Benefit of the Doubt: A Novel (36 page)

Reynolds pulled McKenzie to his feet and to the hallway where the cells were located. The pain in his leg was excruciating and McKenzie limped along.

“Goddamn, man. I think you broke my leg.”

McKenzie looked back over his shoulder, and just before they rounded the corner he knew led to the isolation wing, he saw Ben Sawyer. The man was on his knees, his eyes closed hugging his wife around the waist.

He looked on as Alex Sawyer stood over her kneeling husband, and spoke in a hushed voice.

“I knew you could do it, Benny. I knew it all along.”

SIXTY

Nearly a week passed before Ben returned to the county jail. The trip had a surreal quality. His wife had recently been an inmate here, and passing through the iron gates would always remind him of that. The last time he had walked through this door, it had signaled the end of a desperate journey. He’d rescued his wife and imprisoned a cop. When he’d left the building that day, he’d delivered Alex to her son and father in what was the proudest moment of his life.

In the hours and days that had followed her release, he had not left her side. They ate, slept, and bathed together. It was the stuff of storybooks, and Ben had never felt more alive, especially during their private homecoming, after Jake was finally in bed. But there was unfinished business to attend to. Ben found Corporal Reynolds again on duty.

“Good morning, Sergeant Sawyer. He’s waiting for you in the interview room.”

“Thanks, Darnell.” Every head turned and every jailer greeted him as Ben passed through the series of gates that led to the interview room. Of all the publicity the story had gained, none of the experience was more important to him than to be back in good standing as a cop and to have the unqualified respect of his peers. He walked into the interview room and found the man there waiting with the patience only an experienced con can display. A patience that acknowledged that time was not a factor in his life.

“Heard you wanted to see me, Sawyer,” Harlan Lee said in an emotionless voice still raspy from his injury. “I thought I’d pretty much filled you in on what you needed to know driving down from Florence.” He snorted in what seemed to be admiration, then said, “You done good. You ain’t gotta rub my face in it. I’m gonna do my time, but it’ll be time I earned. I got no beef with that.”

“I appreciate your willingness to see me, Harlan. Then again, you really should get yourself an attorney.”

Harlan’s smile was thin and cold, and Ben felt a chill run down his spine. This was a dangerous man; the black patch that covered one eye added to his air of menace.

“Sawyer, I admitted to killing a half-dozen folks, including a cop. I’ll admit it again in open court. Ain’t no lawyer gonna get me a better deal than life. And as long as I can keep myself in a Wisconsin courtroom, I ain’t looking at the chair. Gotta love the bleedin’ hearts in this state, don’t ya?”

A very strong though strange connection had grown between the two of them in the hours they had spent alone in the sheriff’s four-by-four, driving back from Florence County. After Ben made the conscious decision not to kill Harlan, he’d declared the man under arrest and driven straight to Newberg. During the four-hour drive, Harlan had been handcuffed and seated in the backseat behind the wire mesh as he told Ben his story. Ben was here to review part of that tale.

“I wanted to let you know,” he said. “I looked into that murder in Florence, eighteen years ago.”

Harlan’s one eye showed only the slightest interest, but Ben knew he had the man’s attention. “Whaddya mean? That case is off the books.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t look into it. One thing struck me as odd. You said the gun they pulled out of your car was reported stolen, right?”

“So?”

“It
was
stolen,” Ben said. “But it was stolen in Newberg. I got to wondering why a kid from Florence steals a gun in Newberg, goes back to Florence to use it in a homicide, then ends up with it back in Newberg.”

“Seems unlikely, don’t it? But maybe you oughta ask that father-in-law of yours.”

“Yeah, maybe I will ask around a bit. But I just thought I’d let you know that I believe you. I don’t think you killed the fella up in Florence. You should have taken it to trial. All this”—Ben waived his arms in a wide circle—“all this could have been avoided. It just took a little police work.”

“Is that how you see it, Sawyer? All it took was
police work
?” Harlan’s voice was bitter and held more emotion than Ben had heard in their extensive conversations. “And who was I gonna get to do this police work, Sawyer? Lipinski? Norgaard? How about you? If your wife hadn’t been locked up, would you have crossed the street to help my convict ass?”

Harlan turned his head and spit into a corner of the room, then locked his one eye on Ben’s face. “You all stuck me in prison and were set to leave me there. You finally took the time to figure out what really happened all those years ago, but it’s too damn little and too damn late.”

