If so, I knew that weapon was long gone.
“But it was just a hose, JP,” Christina questioned. “And it’s not like it was made to Noah’s exact measurements.”
“I’m not saying it’s a smoking gun. All I proved is the need for a full investigation to answer the questions.”
We performed the same test five more times. Like a mad scientist, I used different levels of force and dropped it at different angles. Then after about forty-five minutes of tossing and hoisting Hoseman over the side of Samerauk Bridge, a police car appeared with lights flashing, but no sirens.
A uniformed police officer, along with his female partner, stepped out of the car. He formally introduced himself as Officer Williams, and his partner as Officer O’Rourke.
“Mr. Warner, you are going to have to come with us,” he stated.
“What charge?”
“Chief Tolland wants to talk to you. If you want us to come up with charges such as suspicion of stealing a fire hose, we will.”
“So let me get this straight—in Rockfield it’s illegal to toss a fire hose over the side of the bridge, but it’s perfectly fine to throw my brother over?”
“I’m sorry about Noah. I went to school with him and he was a good guy. I’m just the messenger here,” said Officer Williams.
I looked forward to a discussion with Rich Tolland, especially after what I just learned. “I tell you what, officers. If you make my life a little easier by helping me load my hose into my vehicle, then I’ll make your life easier by getting into the back of your squad car without a fuss.”
Williams and his partner must have seen this as a peaceful solution to a potentially volatile situation. They helped Christina finish hoisting Hoseman from its final swan dive, and loaded it into the Humvee.
I turned to Christina. “See how small town politics work. You wash my back and I’ll wash yours. Look the other way and accept my money and one day you get to be mayor. It’s no different in Rockfield than it is in Kabul or with tribes in Pakistan.”
The police officers didn’t appear to be amused, but neither did they seem overly offended. Like most people I’ve encountered, they just wanted to get rid of me. I told Christina to follow me to the police station, then I joined the police officers in the squad car.
Chapter 38
I walked through the police station, flanked by Officers Williams and O’Rourke. Upon my arrival, all police business stopped and the whispers began. I was used to the attention, but the difference in this case was that I wasn’t reveling in it.
I limped directly into Rich’s office. The first thing I noticed was an attractive woman talking to him. She was dressed in a business blazer, mid-length skirt, and heels.
What are you doing here?” Gwen asked, looking surprised by my presence.
“I killed a hose … what are you doing here?’
“I was just…”
“Here to see your boyfriend?”
Gwen looked to be taken aback by my tone. “If you mean am I meeting Kyle for lunch, then yes, that’s why I’m here.”
“Good thinking, you never want to cover up a crime on an empty stomach.”
“JP, I understand you’re hurt. I won’t say I know how you feel, because I never could. But your family has always been like my second family, even if we haven’t been in touch in recent years. So I feel like I lost a family member. At the same time, it wasn’t anybody’s fault. Everyone did all they could do to try to save him.”
“Don’t patronize me, Gwen. You know he didn’t kill himself.”
She looked like she wanted to send me to the ground again, but held her emotions in check this time. “I’m sorry about your brother,” she said and turned to Chief Tolland. “Thank you for your time, Rich.”
She dashed out of the office as if she were trying to outrun her emotions.
Rich stood before me, looking angry, and I didn’t believe it was related to my spat with Gwen. As if this wasn’t going bad enough, Bobby Maloney strolled into the office. Rich slammed the heavy wooden door of his office, and closed the shades on the glass partition, walling off the gossipy audience. He meant business.
Rich’s face had turned a shade of scarlet, just as I remembered it as a kid whenever he became angered or flustered. But there was a new confidence to him that concerned me. “Sit down, JP,” he demanded.
“I swear the hose committed suicide. I just turned to go call for help and the hose was shouting, ‘I miss you’ over and over again, before just jumping off the bridge.”
“Sit down!” Rich repeated, this time rattling the framed photos hanging on the wall.
I followed orders and sat. “So what’s this all about?”
He spoke in a measured tone, “JP, what happened to your brother was a tragedy, and sincere condolences go out to you and your family from both myself and the entire police department. But what I will not put up with is you trying to publicly show up or denigrate my department. If I find any evidence to contradict the findings in your brother’s death, I will open a full investigation. But I’d appreciate you working with us, instead of this public grandstanding.”
Maloney couldn’t fight off the temptation to add his two cents, “I think you’re looking to capitalize on your brother’s death for your own publicity, which we all know you’re addicted to.”
Those were fighting words. I rose out of the chair, raising my cane as a weapon.
Maloney inched back with a look of terror on his face. A large yellow streak formed on the back of his dark suit jacket. He knew I wouldn’t lose a second of sleep if I bashed his head in. For once, he was right. After you’ve faced an AK-47 pointed at your head, silver spooned kids from the suburbs didn’t exactly evoke fear. Especially one who once missed our Little League game because he sprained a finger during a piano lesson.
Rich regained command of the room. “JP, my suggestion is to mourn your brother, console your parents, and be with your family. All this nonsense is going to do is tarnish your brother’s legacy.”
