Officer Jones

by Derek Ciccone

Bobby the Weasel first looked stunned, but quickly regained enough composure to snarl at me, “We are in a meeting, Warner.” He called for his secretary to remove me.

  Rich stood, looking intimidating. “What is it now, JP?”

  “I just wanted to tell both of you that Kyle Jones didn’t kill my brother, and I wanted to apologize.”

  “We know that, Warner. I’m glad you came to your senses,” Maloney said. “Apology accepted, now please let yourself out before I have someone do it for you.”

  “The name of the person who killed my brother is Grady Benson. His parents were killed by a drunk driver way back in 1989, and since then has been performing his brand of vigilante justice across the country. Some names of his victims include pro football star Leonard Harris and former US Senator Craig Kingsbury.”

  A tense silence hung over the room, until Maloney responded, “What size straightjacket do you wear, Warner?”

  Rich concurred, “You’re wasting our time here, JP.”

  I kept my attention on Maloney. “Do you know how Benson found out about Craig Kingsbury being involved in a drunk driving fatality, Bobby?”

  “Probably from that lunatic Lamar Thompson spouting off on TV,” he fired back. “And I thought I told you to call me Robert!”

  “I’m sorry, Bobby, I was just feeling a little sentimental. Thinking back to when we were simple college students-me at Columbia, you at UNC. I think you were there at the same time as Craig Kingsbury, right?”

  “What are you getting at, Warner?”

  “I was just curious if you’d heard any talk on campus. You see, my sources tell me that Kingsbury was driving and Lynch was in the passenger seat. I also know Lamar Thompson was in the backseat on the driver’s side. But for the life of me, I can’t figure out who that other kid was in the car. I just thought you might have some inside knowledge, going to school there at the same time and all.”

  I took a long look at him. I would have smirked, but there was nothing funny about this. He nervously fidgeted with his silk tie. It reminded me of a sweater that had begun to unravel. The first loose string looks so innocent, but soon it leads to another, and before you know it you can’t stop the demise.

  “I don’t know, Warner. Maybe you can consult one of your great sources. I have work to do,” he said and sat down behind his desk.

  “I did, and do you know what I learned?”

  “I couldn’t care less.” His words were still firm, but the tone had turned hesitant. He knew he was entering a minefield.

  “George Kingsbury arranged a deal with a crooked judge named Raymond Buford. They paid off the fourth kid in the car, the juvenile, for false testimony to make it all disappear for his son. It worked well, that is, until Grady Benson found out about it. Craig Kingsbury and his father are dead, along with Buford. And now Benson is coming after the last piece of the puzzle. Are you sure you don’t know who he is, Bobby?”

  He stood and pointed angrily to the door. “Get out!”

  Rich stepped in. “JP, I’m not sure where this is going. Is there a point in there, or do you just like to hear yourself talk?”

  “Trust me, Rich. I’m as sick of myself as you are. So I’ll shut my fat trap and let Bobby tell you what my point is. I think he knows what it is.”

  “You’ve lost your mind, Warner!” Maloney shouted.

  A grown man having a mental breakdown was not a pretty sight.

  “Tell him, Bobby!”

  “Get out!”

  I reached across the desk and grabbed Maloney by his pricey tie and pulled him close enough to my face to feel my stubble. “I said tell Chief Tolland who the fourth person in the car was!”

  Rich physically separated us with a very recognizable look. It was the “I’ve had all the JP Warner I can stand for the rest of my life” look. I got that a lot.

  I began to nonchalantly walk out of the office. “I’m a little hurt, Bobby. I was just trying to save your life.”

  “Freeze!” Rich’s voice echoed throughout the room. He knew I was up to something.

  I stopped and turned.

  “Spill it, JP,” he said. It was an order.

  I walked back to Maloney’s desk. I reached into my overnight bag and pulled out a glossy black-and-white US Air Force photo of Grady Benson and tossed the photo on the desk. It fell right beside framed pictures of Maloney’s perfect family. Even with the passing of years, there wasn’t a reasonable doubt that they were looking at a photo of the man they knew as Officer Kyle Jones.