“Okay, Harlan, you got every reason to be mad as hell at Lipinski, Petite, even Lars Norgaard. But all those others, Harlan. Why?”

“What do the bigwigs in Washington call that shit, Sawyer? ‘Collateral damage,’ right? I don’t hear you taking a high-and-mighty tone with them.”

“I thought you deserved to know, Harlan.”

“What about what’s his name? McKenzie?”

“Attempted murder. Conspiracy. Half a dozen other charges. He’s right down the hall from you. He’s going to end up doing near as much time as you. Maybe you two will run across one another.”

Harlan scoffed. “He’d better hope not. I’d kill him on general principles. I got nothing to lose.”

After a short pause, Harlan spoke again. “And your woman. How’s she?”

Ben tried to imagine the circumstances that could’ve led him to having a near intimate conversation with a man soon to be a convicted of multiple homicides. It still seemed altogether unreal. Even more so when he found himself answering the question without hesitation.

“She’s good, Harlan. She’s home. Where she belongs.”

Harlan grunted, “Norgaard?”

Ben looked at Harlan with honest conviction. “He knows, Harlan. He knows the part he played in all this.”

Harlan looked away. Ben wondered what he was thinking.

“So, Harlan. Are you sorry? Any part of you sympathetic to the people you killed? The victims?”

Harlan thought for a moment before answering. “Sympathy is one of them reciprocal kind of emotions. Kinda get a little, give a little, but not a lot has ever been thrown my way, and I don’t lay much out for other folks. Regret, though? Now, hell, Sawyer. That’s a whole different creation. I might sense a bit of regret.”

The men sat in silence for several minutes. Then Ben said, “All right, Harlan. I’ll leave you alone now.”

“Yeah. All right, Sawyer.”

The two men looked one another over. Neither extended a hand or offered a parting word. Ben banged on the door as Harlan stood. A guard arrived and both men turned and walked away. One returning to his life, his home, and his family. The other to his private cell.

SIXTY-ONE

Ben walked into the office of the Newberg chief of police unannounced and uninvited. Jorgensen looked up and broke into what was for him a wide grin.

“Ben Sawyer. The conquering hero returns.” Jorgensen stood up in greeting and, with a bit of flair, waved Ben forward. “Do have a seat.”

Ben dropped into the chair centered in front of the chief’s desk. He slumped, set the bottoms of his shoes against the expansive mahogany surface, and balanced the chair back on two legs. Jorgensen looked a little put out, but Ben knew the man had no choice. At this point, no one was going to mess with Ben Sawyer.

Jorgensen sat down and said, “I guess you’ve come for this?” He reached into his desk drawer and pulled out Ben’s badge and police ID. The chief held the items as if to tantalize.

“Keep it. I’d rather the new chief reinstate me.”

“Oh, you heard wrong, Ben. I’m not going anywhere. Granted, it was quite a shit storm you stirred up. But remember, once I learned of the Lee connection, I was on it. I couldn’t have known the crimes McKenzie was involved in. I have nothing but respect for you, uncovering McKenzie’s graft and corruption. Tell me, how’s Lars holding up? Does he realize what was going on? It’s unfortunate that all this will leave a real blemish on his administration.”

“Forget about my father-in-law,” Ben said. “McKenzie puts most of this shit on you, says you were pulling the strings. Hell, he’s even said Lipinski’s death was actually a murder. He gave you up as a coconspirator. I hear Chippewa County is reopening the case. Seems Doyle McKenzie’s had a come-to-Jesus kind of moment.”

“Nah, nothing that noble. McKenzie is a desperate man, not to mention a lying son of a bitch. I think my adamant denials will make good copy in the papers, don’t you?”

“Bill Petite might be a little more convincing.”

Jorgensen laughed.

“Try again, Ben. Bill Petite knows better. He’s just happy to be out from under a murder conviction. He’s already busy trying to reinvent his law career. Believe me when I tell you he won’t be too interested in rehashing ancient history.”

Ben kept pushing. “The stolen gun Lars planted on Lee? It was from a Newberg burglary. The report was taken by a patrol officer. Fella by the name of Walter Jorgensen.”

Jorgensen licked his lips, and Ben saw the slightest twitch in the chief’s eyes.