“I got a better idea. How about an investigative report on GNZ about Kyle Jones’ abuse of power, and how you enabled it?”
Maloney interjected again, “Jones is an excellent officer with a spotless record. You pull a stunt like that and we’ll file our lawsuit before the report is over. Go ahead, Warner, we need money to improve roads and schools.”
“He’s a vigilante,” I shot back. “He’s forgotten that his job is to protect and serve. I have one guy on record who says he broke into his home and arrested him on suspicion of DUI.”
“The allegations made by Scott Busby were completely unsubstantiated,” Rich returned fire. “I wish all my officers had such an exemplary record.”
“He knows what happened to Noah, and when I prove it, you two clowns are going down with him.”
Maloney looked ready to fight—as long as The Toll Booth was there to protect him—but Rich took a deep breath and spoke calmly, “JP, if you are intent on accusing an award winning officer of being involved in the death of your brother in some manner, you can file an official complaint before you leave. But unlike the way your business works these days, we still need things like proof and evidence, neither of which you have.”
“I didn’t say he killed him, but the tests I performed today proved it wasn’t a suicide. Everybody’s record is spotless until they find the bodies in the basement. You better open an investigation, or I’ll bring your whole department down.”
“Is that a threat?” Maloney asked.
I stared angrily at him. “It’s a promise, Bobby.”
Rich shook his head with frustration. “Ever since we were kids it’s always been about you, JP. It makes me sad that you have twisted the death of your brother to be about you.”
I struggled to my feet. “Consider my complaint filed.”
Having put my cards on the table, I limped out of the office as fast as I could. When I entered the parking lot, I spotted Jones beside a police cruiser. He was h
olding the passenger-side door open for Gwen to step in.
“If they won’t get to the truth, Jones—I will,” I shouted in his direction.
“JP!” Gwen blurted, shocked at my outburst. I wondered if she felt responsible for contributing to this lunatic I’d become.
Jones whispered something to her and then shut her door. If he planned on playing knight, I hoped for his sake he wore his shining armor underneath his uniform.
He approached me and spoke in a low voice, “My girlfriend and I are just trying to go to lunch. So please be a gentleman and leave us alone.”
“Cut the act, Jones. You know what happened to my brother and I’m going to get to the truth.”
We engaged in a battle of smug looks, before he said softly, “Your brother did the honorable thing. He committed an act of evil and decided to fall on his own sword. It was common courtesy, which I see doesn’t run in the family. I actually felt respect for him when he jumped.”
“I’m sure he’d be honored that such an award winning officer thought so highly of him.”
“Now you should follow your brother’s lead and do the right thing, which is to leave this town before you cause any more trouble.”
I couldn’t help but to stare into his eyes. It confirmed what I already knew. I turned away and headed to the waiting Humvee. I thought of what Noah would have wanted me to do in this situation. So to honor him, I gave Jones the finger.
My adrenaline practically lifted me into the vehicle.
“Who was that?” Christina asked as she peeled out of the police parking lot.
“The man who killed my brother.”
Her mouth hung open. “You think a cop killed Noah? Do you have any proof?”
“I’m working on it.”
She noticed a strange grin escape from my trembling lips. “Why are you smiling?”
“I like to get under people’s skin.”
“You must smile a lot then.”
Chapter 39
Noah’s funeral was held at the Rockfield Congregational Church on Wednesday.
My parents had been active members for years. My father was the obvious choice to give the eulogy. He delivered more in his years as first selectman than I could remember. But he couldn’t bring himself to eulogize Noah. He asked me if I would do the honors. I respectfully declined, but offered Ethan as the more logical choice. It was the first thing that made sense to me since I’d returned.
Ethan always did the tough work around here, and why should this time be any different?
Following the packed ceremony, the mourners congregated back at our house on Skyview to “celebrate” the way too short life of Noah Warner. I stood by my lonesome in my best suit. It likely cost more than the funeral. I greeted guests and discussed Noah with many old friends of my family. Sadly, I didn’t recognize many of them without an embarrassing reintroduction. Ethan was right—I didn’t know Noah the way I should have.
As I stood on one side of the living room, I made long distance eye contact with Gwen. She wore a funeral-appropriate, ankle length black dress that was buttoned in the back. Her long hair was tied up in a bun. One accessory she wasn’t wearing on her arm was her boyfriend, Kyle Jones. She was smart enough to know his presence would have only tempted a confrontation. I knew a hug or smile from Gwen was the only tonic on the planet that could lift my spirits, but there was little chance of that.
I was approached by a friendly face that needed no reintroduction.
“I’m sorry, kiddo,” Murray addressed me with a friendly pat on the back.
“He didn’t commit suicide, Murray.”
“Is that the journalist in you talking or the grieving brother who doesn’t want to accept the truth?”
“I know what I sound like, but there are too many holes. I talked to Noah hours before and he made plans for later in the weekend. He was in good spirits … best I’ve seen him in a long time.”
“It doesn’t mean those feelings didn’t change. It was an anniversary of a horrible day, and he did drive to the spot on his own. Not to mention, they had to counsel him off the same bridge a year ago.”
