“Original reports of a suicide were premature, and we have continued to explore all possibilities this past month. Last night, a local drifter named Grady Benson was picked up for questioning and subsequently arrested for the murder.”
I examined Benson’s face. He remained stoic, but watchful.
Maloney went on, “Without provocation, Mr. Benson confessed to the crime. The police were initially skeptical, but the bullet found in Noah Warner matched the weapon we found in possession of Mr. Benson.”
Christina shouted over the buzzing reporters, “Mr. First Selectman, if you knew about the gunshot, why was it originally listed as a suicide?”
Maloney introduced Chief Rich Tolland as someone more qualified to answer. Unlike his cohort, he wasn’t a very good liar so he spoke in a nervous tone. “Our strategy was to make the guilty party feel comfortable. Our investigation never stopped treating Noah’s death as a homicide, and the family was informed about our investigation. They understood that the killer could have slipped out of town if he felt threatened.”
Maloney introduced Kyle Jones as the police officer on the scene. Only Gwen’s precarious situation kept me from breaking into a big grin.
“Is it true that Officer Jones didn’t hear the gunshots that night, and the bullet was discovered later?” Christina again bullied the rest of the national media to get her question out. She had a future in this.
Rich stepped forward once again. “That is correct. Officer Jones attempted to convince Mr. Warner to get down from a position on top of Samerauk Bridge, trying to prevent him from harming himself. That’s where his focus was, and should have been. There was also loud thunder present on the night in question, making it hard to hear. It was logical that Officer Jones believed Noah Warner’s fall was intentional, as we all did at first.”
The still-too-young-to-be-cynical press clapped for Officer Jones. I held back any applause for the man who killed my bother. But I did wish I could have been a fly on the wall when Maloney and Rich Tolland informed the real Grady Benson of the arrest.
“Was there a silencer used?” asked a young female reporter from CNN. They were catching up quick.
“I can’t get into the specifics of the investigation at this time,” Rich stated.
“Where was the gunshot wound?” followed up the same reporter.
“Back of the head, but that’s all I can say,” Rich said.
Christina aggressively jumped back in. “My sources tell me that while in custody, Grady Benson confessed to numerous high profile murders. I was also told he passed two separate lie detector tests. Can you comment on the validity of the report?”
“I can’t comment on that at this time.”
Christina pushed, “So are you denying that Benson confessed to murdering former NFL football player Leonard Harris, along with US Senator Craig Kingsbury?”
The other reporters gasped. A buzz in the air was palpable. They were starting to realize they were in the middle of catching their first big break in the business. Sort of.
“The only arrest concerning our department is for the murder of Noah Warner. These other so called ‘high profile’ confessions will be turned over to the FBI for a full investigation. We will cooperate with them in any way we can.”
I kept sneaking peeks at the guest of honor, who stood like a statue. I tried to gauge the thoughts in his psychotic mind. I doubted he was very happy that his life’s work was being hijacked right before his eyes.
Lauren was not holding her anger well. “Lauren Bowden … GNZ … this is ridiculous! The case of Craig Kingsbury has already been solved. As first reported on GNZ, Ron Culver confessed to the murder in his suicide note.”
“Like I said before, ma’am, the only arrest we are making at this time is for the murder of Noah Warner. Any additional charges against Mr. Benson will be determined only after an FBI investigation-it’s out of our jurisdiction.”
Rich took another question from Christina. “What was Mr. Benson’s motivation for killing Noah Warner?”
After looking at Maloney, as if to get permission, Rich answered, “As the First Selectman stated earlier, we are in the early stages of this investigation. But what’s clear is that Mr. Benson was affected greatly by his parents being killed by a drunk driver. All the victims Mr. Benson confessed to killing had some link to a drunk driving fatality, including Noah Warner.”
Lauren was still not satisfied. “Do you have any evidence, besides the confession of this homeless guy, that he was involved in any way in the murder of Senator Kingsbury? How would a homeless guy get to North Carolina? Don’t you see how ludicrous this is?”
Rich just shrugged his shoulders. Welcome to my world, Chief. I flashed Maloney a look to indicate he needed to stop mugging for the national cameras and wrap this thing up.
“I just want the people of Rockfield to know they are safe and always have been. And with dedicated servants like Chief Tolland and Officer Jones behind me, they will continue to be. Grady Benson never targeted average citizens-he specifically chose his victims based on their past actions.” A satisfied look formed on his face and I thought for a moment he might take a bow. He was probably already strategizing how he was going to ride this all the way to the governor’s mansion.
At that point, Rich announced that they were going to hand out the latest photo of Grady Benson to the media members present. He had Officer Jones assist him in this endeavor-awkward. The picture was of Christina’s friend, and Fordham theater major, Damon, who was getting his big acting break. Sort of. With the help of make-up he looked twenty years older, which would coincide with Benson’s current age.
A young JP Warner would have done his due diligence and found an old photo of Benson. He would have been fascinated by how much he looked like Officer Jones and dug deeper, but that type of detail is no longer prevalent in the rapid pace of the modern 24-hour news cycle. So I doubted any connection would be made.