  Rich stared hypnotically at the photo. Maloney looked like he was about to throw up.

  “By the way, Benson loves to kill on anniversaries. Just ask Noah. What was the date of the Lamar Thompson accident?” I asked, knowing the answer, but still wanting the confession.

  “October tenth,” Maloney mumbled.

  “Well, at least that gives you a couple days to say your good-byes and to get your will updated. Did I mention that October 10 this year is the 20th anniversary of the accident? I’m guessing that Benson might be planning a reunion for that day.”

  I began strutting toward the door

  “Please come back,” he uttered feebly.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Please come back,” he said, this time louder.

  Having gotten my pound of flesh, I turned to face him. He bowed his head in shame. If he thought the sympathy card would work he had the wrong jury.

  “I was a kid. George Kingsbury was a powerful man. They promised me that my name would never be released. Not a day goes by that I don’t think about that Lacey woman. But it’s not like I was the one driving the car.”

  I walked behind the desk, lifted Maloney’s sulking head, and drove my fist into his nose.

  “That’s for Lamar Thompson. And if it weren’t for you, Benson would have never come here. So I’m holding you responsible for what he’s done since he arrived. If it weren’t for you … my brother would be alive. If it weren’t for you … Gwen wouldn’t be his hostage right now!”

  Rich pulled me away from Maloney before a murder occurred. He wasn’t overreacting. He then looked at me with a confused look. “Gwen Delaney is being held hostage?”

  I pointed at Rich in the way my mother taught me not to point at people. “That’s why I’m in charge now. That is, unless you want the world to know you not only hired, but enabled a mass murderer. And covered up that video of ‘Officer Jones’ assaulting Carter.”

  Rich stood motionless, his bulky arms crossed across his massive chest. Maloney’s head was tilted back with a rag over his nose, trying to stop the bleeding.

  I had the floor. I began with Benson’s parents being killed by the speeding car of Timothy Kent. And then walked them through each disturbing step that led us to this day.

  The story was insane, but nobody in the room could doubt it.

  Rich added, “That’s all circumstantial. I can’t arrest him just on innuendo. My only option is to charge him with impersonating an officer. That will at least get him off the street if he has plans of doing something on the anniversary of the accident.”

  “If you arrest him I will never see Gwen again.”

  “Then what do you propose we do?”

  “I have a plan. Bobby-go set up a press conference for tomorrow morning. You have a big announcement to make.”

  Chapter 78

  Friday night was idyllic for football. Heavy rains were predicted, but held off. Temperatures were October brisk, just a shade below fifty for the game between the undefeated Rockfield Mountain Lions and Newtown High.

  The onslaught began immediately, with Rockfield returning the opening kickoff for a touchdown. Midway through the second quarter, Ethan’s troops had a twenty-one to nothing lead and were closing in on more.

  I took in the sights and sounds. I noticed my father working the crowd like it were Election Day, in his first public appearance since Noah’s funeral. My mother was more subdued, huddled under a blanket in the bleachers, chatting with old
friends. The band struck up a catchy fight song, drowning out the obnoxious shouts coming from the parents in the crowd. When my eyes got to the cheerleaders, I thought of Gwen, and how stunning she used to look in her cheerleader uniform back in the day.

  The thought sobered me. I knew I had one shot to get her back. This had to work. The stakes were Gwen’s life, which meant it might as well have been my own life. The plan was based on Benson’s weakness-his heroic view of himself. You take my girl, I take your glory.

  But I wasn’t naive enough to think that Benson didn’t have the upper hand. It no longer mattered if we were onto him-he held the ultimate equalizer in Gwen. He knew it, and I knew it. All I wanted to do was to level the playing field.

  Halftime came with Rockfield being cheered off the field, owning a commanding four-touchdown lead. I made my way to the snack bar and shamelessly used my celebrity status to cut in line. It wasn’t that I was so desperately hungry, or on an ego trip-I was just strapped for time. The first step in the plan should be arriving in just moments.

