Officer Jones (39 page)

A visitor entered the office. She kissed Murray on the cheek, to which he replied, “Congratulations on becoming the First Lady of Rockfield once again, Sandra.” They both smiled at each other. She then greeted her son and should-have-been daughter-in-law with hugs.

My mother brought with her a large framed object that appeared to be a painting. She turned it around to display a framed copy of the
Rockfield Gazette
front page, which detailed the events of October 10.

“We are going to hang it in the historical society, but first I hoped to get the three of you to autograph it.”

Gwen and I both signed. But before completing the trilogy of autographs, Murray began to read the article aloud.

Local Policeman Charged in Murder Spree

By Gwen Delaney and JP Warner

Rockfield police officer Kyle Jones was arrested and charged with multiple murders spanning over decades. The latest of which was longtime Rockfield resident Noah Warner, 25, on Labor Day weekend of this year.

It was later revealed that Jones’ true identity was that of Grady Benson, originally from San Diego, California. The arrest of Benson followed a daring car chase along Main Street, in which Benson was holding former Rockfield First Selectman Robert Maloney hostage. Maloney was too shaken for a formal interview, but issued a statement thanking everyone for all the good wishes he has received.

According to sources within the FBI, the alleged arrest of a man named Grady Benson on October 8, was part of a strategy to lure the real Benson into the open. Agent Hawkins, in charge of the FBI investigation, said it’s not a common tactic, but “this was a case with special circumstances that required cooperation between departments. I would like to thank Chief Tolland and the Rockfield Police, along with Robert Maloney and his office.”

The same sources within the FBI have told the Rockfield Gazette that a search warrant has been issued and performed for a home that Benson owns in Ocracoke Island, North Carolina. The FBI has no official comment on evidence seized, but the Gazette has learned the contents tell the clear story of a vigilante serial killer, including details of the murder Kyle Jones, the man whose identity he’d assumed. When asked the nature of the evidence, the source stated, “The moron actually wrote every detail down in a journal.”

The journals told the story of a man distraught over his parents’ death at the hands of a drunk driver on July 4, 1989. Benson’s first recorded murder in the journal was that of Timothy Kent, the man convicted of killing his parents, on the anniversary of their death in 1991.

The killing spree resumed in Arizona in 1996 when Benson allegedly murdered former NFL football player Leonard Harris. Harris, like all Benson’s alleged victims, had a connection to a drunken driving fatality. His former teammate Byron Jasper commented yesterday from his home in South Carolina. “Leonard Harris was a man who learned the value of life the hard way. He worked daily to become a better person. Benson in no way helped the two girls who died in the accident. All he did was add to the misery, and I’m glad that justice has finally been served in the case of Leonard Harris.”

The highest profile of any of Benson’s alleged victims was US Senator Craig Kingsbury. The Kingsbury family released a statement calling George and Craig Kingsbury patriots, and added, “The Kingsbury family has always been the strongest advocates of the law and the judicial system. We have full belief that justice will be served in this case. We also categorically deny any involvement by Craig Kingsbury in the untimely death of Marilyn Lacey, and find any allegations in that case both slanderous and insensitive to a grieving family.”

Concerning the deaths that touched closest to Rockfield’s heart, Casey Leeds’ family had no comment, but regulars at Main Street Tavern plan to celebrate their friend’s death this upcoming Sunday by watching football and drinking beer, just as “Casey would have wanted it.” The families of Noah Warner and Lisa Spargo released a joint statement. “We are happy that justice has been served. Taking Noah’s life could never have brought Lisa back or stopped our grieving for her, which will last for the rest of our lives. Our hope is that the two of them are together again in a better place. All Grady Benson accomplished was taking another child away from another mother.”

Benson has hired renowned defense attorney Barney Cook, who issued the following statement, “Grady Benson has an important story to tell. He looks forward to his day in court.” Benson’s arraignment will take place on Thursday in federal court.

Chapter 93

“Just perfect,” Murray beamed. “I’m sure somewhere out there Woodward and Bernstein are wallowing in envy. It would have been very easy for you to slant the article based on your very understandable emotions and biases, or incorporate yourselves into the story. I’m also proud you didn’t focus on the celebrity of Senator Kingsbury, like the national media did. Kingsbury was just a small part of a bigger story, which you captured the true essence of.”

Murray completed his autograph and made eye contact with the still strangely quiet Gwen, who munched on a doughnut with Hannibal Lecter-like intensity. She was starting to scare me.

He then turned to me and said, “I really think you are returning to your journalistic roots, John Pierpont. What would you say about working for the
Gazette
full time? I can’t offer you top pay, but I promise you honest and fulfilling work.”

When I scanned the room, I noticed my mother smiling with pride, while Murray looked at me with anticipation. Gwen, on the other hand, was still brooding.

“I appreciate the offer, Murray, but at the moment I have some other commitments I have to attend to,” I said.

My mother asked in a soft, inquisitive tone, “Why not, JP? It sounds like a perfect opportunity.”

Gwen walked slowly to the office answering machine. No high-tech voice-mail system for the
Gazette
. Like a lawyer dropping a bombshell in a courtroom drama, she pushed the “play” button and coldly said, “Maybe because of this.”

“John Peter, it’s Lauren. I’m calling to congratulate you on returning to the GNZ family. I’m glad to hear that you finally were able to put your ego aside, and see that working for me is best for you.”

Click. Rewind.

Gwen stared at me so hard I thought I was going to catch on fire. “I always knew you’d leave again. All that talk about staying was just that,
all talk!
I hope you enjoy North Korea, you son of a bitch!”

She covered her mouth and turned her back to me. It hurt to watch, but at least I now understood the drastic mood swing—I shouldn’t have underestimated what a great reporter she was.