Lauren gave me a dirty look on her way out, but Chuck smiled at me. He knew I’d delivered him a big story. But little did he know that I’d completely gone to the dark side and finally embraced the modern cable news mantra of: if you don’t like the news, make up your own. I once thought that newsertainment would be the end of me, but now I realized it might be the one chance to save my life.
Chapter 81
Sunday October 9
I drove the van to the Gazette headquarters to get the first edition. I sat at Gwen’s desk, drinking coffee that Murray had brought, along with a bag of jelly-filled doughnuts.
The headline read: Local Drifter Arrested in Noah Warner’s Murder.
I read the front-page story that I wrote under Gwen’s name. It wasn’t too bad, considering I hadn’t written for a newspaper since college, but it didn’t compare to Gwen’s work, and I knew it.
I moved on to the more important, and much better written, full-page editorial. As only Murray can do, he turned Benson into a heroic figure, lashing out at the epidemic of drunk driving that took approximately eleven-thousand lives last year, more than triple the number of lives lost in 9/11. Where is the outrage? he asked. He compared Benson’s actions to everyone from Robin Hood to New York subway vigilante Bernie Goetz. And of course, Batman.
He used his endless connections to get the editorial run in most major newspapers around the country. The article sparked debate, much to Murray’s delight. He always was a firm believer in the accuracy of news stories, but the editorial page was the playground for his contrarian nature. The “Hero vs. Vigilante” question was being argued on the Sunday morning news shows, and trending on the Internet. Grady Benson was getting his headlines.
Murray put on his fedora and headed toward the door. Before leaving, he turned back to me with a smile. “I’m off to church, John Pierpont. Hopefully nobody will decide to hang me on one of those many crosses they like to decorate the walls with.”
“Thanks for everything, Murray.”
“We will get our girl back, don’t w
orry.”
He didn’t have any sources to back it up, but his words made me feel a lot better. When he exited stage left, I skimmed through the rest of the paper. A fake opinion poll said 75 % of all citizens in the area believe Benson performed heroic deeds and shouldn’t be prosecuted. Fake letters to the editor vociferously praised Benson. We were turning him into the heroic figure he craved to be. The only problem for him was that he was no longer Grady Benson. Two can play that game.
I leaned back in my chair and ran my hands through my hair. I thought about the beautiful editor who the letters were addressed to.
Chapter 82
Ocracoke Island
Monday October 10
Gwen sat on the concrete floor shivering in her wet clothes. She was angry and drained.
There was no possible escape. For a man who built a whole life on lies, Benson sure picked a great time to start telling the truth. She could hear pieces of wood ripping away from the house, along with cracking tree branches. The whistling of the wind was so loud that it was hard for her to think. But the room was holding up against Hurricane Ava. She didn’t know if that was a good thing or not.
She wasn’t sure what day it was, but had narrowed it down to either Sunday or Monday. It took her three days to get out of the handcuffs. A torturous experience of trying to maneuver her fingers in ways they shouldn’t bend, in order to get the key into the small hole. She did all this without being able to see her cuffed hands behind her. It was like trying to put her contact lenses in without hands.
The food and water had dwindled. It took a lot of willpower to ration it when she wanted to gulp the entire bowl. Her mouth was as dry as the Sahara, with lips chapped to the point they were bleeding.
Carter remained unconscious. She wiped the sweat off his head, and the stubble felt like sandpaper. She noticed a big gash where Benson had knocked him out. The blood, mixed with the sweat, trickled down his face like wet paint. Gwen guessed he was in some sort of body trauma or shock. She knew he needed a doctor soon or he would die.
With all the free time, she was able to catch up on her reading. But Benson’s journal entries were so disturbing that they made her never want to read again.
Suddenly a sharp noise jolted her. It was Carter-the giant was awakening.
“Did somebody get the license plate of that truck that hit me?” he grumbled as he tried to sit up. He didn’t make it, and laid back down.
Gwen felt relief. “Carter, are you okay? How do you feel?”
“Are you an angel?”
“I’m JP’s friend Gwen-you’ve been out for days.”
“I figured I’d only see a piece of ass like you in heaven,” he said, before going on a long tangent about some guy named Jimmy Snuka, who was something called a super fly, and one time jumped off a top rope in a wrestling match and caught him with an elbow that put him in a coma for a week. He was definitely delirious.
On his second attempt, Carter managed to sit up against the concrete wall. He took a whiff of himself and made a face of displeasure. “What the hell happened?”
“If you remember, you were following me like you shouldn’t have been. Now we’re being held hostage at the beach house.”
He rubbed his hand over the gash on his head and nodded like it was all coming back to him. “The pictures-I remember looking at them before I got whacked.”
A large crash shook the room.
“What the…?” Carter almost leaped to his feet.
“There’s a major hurricane hitting North Carolina.”
“There’s no way out of here?”
“I’ve searched every possibility.”
“What about these handcuffs?”
“I tried the key. It only worked on mine.”
Carter smiled.
“What’s so funny?” Gwen asked.