“Touché, Ben, well done. But what of it?”

“I pulled the report, Jorgensen. The gun was stolen along with some credit cards. The crook was caught with the cards the next day. He confessed to the burglary and to stealing the plastic but said that was it. He didn’t know anything about a stolen gun.”

“Crooks lie, Ben.” There was the slightest tremor in Jorgensen’s voice. “Is that news to you?”

Ben kept going. “Then, a week later, Lars somehow pulls that gun from a car driven by Harlan Lee. A gun that two days before had been used in a killing up in Florence.”

“What are you implying?” Jorgensen asked.

“I’m not
implying
anything. I’m drawing a pretty obvious conclusion.” Ben dropped the chair onto all four legs and sat forward. “You stole the gun from the burglary. That way the gun could be reported along with the stolen cards. Two days later that weapon was used to kill a dealer in Florence County.”

Ben stared across the desk at Jorgensen. “Tell me, Walter. Did you do the killing yourself? Or was it Lipinski? Who actually pulled the trigger? How did you get Lars to agree to the plant? What story did you tell him?”

“That’s quite a theory, Ben.” Jorgensen’s voice was shaking now; Ben wondered how much longer the chief would be able to hold it together. “Very impressive. But what makes you think Lars needed convincing? If you want to come up with a list of suspects for your wild tale, his name better be on it.”

Ben made no response. Jorgensen seemed encouraged by his silence, and his voice rose with fresh conviction.

“That’s right. You want to stir all this ancient shit up, go ahead. It’ll be quite a show. But remember this: As far as all the shenanigans that were perpetrated against that innocent boy, Harlan Lee, I never signed any report. I never raised my hand and swore to anything. As far as the crimes … the
sins
 … that were committed, I can only say I’m ashamed to have been that close and not have figured it out what was going on. I most certainly should be held accountable for my shortcomings. I suppose I could lose my job over it. But old Lars, that’s a different story altogether.”

Jorgensen stood and stepped around his desk. He towered over Ben and went on. “It was always easy to motivate Lars … under certain circumstances. He was never one to take so much as a free meal. But if you told Norgaard that a crook might beat the rap, the rule book would fly from the window like it had sprouted wings.

“Personally, I’m not comfortable prosecuting an invalid,” Jorgensen said. “But maybe that’s only because of my close personal affection for the accused. The public might feel differently. Tell me, Ben. You’ve been the subject of a media feeding frenzy. How well do you think old Lars is going to hold up? Criminal charges for perjury? Filing a false police report? Allowing an innocent man to sit in a prison cell for near twenty years? Hell, maybe they’ll even want to revisit the murder in Florence. You gotta wonder how Lars came to have that gun.”

Jorgensen stepped back behind his desk.

“You have to ask yourself if the old boy will even survive it. How about his daughter? That little grandson of his? Course they’ve been through it before, haven’t they?”

Jorgensen reclaimed his seat and took his turn to prop his feet up. His cotton sky blue dress shirt with a satin tie was a perfect fit around his massive neck, but Ben could see that a ring of sweat had begun to form.

There was some truth to what he said. Any case against Jorgensen would be tough sledding, but Lars was pretty much bought and paid for. Right now, Lars would welcome his day in court as a chance to confess his sins and admit his involvement.

Hell, it seemed like Lars wanted to go to jail. He had allowed an innocent man to spend nearly twenty years in prison for a crime he had not committed. Lars might feel like he had it coming, but Ben knew better.

The fallout would never end, and it wouldn’t just be Lars who paid the price. His family would be labeled for life. As would every member of the Newberg Police Department, past and present. Everyone would pay a price and nothing would change. Harlan would still have lost two decades of life and the dead would stay dead.

“Here’s what’s going to happen, Jorgensen,” Ben said, meeting the other man’s gaze. “Pack your shit because you’re retired. You walk away from Newberg PD and you don’t even sniff around another cop job. Your days of scamming the public are over.”

“And if I decide to stay?”

Ben stood. Staring into Jorgensen’s eyes, he took a step forward, placed his hands flat on the desk.

“I can live with you walking away, Jorgensen. But I won’t have you wearing a badge. Lars will welcome the chance to put the truth out there. My wife and son, they’ll understand that. But you’re right. It won’t change a thing and I’m really not up for it.”