“The wounds don’t match the fall. I think he was dead before he went over.”
Murray smiled strangely. “Is that what you learned from that amateurish forensic study you performed at the bridge with your young companion?”
“How’d you know about that?” The second the words left my lips I realized what a stupid question it was. I was talking to Murray Brown.
“Your research was good, although a little too confrontational for my taste—but not surprising after your many years in the television arena. Do you have a suspect in mind?”
“A local police officer,” I whispered as loud as I could into Murray’s hearing aid.
“And what was Officer Jones’ motive?”
“I’m not completely sure, but he’s obsessed with drinking and driving. I talked to a few townsfolk who relayed numerous instances in which Jones violated their rights to make DUI cases.”
“Anything in his past that might have sparked him to action?”
“His parents died suddenly, in some sort of accident.”
“Was it alcohol related?”
“Hard to say. There was an out of court settlement, but no details were revealed. And there are no arrest records I can find, which I think would be the case if it was an alcohol related accident. All the records were sealed.”
“And all that would provide is a motive. What you need is evidence that he murdered your brother. What else did you find in his background?”
“Not much. Lived the military ‘brat’ life as a kid, before following his parents into the Air Force. Nothing special about his service, other than he served in the Gulf War.”
“As did you, John Pierpont, if I remember correctly. Even if journalists aren’t given medals for their courage.”
“Post military, he went into police work. The same chief is still in charge in Gilbert, Arizona, where he served. I had a phone conversation with him, and it sounds like Jones was a perfect employee. He left on his own terms, moved to North Carolina, where he bought a plane, probably with the settlement money from his parents’ death, and gave flying lessons. Then one day he must have gotten the police bug back, because he picked up and moved to Rockfield.”
“I guess the question is why he came here.”
“He seems to make a habit of picking up and moving very suddenly. Maybe he’s running from something.”
“I get the impression that Officer Jones is running toward something.”
I pondered the interesting thought.
“Wife, child, family?” Murray continued.
“Just a mention of an old girlfriend who I only have the first name of. He’s an only child, with no living relatives as far as I’ve been able to find.”
“This profile you paint of his past doesn’t seem to resemble the obsessive, prickly police officer that I’ve met on a few occasions.”
I sighed. “The guy’s record is totally clean.”
“As they like to say, records are made to be broken. I broke a dish years ago and just recently found a piece of it in a pesky crevice in my kitchen. Sometimes you have to look under the surface to find the pieces of the broken record.”
His attention traveled across the room to Gwen, who was in the middle of saying her farewells to my parents. When she hurried toward the door, Murray pleasantly smiled at her and she returned a quick wave.
“I think you should take the lead of a true journalist,” he said, his eyes never leaving Gwen. “I wonder why she seems to be in such a rush.”
He didn’t have to ask me twice. I gave Murray a quick goodbye and headed after her.
As I made my way through the crowd of mourners, Ethan interrupted my path. “First you don’t show up for the wake, and now you are bailing on the funeral. Typical JP.”
“C’mon, Ethan, I gotta go.”
“I guess we shouldn’t have expected anything d
ifferent from you.”
“I’m the only one here doing something for Noah. Funerals are about the living—justice honors the deceased.”
Ethan rolled his eyes. “The only thing you’re honoring is your own glory. And you’re using Noah to do it.”
“See it any way you want, Ethan—you always do,” I raised my voice, catching the attention of a few onlookers. Their sad looks turned to interested ones.
“Too bad you didn’t pay this much attention to him when he was alive.”
I stood silent for a moment, before saying, “I agree with you. I should have been more involved, and I’ll have to live with that the rest of my life. Maybe it’s the guilt talking, but I need to do this for him.”
Ethan took a deep breath, knowing he was fighting a losing battle. But then surprised me by asking, “Can I do anything to help?”
We traded glances, and I realized he had his own doubts about Noah’s death.
I reached into the breast pocket of his jacket and took out his keys. “Yeah, I need your car.”
Before Ethan could even protest, I’d pushed passed him.
Chapter 40
I tore out onto Skyview, struggling at first, not having driven a car since Lauren and I took a regrettable trip to the Hamptons last Memorial Day weekend. The pain in my leg throbbed, but just the thought of those six hours stuck on the Long Island Expressway with her reminded me of an important lesson—things can always get worse. By the time I passed through Main Street I’d located my inner Dale Earnhardt, but still no sign of Gwen. I dashed onto Zycko Hill, following a hunch.
I found her van hidden in the woods, just inside the entrance of the nature preserve—not sure what type of amateur she thought she was dealing with. The Natty was a place where Gwen and I had some of our most memorable moments. I got the idea that this might be a memorable point in our relationship, but perhaps not in the good way.
I looked into the vehicle and saw her black funeral dress neatly folded on the seat. I also noticed a bicycle pump tucked under the seat. Whatever she was doing, she didn’t want anybody to know. I figured she’d changed into some rock climbing gear and biked. What are you up to, Gwen?
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