  On the way back to my position, I saw him. Working security detail for the game in his light gray police uniform was Grady Benson, or as he was known in these parts, Officer Jones. I held my stare on him, and could tell it made him feel momentarily uncomfortable. I was skilled at causing discomfort in others, which normally worked as an effective weapon in keeping people from sitting next to me on the subway. Benson turned and went on his way, diligently carrying out his police duties. I smiled at winning a small battle.

  I returned to the meeting spot and waited. She showed up wearing a long black leather coat. It came down just above her high-heeled shoes, giving her a flasher look. Her big blonde hair shone so brightly it could have been used to light the field.

  I cringed when I heard her voice, “Hello, John Peter.”

  Chapter 79

  “You look radiant as usual,” I greeted Lauren.

  “Don’t try to butter me up, John Peter. If you invited me here because you want me to interview you, well, you are a dollar late and a day short.”

  “Actually, I wanted both you and Cliff to come. Where is he?” I asked, letting the butchered saying pass without comment.

  “He’s parking the car. Before he gets here, I just want to say that it’s very obvious the reason you asked us here was to beg for your job back. So I want you to know that I’m a team player, and I won’t stand in your way. I will do my best not to think less of you when I’m your boss.”

  I began to choke on my hot dog. “I’m sure any man would be honored to be under you. And I’m sure many have been.”

  “Your smarty-pants comments don’t work on me anymore, John Peter. The fact is, you thought GNZ would crumble without you. Between my reporting on the Kingsbury case, and our new edgier shows this fall, not only did we not miss a beat, but we found that old guys like you were making us stale.”

  Rockfield didn’t waste any time in the second half, scoring on the third play to the roar of the crowd.

  “I caught Todd Scott’s edgier show, the Todd Squad for Truth. Where’d you guys find him, the Mental Health Channel?”

  “Make fun all you want, John Peter, but Todd is a revolutionary.”

  “Sort of like Castro was.”

  “You are just jealous that he’s not afraid to feed America the answers it starves for.”

  “I guess if you can’t report the news, you might as well make it up.”

  “You wouldn’t know cutting edge if it hit you in the head,” she replied angrily.

  She might’ve had a point, but to be fair, I often did want a sharp cutting edge to stick in my eye when I was with her. I thought that should count for something.

  Our stimulating conversation was interrupted by Cliff Sutcliffe, also stylishly overdressed for a high school football game. I was getting worried that he’d dropped Lauren off and hightailed it back to the city. Not that I could argue against the strategy, but I needed him here.

  We shook hands like we were long lost friends. Lauren excused herself so that she could use the “ladies room.” Her acting hadn’t improved since the last time I’d seen her.

  When she was safely out of earshot, Cliff began his spiel, “JP, I need you back. Even MSNBC has passed us in the ratings!”

  “Ratings are overrated.” I said with a smug grin.

  “You drive a hard bargain, but I’ll double the offer from last time.”

  “I’m not coming back, Cliff.”

  His face looked like a balloon that had been popped with a needle. “Then why was it so urgent for us to trek out to the wilderness tonight?”

  “I started working at GNZ when I was seventeen. The place will always be part of me, and I hate to see it struggle. So I wanted to give you a scoop about something big going down here in Rockfield.”

  “What big event could possibly take place in this Podunk town?”

  “You mean like the brother of a certain celebrity journalist dying in a tragic accident last month?”

  “I’m sorry, JP, I forgot to mention to you how sorry we at GNZ are for your loss.”

  “The only thing you’ll be sorry about is if you don’t follow up on the lead I’m about to give you. Here’s the scoop-Noah’s death wasn’t a suicide. Do you remember those terrorists who put a bounty on me last year?”

  His eyes grew wide behind his spectacles. “You’re telling me that Al Muttahedah killed your brother in an act of revenge?” he asked with a little too much excitement.

