Officer Jones (15 page)

I sneaked away to my quarters and went immediately to my laptop. I had access to numerous files through my lengthy list of connections and could get information on almost any person on the planet. But even with this access, I still didn’t learn a lot about Kyle Jones.

He had lived the life of the typical military child. Born in Germany, but spent time in San Diego, North Carolina, and Lake Cumberland, Kentucky before he was in middle school. The military background made it more understandable as to why he’d described the incident in military time, which I had found odd at the time.

Jones followed his parents’ footsteps into the Air Force, a career that culminated with him piloting a jet fighter in the Gulf War. Other than the combat service, his military career was bland but honorable. He left in the mid-1990s—his last stop was Luke Air Force Base in Arizona.

Following his military service, he joined the police force in Gilbert, Arizona. His next stop was the Outer Banks of North Carolina, where his only job of note was giving flying lessons to the locals. Then he must have rediscovered his love for wearing a uniform, because he accepted a job of police officer in Rockfield, Connecticut, where he had a stellar record … except for the fact that he might have killed my brother.

If my instincts were correct, and Jones was responsible for Noah’s death, the next question was why. The obvious connection was that Noah was responsible for Lisa Spargo’s death, and he had grown close to the family. I recalled the angry words he had for me about Noah and the accident. But I needed more than that. I knew how this looked—I was a distraught family member who wasn’t thinking straight, and when you throw in the Gwen factor, it would also look like I was motivated by jealousy.

My lack of sleep had me running on fumes and I was struggling to concentrate. But anytime I began to nod off, my thoughts always returned to the moment where I held Noah’s lifeless head in my hands.

A mid-morning phone call to his old boss, Gilbert Police Chief Steve Dahl, didn’t provide any significant clues. According to Dahl, Jones was a model police officer who was still missed in Gilbert all these years later. “If I had me fifteen officers like Kyle Jones I’d be on to something,” he exulted.

When I questioned as to why Jones left, Dahl recalled the conversation where Jones told him of his desire for a new start. He’d just broke up with his girlfriend and always grew restless being in one place for too long. Dahl speculated that it was the Air Force in him.

“Do you know why he chose North Carolina?” I asked.

“I really don’t know, but he always complained about the brutal summers in Arizona, and mentioned he hoped to go someplace where the seasons change. He always talked about his love for the water, so it makes sense that he headed for the beach.”

Dahl mentioned that he’d “lost touch” with Jones after his move, but they’d reconnected briefly when he was thinking about returning to police work. They traded a few emails, Jones asking if he could use him as a reference, and he gave Jones a glowing review to Chief Tolland. He hadn’t spoken to him since his return to Rockfield, but Jones had sent him a ‘thank you’ note for the reference, and they exchanged Christmas cards each year since.

My explanation for the call was that I was doing an article for the
Rockfield Gazette
on Jones having received the
Lisa Spargo
Memorial Award
. Dahl wasn’t surprised that Jones would win an award, but when I pressed him about Jones’ devotion to drinking and driving, he couldn’t recall any such compelling interest when Jones was in Arizona. But added, “Kyle was always trying to help the community, so maybe he was affected by a specific case.”

Not only was I not getting anywhere, but was actually making a case that Gwen would be better off with Jones. The guy was a Boy Scout.

My questions soon turned more personal in nature and Dahl became suspicious. When I asked how I could reach the ex-girlfriend whom he’d broken up with prior to his move from Arizona, I crossed the line. Dahl began to answer, giving her first name as Lucy, but then his police instincts took over. He stopped in mid-sentence without providing a last name.

When I pushed, he turned testy. “Why are you so interested in his love life?”

I stumbled through an obvious lie. My lack of sleep dulled my usually sharp answers. Dahl demanded a number of my superior at the paper. I gave him Murray’s name, but couldn’t remember his phone number, which made me seem even more suspect. The next sound I heard was the click of the phone.

At that point, I tried to get some much-needed sleep, but my dreams kept reliving my last conversation with Noah.

I gotta take off JP, but we will definitely hook up at Ethan’s on Monday.

Hot date?