“I’m locked in a room with a hot chick and handcuffs, but I’m trying to get out. That hit on the head really musta effed me up.” He tried to laugh and it looked like it was painful.
“You make one move and a headache will be the least of your worries.”
He smiled. “I see why JP’s so crazy about you. You’re one tough broad.”
“Is that a compliment?”
“Let’s just say, I’ve known JP Warner for most of our nine lives, and in all that time you’ve been the only one to get entry into his heart.”
Gwen shot him a crooked look.
Carter shrugged. “Hey, I didn’t say there haven’t been others that got entry into other places … actually there have been a lot of…”
“Okay, okay, I get your point,” she cut him off.
“When you spend time in the places that me and JP have, you learn what makes someone tick. I always thought he was just a prick, but turns out he was a guy with a broken heart, and you’re the only one who can fix it.”
Gwen wasn’t so sure. “Then you’d know he’s programmed to always leave in the end. There’s always a next story.”
“The only thing I know about JP is that he’s honest to a fault. A fault that has gotten that cute nose of his broken a few times. If he says he’s stayin’, he’s stayin’.”
“I’ll believe it when I see it.” Gwen wanted to have faith, but there was just too much historical evidence working against her. But if they didn’t find a way out, and quick, it would be a moot point.
Carter’s eyes swept the room. “I’ve seen a lot of sick bastards in my time, but this guy takes the cake.”
Gwen looked up from the journal. It was filled with stories that rivaled Stephen King for pure horror. “Each one of those photos on the wall represents someone he’s murdered. He described each depraved act in this journal.”
Carter viewed the photos. “A US senator? This guy has some set of nads, I’ll give him that.”
“You’re complimenting our captor? That must have been some blow to your head.”
“It’s only half a compliment. You need nads and brains. But what happens with these psychos is they get hooked on the arrogance drug and their brains turn to mush. Taping your victim’s pictures to a wall in your house comes to mind.”
Gwen began to lay out the case against Benson like a prosecutor. Unfortunately, this tomb was likely the only place that the case would be tried. She’d put together what she and JP had discovered, along with what she’d learned the last few days from the journals. She brought Carter back to the beginning, where Benson’s parents were killed by a drunk driver, and then took him step by step through each sick act up until the present, including his transformation from Benson to Jones.
It was Benson’s glimpse into the future that scared her most. He wrote of a “final” climactic event to take place in Rockfield, in which he didn’t believe he’d survive.
He planned to “eliminate” Bobby Maloney, who had been a key figure in the Kingsbury cover-up, and the reason that Benson went to Rockfield in the first place. And most distressing was that he also planned to use JP to complete his “mission,” by using Gwen as the bait. It was to take place on the tenth of October.
Carter’s face scrunched-it wasn’t a pretty sight. “What’s today?”
Gwen sighed. “I think today is the day.”
As if it was the last straw, she began to break down. First a sniffle and then a single tear. When the floodgates opened, she began to sob uncontrollably.
Carter struggled to raise his massive body off the floor. He wobbled with dizziness, and the handcuffs made it near impossible for him to push up off the floor. But he made it to Gwen. She wrapped her arms around his large frame.
“Is it something I said, or that I smell like piss?”
“It’s hopeless. We’re going to die here like rats. There’s no way out!”
Gwen held on for dear life. She really needed JP, but Carter reminded her of the oversized teddy bear she would grip onto as a child when she was upset.
Suddenly he pulled away. He looked around the room as if he were searching for a lost set of keys. The
n he flashed a big grin, which confused Gwen.
“We are going to get out of here,” he stated confidently.
“There’s no way you’ll be able to bust the door down.”
Carter pointed to a black box that looked like a lunch box. It was neatly placed next to the bookshelf where Benson kept his journal.
“What is that thing?” she asked with a hopeful sniffle-she had tried to open the box earlier, hoping it might contain food or a tool that might help them pry their way out of there. But she couldn’t open it.
“It’s called a videophone, and it’s our ticket out of here.”
Chapter 83
Rockfield
October 10
When I awoke this morning, I knew today would be the most memorable day in the history of Rockfield. I just wasn’t sure if it would be recorded as a triumph or a disaster.
Our Saturday press conference had played to rave reviews, except from the FBI, who stormed in later that day like the cavalry. An agent named Hawkins made it clear he was in charge, and would be handing out our punishment. The severity of which would be based on our level of cooperation.
The rest of the crew consisted of an African-American woman agent named Clarisse Johnson, who appeared to be second in command. A bearded agent named Hendrickson who looked like Shaggy from Scooby Doo, and seemed to be a little nuts, which might not be a bad thing in our predicament. And two young agents, looking as if they were late for their high school geometry class. One was named Ellsworth, while the other was Agent Justice, which I thought sounded like the name of a cheesy 1970s detective show.
Rich Tolland took the brunt of Hawkins’ wrath. He focused on falsified arrests, public spectacles, and endangering the life of a college theater major. I insisted that the fake arrest was a hundred percent my idea. They ignored me at first, but I remained adamant, to the point that Hawkins eventually shifted all blame and anger in my direction. But with the business of 10/10 at hand, a temporary cease-fire was called.
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