“You promised that you were done with that life, JP,” my mother said in a disappointed voice.

The glares grew intense. I cleared my throat and offered an explanation that I hoped would get me out of here alive, “Yes, it’s true I’m going to do some work for GNZ, but it’s not what you think. I’ve agreed to do six features a year on domestic problems that I feel need more attention. I already have the first year lined up—what can be done to curb drunk-driving fatalities. Another to expose the generator death traps of house boats.”

I smiled, hoping that I avoided the bloody mutiny for a few more moments. “My first feature will be about finding cures for paralysis and the work the Rubber-band Foundation plans on doing to make sure it happens. I’m excited about this. Plus, the travel will be minor, and a lot less dangerous … at least if I can avoid flying coach.”

No laughs. Tough room.

Murray and my mother looked on with pride, seemingly buying the answer. Gwen was still a holdout. She turned to face me. “Why should we believe you
this
time?”

The ringing of the historic landline phone on her desk cut off her words. Gwen was closest and guarded it so nobody could answer it until I answered her question.

The machine clicked on. Following a professional message from Gwen and a loud beep, a message projected for the whole room to hear.

“JP, it’s Christina,” she started off, sounding annoyed. “Pick up if you’re there. C’mon, JP—pick up the phone, you lazy ass.”

After some more choice words for me, she finally gave up. “Well, I guess you really aren’t there. I just wanted to let you know my train just got into New Haven. I am taking a cab to Rockfield, which I hope you know will be expensed on your dime. I want to hook up so I can say goodbye to you—with the plane to North Korea leaving tonight, and all.”

I attempted a tension-easing joke, “She’s just mad I gave her Humvee to Lamar Thompson.”

Still no laughs. Just the deadly silence of the lynch mob. No wonder they have those drink minimums at comedy clubs.

Gwen pointed an angry finger at me. “You lying sack of…”

She held back, sucking in an extended deep breath, then slowly decompressed. “I don’t know what I’m upset about—I always knew you would go back. You just needed a warm body while you were stuck in this one-horse town. It’s not what you do—it’s who you are. It was pretty arrogant of me to think I could change that. Enjoy North Korea—send me a postcard … and remember to duck.”

She started to throw the answering machine at me, but held back at the last moment. We just stood there and stared at each other for what seemed like an hour. I let her win the battle of wills. I urgently looked at my watch, as if I were late for something, before turning toward the door.

When my face was safely out of Gwen’s view, I smiled. I chose not to tell her that part of my deal with Sutcliffe included an agreement that GNZ would hire, young, aggressive, and talented field reporters as the core lifeblood of the news organization. Less style, more substance. One of those new reporters would be Christina, who was headed to North Korea as a rookie correspondent. Not me.

I could feel Gwen’s eyes boring a hole in my back as I began walking toward the door. When I reached it, I looked back and flashed her my smuggest of smiles. The one that has annoyed people on all seven continents at one time or another.

“I’ll be back in a couple of hours. I have a meeting with a realtor—I’m looking into buying a farm.”

Thank you for reading Officer Jones! If you enjoyed it, I hope you will leave an honest review or rating.

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Other Books by Derek Ciccone –
Painless
,
The Truant Officer
&
The Trials of Max Q
. Excerpt for
The Heritage Paper
(coming soon) following Acknowledgments.

Acknowledgments

Finding someone to “edit” a book is easy, but finding someone who understands the story like you do and cares for it like it's there own is a not. So I want to thank Charlotte Brown once again for helping to mold the pile of clay called a manuscript into a flowing story. I've also found (often the hard way) that it takes a village to proofread a book. So I want to thank all those who volunteered, especially Sandra Simpson for her meticulous work and going above and beyond. And to many of the readers of the advanced copies, who made some great suggestions, including Ramin, Ralph, Don, Kelly, and Bob.

Another great cover from Carl Graves. If you're interested in hiring Carl, here are more
examples of his work
. And thanks to Curt Ciccone once again for his ebook formatting. If I had to rely on my tech ability to do this, the book would have been out sometime around the year 2046.

One of the things I enjoyed about writing this book was that it took me back to my time growing up in a small town of Bridgewater, Connecticut, where I lived until I was ten. We had 16 kids in my entire class at school, and yes, there was a fair in town every year. There wasn't much to do, but it sure was a great place to shape an imagination.

I hope you enjoyed “Officer Jones,” and found it a fun read. But under all the twists and turns, and JP's antics, there is the very real message of the dangers of drinking and driving. Thanks to awareness and tougher laws, the fatality rate has fallen in half since Grady Benson began his fictional rampage in the early 1990s, but there were still something like eleven-thousand deaths in the US in 2011 related to d&d, or some crazy number like that. We all like an occasional cocktail, but be sure to call a cab when you do.

Excerpt from The Heritage Paper (Coming Soon)

Chapter One

She laid still in her bed with her hands clasped close to her nightgown, pretending to sleep. The thick darkness was only penetrated by a trickle of moonlight sneaking past the curtains. But she could still feel his presence.

The man was not the Grim Reaper, but she knew he’d be the last face she saw in this life.

“Has the great Nazi hunter come for me?” her voice sputtered and creaked. After almost nine full decades of life, turning on her voice was like starting a car in a frigid Munich winter. She could no longer read an eye-chart without the assistance of a telescope, but she could still sense the surprised look on the man’s face. He had no idea she knew.

“Hello, Ellen,” he spoke in a hushed tone. “Think of me of a gypsy moth that has come to defoliate your evil family tree.”

“How did you figure it out?” she played naïve. She didn’t know if she’d fooled the man, but she sure had convinced her own family that she was a dementia-stricken loony tune. The most damning evidence being when they discovered her wandering the grounds in the middle of a cold night, and claiming to have spotted aliens.