An interesting point, Wilde thought, though it hardly redeemed the awful voyeuristic appeal of the show. On the other hand, the contestants clearly knew what they’d signed up for, and Wilde was not in the judging business. If it didn’t cause harm, who was he to turn up his nose at it?
Then again, were lives harmed?
Wasn’t plucking unknown young people, often overly emotional and volatile people, and throwing their gas-soaked bodies into this fame tinderbox of a show asking for trouble?
Did this TV show destroy Peter Bennett?
Love Is a Battlefield’s plot points were about what he’d expected, though ridiculously heightened, but it did help to watch a few episodes to get the full flavor. There were a lot of players (the show wisely put their names on a bottom scroll) and tons of manufactured drama, but in the end, it came down to a simple story we have seen many times. Jenn had to choose between two men. One was the dangerously sexy “Big Bobbo.” That was what the blowhard Bob Jenkins called himself on the show — Big Bobbo — always referring to himself in the third person (“Big Bobbo digs a round ass, girls. None of that flat-ass stuff for Big Bobbo, ’kay?”) during the inane “interviews” that were intercut into the drama. The other choice was the handsome, sweet, kind Peter Bennett, sculpted here as the perfect boy to bring home to meet Mom and Dad. Originally, Peter was portrayed as the “too safe” choice for Jenn, but eventually, based on the audience reaction too, the show lost any semblance of nuance: Big Bobbo was the evil, faux-charming, smarmy villain, while hero-knight Peter was Jenn’s path to true love and fulfillment, if only she could see the truth.
The endless teasers, especially as the series wore on, made it look so much like Jenn was going to select Big Bobbo that you knew there was no way she wouldn’t end up with Peter. Still, the producers wrung every molecule of “suspense” out of the Final Battle, including a “fight” scene with tons of smoke in which it looked as though Big Bobbo had won, only for Jenn to cast him aside for the “winner of her heart,” Peter Bennett.
Cue the strings.
“Big Bobbo’s family was a total hoot, right?” Sutton said. “His mom got cast in Senior Battlefield.”
“Senior? So that’s...?”
“Pretty much the same show but with senior citizens. Those home visits are pretty wild. Did you see Peter’s brother Silas? The guy didn’t say a word the whole time. Just kept tugging down on that trucker hat. He became kinda famous as a grouch. Anyway, his sisters seemed nice, but none of them had any star potential. But Big Bobbo’s mom? She’s a hoot.”
“How upset was Big Bobbo by his loss?” Wilde asked.
“Not very,” Sutton said. “I can’t believe you’ve never heard of Big Bobbo.”
Wilde shrugged.
“Anyway, Big Bobbo was immediately cast on the spinoff show Combat Zone.”
“A spinoff show?”
“It’s basically all the most popular losing contestants thrown together on some island and they start hooking up. Lots of spilt tea and drama. Anyway, Big Bobbo was constantly on the Front Lines with various women. He made both Brittany and Delila fall in love with him, and then he slayed them at the Firing Squad — in the very first episode. Both of them. I think it was the first time the show ever had a double slay.”
Wilde kept his face expressionless. “And Jenn and Peter?”
“They became PB&J,” Sutton said, “maybe the most beloved couple in the show’s history. I know you think the show is dumb and so do we, but we have watch parties where we sit around and comment and laugh and... we just get it, Wilde. Do you know what I mean?”
“I think so.”
“There’s one other thing. It may be a personal belief on my part, but I think it’s true.”
“What’s that?”
“Yes, it’s manipulative and edited to tell a specific story and all that, but the contestants can’t deceive the audience forever.”
“I’m not following.”
“Your cousin Peter. I don’t think it’s just an act. He really is a good person — and Big Bobbo really is a douchebag. It isn’t merely role-playing. After a while, no matter how much they try to hide who they really are, the camera somehow exposes their true self.”
Wilde felt his phone buzz. It was a one-word text from Hester:
Call.
He excused himself and headed outside. He’d checked online to see if there had been any reports on a murder in Connecticut or anything on McAndrews. So far, there had been nothing. He called Hester back. She answered on the first ring.
“I’m going to give you the good news first,” Hester said, “because the bad news is really bad.”
“Okay.”
“I reached Jenn Cassidy’s agent. Jenn is in town for some promotional thingy and agreed to meet with me.”
“How did you get her to agree to see you?”
“Honey, I work on television. That’s all Jenn’s agent needed to know. They think maybe I’ll do a positive profile on her or something. Doesn’t matter. I’m meeting her. I can ask her about your cousin Peter. That’s the good news.”
“And the bad news?”
“The murder victim in Connecticut was indeed Henry McAndrews.”
“Okay.”
“Henry McAndrews,” Hester said again, “as in ‘former assistant chief of the Hartford Police Department Henry McAndrews.’”
Wilde felt his stomach drop. “He’s a cop?”
“Retired and well decorated.”
Wilde said nothing.
“One of their own is dead, Wilde. You know how this is going to go.”
“Like I said, I have no interest in protecting a killer.”
“Correction: cop killer.”
“So noted,” Wilde said.
“Oren is really upset.”
“Tell me what they know so far.”
“McAndrews has been dead at least two weeks.”
“Was he reported missing?”
“No. Henry and Donna were separated. He was using that house, and she stayed in Hartford. They’ve had no contact.”
“Cause of death?”
“Three gunshots to the head.”
“What else?”
“That’s about it. The media will pick it up soon. Wilde?”
“What?”
“You can talk to Oren. Off the record.”
“Not yet, but have him tell the cops to search McAndrews’s computer.” Something in Wilde’s head clicked. “I’d also like to know what McAndrews was doing in retirement.”
“What do you mean?”
“Like, was he working? Was he just living off his pension?”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“If his murder is connected to my cousin—”
“Which seems likely, no?”
“Maybe, I don’t know, whatever. But what was McAndrews doing? Was he just a typical anonymous trolling fan — or was he hired to troll?”
“Either way, you know who is going to be a prime suspect?”
He did. Peter Bennett.
Chapter Sixteen
Chris Taylor was scrolling through Twitter when he stumbled across the headline:
The story didn’t really pique his interest. It was just a murder in another state, nothing to do with him, but Chris idly wondered why it was getting such significant social media play. He clicked the link and felt his blood go cold:
Retired Hartford Police Assistant Chief Henry McAndrews was found shot gangland style in the basement of his Harwinton, CT, home.
Okay, he was a retired police chief. That explained why the story was making the rounds more than a normal slaying.