No, I’m just going to meet an old friend. We haven’t talked in a while.

I woke up in a cold sweat, realizing that I wouldn’t be able to sleep until I got justice for my brother.

I always believed when panning for information, the true golden nuggets came from “Joe Local.” So that’s where I decided to start. The police department would have their own spin on Jones, and Gwen was obviously fooled by him. I paused in thought; still unable to believe Gwen could be with this guy. I doubted I could accept anybody she dated, but this one really didn’t add up.

Then a sad truth hit me. One that I had been aware of since our encounter at the fair, but I didn’t want to admit it—Gwen Delaney wasn’t the person I once knew.

Chapter 36

While wandering around the Rockfield Fair on Saturday afternoon, in one of the few moments I wasn’t fighting with someone, I ran into an old friend from high school named Adrian Herbert. He invited me to watch the opening week of NFL football at Main Street Tavern with him and some of the old gang, and gave me his phone number. He said it would be like old times, although I couldn’t remember ever watching football with Herbie. I doubted I’d take him up on the offer at the time, but I gave him lip service about keeping it in mind. And following Noah’s death, I suddenly had the urge to meet up with the boys and swap some stories. Preferably about a certain police officer.

Main Street Tavern was a wooden firetrap that was a favorite watering hole of the locals. A small but raucous crowd was always present on fall Sundays to watch NFL games, including some of my old high school football buddies.

They proceeded to greet me warmly, along with providing condolences for the loss of Noah. I spotted my old teammates, Vic Cervino and Steve Lackety. We used to get together once a year for a reunion of our league championship team, but the reunions became fewer and fewer, before dwindling to non-existent about ten years ago.

I knew it must look strange that I’d be here, just twelve hours after my brother committed suicide, but nobody questioned my presence.

Before I could get into the topic of Kyle Jones, there were old football stories to be told. They had grown into Greek mythology over the years, and what they lacked in truth, they made up in grandiosity. Between stories, I continued buying rounds of beer for the boys until one o’clock; when the game between the Main Street Tavern favorite, New England Patriots, and the Miami Dolphins began.

When halftime arrived, it was time to talk Officer Jones. I was counting on the alcohol removing all inhibitions, and assisting in some honest dialogue.

Herbie was the first to take issue with him, “I’ll tell you what that guy did. He came to our softball party—he was dating the sister of one of the guys on the team, who worked at the bowling alley—hung out with us and acted like our best friend. Then he left and hid down the street and nailed half the squad with a dee-wee.”

“But you guys
were
breaking the law by driving drunk,” I played devil’s advocate.

“I’m not saying we were right, but if Jones really wanted to stop people from driving, he could have taken people’s keys or arranged rides when he was at the party. He wanted credit for making the bust.”

I noticed a bunch of nodding heads. A man named Lucas caught my interest. He identified himself as being a former member of the Rockfield Police force, who had worked with Jones, but left for a job in the private sector. “The guy is obsessed. Something is not right with him,” he remarked.

The bartender, Wally, who was also the tavern owner, chimed in, “He’s not allowed in here anymore. He used to wait in the parking lot in an unmarked car and follow my customers home.”

“You should do one of your investigative reports on that bastard,” Vic Cervino shouted out with a mouthful of salsa chips.

I smiled. “I would if I had something good on him. So far, nothing you told me is against the law. And those he arrested certainly were breaking it. Sounds like he might just be doing his job a little too well.”

The former cop, Lucas, spoke up again, “I’ve witnessed him break the law.”

“How come you didn’t report it?”

Lucas laughed as if I were naïve. “If I accused the department’s fair-haired superstar of doctoring Breathalyzer results, or that he pulled people over without just cause, it would have been spun that I was not committed to reducing crime. Besides, with all due respect to Noah, the fact he got off with what appeared to be a slap on the wrist put a bull’s-eye on Rockfield. Maloney, like any public official looking to get re-elected, made drinking and driving his top priority, and Jones became his poster boy for this pursuit. Even if Tolland wanted to do something about Jones, Maloney would overrule him, especially after the money began rolling in from the ADDs.”

“The ADDs?”

