“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 different 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?
I drove the minivan up to Samerauk Bridge and parked. I removed my suit jacket, and searched the vehicle. I found nothing useful, except a pair of football cleats. Mixing the cleats with an expensive suit was admittedly an outfit that J-News wouldn’t be caught dead in, but all JP cared about was making his way to Gwen. Without a flashlight, I descended the sharp, rocky incline.
Gwen was attempting to balance herself—her legs straddled on two adjacent rocks at the river’s edge. As I’d suspected, she had changed into a sweater and blue jeans with hiking boots. When I got close enough for her to hear the rhythmic tapping of my cane on the rocks, she turned with fright.
“So are you trying to cover the tracks of your boyfriend?” I went on the offensive.
Her look turned annoyed. “You scared me, JP. What do you think you’re doing here?”
“I might ask you the same. Except I know what you’re doing.”
“And what would that be?”
“Working with your boyfriend to cover up his crime. You might as well come clean—I’ll get to the bottom of it sooner or later. And if I was a betting man, I’d put my money on sooner.”
Gwen laughed, which didn’t seem to fit the context of our conversation. But I was too busy noticing how beautiful she looked with the moonlight shining off her perfect cheekbones, to contemplate it.
“With the way you’re going about it, JP, it looks to me like you might want to hold off on placing that bet. I’m pretty sure whatever answers you’re looking for, I’ve already found them. So don’t worry your pretty little head over it.”
A brief silence filled the night, except for the sounds of the rushing river in the background. Despite my bravado, I was no less confused about her purpose than when I arrived. But suddenly I had a theory—one that made me smile. “Are you investigating your own boyfriend?
She shook her head in disgust. “It’s hard to find answers, JP, when you don’t even know what the question is.”
“Why don’t you fill me in.”
“The most important question is: what were you thinking when you put that outfit together? Was Brooks Brothers having a sale on athletic cleats?”
“Maybe I should give your boyfriend a call so we can sort this out. I hear he likes to hang out by the bridge at night.”
“He’s not my boyfriend!” she exclaimed, then caught herself.
If my relief happened in a forest without anyone around to hear it, would I still be relieved? The answer was,
oh yeah
.
“So you’re pretending to date this guy to get a story, Miss Ethics and Morals?” I asked with a sheepish grin. I couldn’t help it.
“Shouldn’t you be at your brother’s funeral?”
“Are you trying to get rid of me?”
“Leaving is one thing you’ll never need help with, JP. The only thing I’m trying to do is investigate a possible crime.”
“I already took care of that—Noah didn’t kill himself.”
“Tossing a hose over a bridge isn’t research, it’s a childish prank.”
“What do you know about this guy, Gwen?”
She continued to sift through rocks. “Did I just hear the great JP Warner actually ask little ole me for information?”
I moved closer, struggling to balance the plastic cleats on the rocks. Miraculously, I arrived safely at the river’s edge and sat next to her on an adjoining rock. When I took a closer look, I saw the vulnerable girl from our younger days.
After a moment of awkward silence, she asked, “Have you ever heard of Casey Leeds?”
Chapter 41
“About a year and a half ago, a rash of suspicious fires hit Rockfield. And what really raised people’s eyebrows, was that a local fireman named Casey Leeds was showing up before anyone to save the day,” Gwen began.
“Hero syndrome?”
“That’s what the police thought, so they had Leeds tailed.”
“Let me guess, the cop who tailed him was none other than Kyle Jones.”
Gwen nodded. “And he must have been willing to work holidays, because Jones called in on the Fourth of July, claiming that he’d witnessed Leeds set an old farm ablaze on the north side of town. Sure enough, Leeds was the first one to arrive at the scene, seemingly to save the day. Within minutes, half the Rockfield police force arrived.”
“I’m presuming this didn’t turn out good for Casey.”
“He’d taken Jones hostage with a gun that he’d somehow wrestled away from a trained police officer. Casey was ordered to freeze and drop the weapon. He refused, and frantically yelled out that a mysterious caller had been informing him about the fires. And that he was the only one who could save the children inside. He sounded just like a man holding a police officer at gunpoint should … crazy.
“The police gave Casey his last warning to drop the weapon. But he was a paranoid mess and didn’t trust anyone. When he made it clear he wasn’t relinquishing his weapon, Jones pointed toward the burning farmhouse, yelled, ‘fire!’ and dropped to the ground
“Casey was a fun-loving gregarious man, but he wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, so he thought that Jones was referring to the burning farmhouse. By the time Casey figured out that ‘fire’ was a cue for them to shoot, he was riddled in bullets.”