  “No, what I was going to tell you is that when it’s revealed who was behind Noah’s death, it will be bigger than that.”

  Right on schedule, Lauren returned. “So have you come to your senses, John Peter, and decided to come back to work for me at GNZ?”

  When she realized that the answer was no, her face flushed with anger.

  But before the tongue lashing commenced, Cliff spoke, “JP won’t be re-joining us at this time, but he offered us a lead on a big story.”

  Her pouty look perked up. “How big?”

  “Huge,” I said. I’d broken so many big stories over the years that they couldn’t completely dismiss me. “There will be a press conference here at Rockfield Town Hall first thing tomorrow morning, at which the police will announce the arrest of the man who killed my brother. And when the name is released, it will be the biggest story of the year, I promise you. I took the liberty of booking you both rooms at the Hastings Inn here in town, so you can be there bright eyed and bushy tailed.”

  Sutcliffe didn’t need convincing, GNZ hadn’t broken a big story since I’d left. Lauren appeared visibly intoxicated. This was too easy-like shooting fish in a barrel. Although, I once watched Carter try to do that and it wasn’t really that easy.

  The game ended with Rockfield winning 52-6. “You want an interview tonight?” I asked.

  “Of course, John Peter,” Lauren could barely contain herself.

  I led them onto the field and introduced them to my brother Ethan, who was sporting the smile of a victorious coach.

  Lauren looked indignant. “I thought you wanted me to interview you, John Peter-your first official interview since being captured. Why would I interview him?”

  I shrugged. “Because he’s the winning coach. They always interview the winning coach.”

  I guess she wasn’t interested because she stormed off, muttering to herself. Sutcliffe followed, but gave me a thumbs-up to indicate they’d be at the press conference.

  I congratulated Ethan on the win, and he predictably gave credit to the players.

  On my way out, I again made eye contact with the man claiming to be Officer Jones. I smiled at him, which seemed to momentarily confuse him. I might not be cutting edge, but this old dog still had a couple tricks up his sleeve.

  Chapter 80

  Rockfield Town Hall

  October 8

  Rain fell steadily on Saturday morning. A group of reporters gathered under the dark skies outside the Rockfield Town Hall, holding um
brellas and wearing rain-slickers.

  For those who claimed I’d inevitably return to the life of chasing the big story, I guess they were right, because even though I stood off to the side as an observer, I was directly in the eye of the storm.

  Just as I suspected, and was counting on, Lauren was unable to keep her yapper shut. Which explained how everyone from NBC to CNN showed up to provide national coverage of the arrest of Grady Benson. He always wanted his story to be grandiose. The lesson: be careful what you wish for … you just might get it.

  Lauren flashed me a dirty look across the press row, unhappy that word of the press conference spread to other networks-oblivious that she was the one responsible for the leak.

  Most of the reporters on hand looked as if they’d just graduated college. It used to be that when word leaked of GNZ covering a story, everyone would follow them with their ‘A’ team. That wasn’t the case anymore, which I took into account. With the JV on the story, I wasn’t sure they’d ask the right questions, so I planted Christina in the crowd with a list of questions I wanted answered.

  At exactly nine o’clock, Maloney burst through the front doors of Town Hall, wearing a dark pinstriped, three-button Tasmanian wool suit. If this didn’t work out, he could very well be buried in the same suit in a few days’ time. He walked in front of the reporters in an informal style, trailed by two uniformed Rockfield police officers. One was Chief Rich Tolland, and to my delight, the other was Officer Jones, aka the real Grady Benson.

  Maloney looked nervous, which seemed reasonable, considering his life was on the line. I was more interested in Gwen’s life and encouraged him to “get on with it” with an impatient nod of my head. Once the lies started flowing off his tongue he seemed to find his comfort zone.

  His voice was confident, but muffled by the click of flashbulbs and the pitter-patter of rain on umbrellas, “Thank you all for coming. I know the conditions are not the best, but I have an important announcement to make. We’re here to announce an arrest in the death of Noah Warner.