“The against drunk driving organizations. They are good organizations, don’t get me wrong. They’ve played the biggest role in cutting fatalities. But sometimes when money gets involved, people tend to turn their heads at the means, as long as they get to the ends.”

Sounded like the Maloney I knew.

Halftime would be ending soon, so I had to move fast. A guy named Scott Busby, who owned a local hardware store, provided me with the incriminating story I was waiting for.

“Jones had heard a rumor that I’d driven home from here, three sheets to the wind. I don’t know where he heard that, but I was home the whole night watching the Yankees game. I put down a six-pack and chomped on a bag of potato chips. I got a knock on the door and when I answered, it was Jones. He dragged me down to the station, where they charged me with drunk driving.”

“And he got away with it?” I asked with great surprise.

“Yeah, they gave me a Breathalyzer, which of course I failed because I was drinking…
in my house!
It was Jones’ word against mine. The judge basically called me a liar at my sentencing.”

Herbie asked, “Hey JP, what’s your beef with Jones—did he pull you over?”

Before I had a chance to answer, Lackety cut in with a knowing smile, “I hear that Jones has been dating Gwen Delaney. I’ll bet that’s the problem.”

This led to hearty laughter at my expense.

“The woman from the paper?” the bartender asked, obviously new to the town.

Lackety butted in again, “She could put me in her story anytime, if you know what I mean.”

Unfortunately, everyone did.

Herbie cleared it up for anyone who didn’t know the story of JP and Gwen, providing the
Cliff Notes
version of the past thirty years. It was not a happy ending and I cringed with embarrassment, but kept my mind focused on the task at hand.

“So that’s your issue with Jones,” the bartender said. “That punk stole your girl. He’s bad news!”

Everyone at Main Street Tavern agreed, raising their beer-filled mugs in salute. I shrugged, acting as if I was busted, even though I knew
my girl
left by her own choice a long time ago. “What can I say, I guess I still have a thing for her.”

The second half began, diverting attention back to the screen. I remained until the game ended. Herbie offered me a ride home, but he was sloppy drunk, courtesy of myself, as were most of them. So I called cabs for everyone on my dime. “Hey, you never know if Jones is out there,” I explained.

Once I made sure everyone was safely getting a ride, I autographed a few things for Wally, and in return, he gave me a lift home.

The house was empty. There was a note on the kitchen counter from my mother. It read in matter-of-fact language that she was making funeral arrangements. It was like she was describing a trip to the grocery store—as if by keeping a sense of normalcy, she wouldn’t have to acknowledge the truth.

I was glad she was keeping busy, but knew that one day it would hit her like a ton of bricks. One thing I learned the hard way is that it’s impossible to run away forever. I vowed to be here for her when the storm hit.

Leaving was not what I did, it was what I used to do.

Chapter 37

Monday was Labor Day. It was also the day of Noah’s wake at the Laconia Funeral Home on Main Street. I didn’t attend.

The whole point of the wake and funeral is to lay someone to rest, and in my opinion, Noah couldn’t properly rest until justice was served.

I bummed a ride from Herbie to the local police barracks, and it wasn’t to invite them to a Labor Day barbecue. I wanted an update on their investigation into Noah’s death, even though I knew none was planned. Rich Tolland didn’t seem thrilled by my appearance, but he tried to play nice with me. It was the best strategy to make me disappear.

“I’ll do what I can, JP,” he told me.

I knew the answer was a load of crap, but I wasn’t ready to pick a fight with the police department … yet. I thanked him and left. I needed more ammunition to fight city hall. I did get a copy of the police report, but it was the same fiction they tried to sell me that night—a distraught Noah jumped to his death from Samerauk Bridge as the courageous Officer Jones tried to save him, blah, blah, blah. I would perform my own investigation.

I was supposed to spend Labor Day at Ethan and Pam’s picnic, catching up with Noah, but instead I spent it at the local library researching his death. I couldn’t handle being in the house, standing on the same floors where Noah crawled around as a baby, or deal with the endless stream of well-wishers who kept stopping by. But most of all, I couldn’t face my mother right now.