at her uncle. "What's yours?" She speaks very well and very clearly. She is obviously a very intelligent child already understanding the dynamics of conversation. She is clean and healthy in appearance and seems very well adjusted and comfortable in the presence of strangers. Stephanie appears to have done an excellent job at parenting so far.

"I'm John," my husband says. "It's very nice to meet you, Izzy." She nods at this smiling. She takes a step towards him and opens her arms. He returns the gesture and they hug. Happiness, sorrow, pain, and regret cross John's face in the split second that the hug lasts and it pangs in my chest, especially the regret. He turns his head slightly and breathes in the scent of her hair. It's a quick gesture but I notice it. I wonder if it is so that he can learn it or if it is a reminder. Does she smell like Bella or how he remembers Bella? I feel the frown as it settles on my face.

He pulls away from her and pleasantness is plastered on his face again. "I have to go now," he says and stands. He nods a quick greeting at Matthew Benson before walking past him and out the door. He turns and looks at me over his shoulder. Our eyes meet for just a second but the message is clear. He wants me to stay, he is fine.

The door closes and I look around the room at these horrible, disgusting people. I hate them all and have to forcibly prevent the snarl from forming.

"Let's cover some of the basics," I say as Judy finally returns to her seat. I will get the information I need quickly so that I can find Stephanie and get John away from all of these people, these horribly vindictive, vile people. I suddenly understand Bella's desire to get away from all of them, by any means necessary.