Officer Jones (16 page)

On Tuesday, my first call was to Christina. She put up a mild fight, since it was the first day of classes, but like myself, she was always drawn to the action. I wouldn’t go into details as to why she was summoned, but instructed her to bring Hoseman.

I had covered the death of an American woman in Rome a few years back. She was a newlywed who’d accidentally fallen to her death, while making some wild marital bliss with her new hubby on their hotel balcony. But the more I studied the “grieving” husband, I grew convinced that her death was no accident. So to prove my theory, I worked with a local fire department in Rome to create a fire hose to simulate the woman and re-enact her tragic fall. The husband is now serving a life sentence in an Italian prison, and I got to keep Hoseman as a souvenir.

Christina greeted me with heartfelt condolences, but then our conversation returned to normalcy. “A hose that looks like a woman, JP—not getting any up here in Sticksville?”

I struggled into the vehicle without a response. I then instructed her to drive us up Zycko Hill to Samerauk Bridge.

“So are you going to ever tell me why I had to return to Colonial Williamsburg, and miss the first day of classes?”

“We’re going to solve a murder,” I said without further detail, as she parked the Humvee just before the bridge. It was the exact place where Noah had left the Cherokee.

I hopped out with anticipation. But intense pain shot through my body, a reminder of my current condition. I gritted my teeth and went to the back of the vehicle, leaning heavily on my cane. Christina opened the hatchback.

She took her time, which annoyed me, “C’mon, I don’t have all day.”

“I had a late night. So how about a little more gratitude and a little less attitude,” she snapped back.

I glared at her, causing her to back off. I think she realized today wasn’t the best day to push her luck. We dragged the heavy hose out of the back of the Humvee.

I headed straight for the four-foot high guardrail on the side of the bridge, where Noah allegedly spent his last moments. Christina followed, draped in hose like she were being attacked by a giant Boa. “Are you going to help me with this?”

Ignoring her, I dropped my cane on the road and climbed up on top of the guardrail.

Christina peeked out from under the heavy hose, her face filled with shock. “Are you trying to have your mother bury two children in one week!?”

She had a point, but logic never stopped me before, and I didn’t plan to let it start getting in my way now. “Based on the police report, Noah would’ve had to be up here for at least the three to five minutes that Jones estimated he spent trying to talk him out of jumping. It’s very hard to maintain your balance for that long. And remember, it had begun to rain. It’s possible he could have, but not probable.”

It was also possible that Noah was recreating the scene from a year ago and lost his balance. But I doubted that, and why would Jones lie about it and say he jumped?

Christina struggled to hand me the end of the hose that was knotted like a balloon animal to simulate the woman in Rome. I wrapped it in one of Noah’s denim jackets, and placed his favorite Red Sox cap over the wig. Since the Warners were born and bred New York Yankees fans, I never understood my little brother’s devotion to the hated Red Sox. My best guess is that it had to do with the “rebel without a cause” image he embraced, which I was sympathetic of, but never fully comprehended.

I secured the hose and held it next to me, as if it were Noah, while I balanced myself. It was like a twisted version of
Weekend at Bernie’s
.

“See that rock there? That’s where they said Noah landed.”

Christina followed my point to a jagged rock formation at the bottom at the river’s edge.

“I’m going to prove that it was impossible to fall in that direction without a good amount of force.”

“They said he jumped, wouldn’t that have the same result as a shove?”

“It’s impossible to get the proper footing up here to jump with that much force, and even more so when wet. A jump would end a similar distance from the rail as an accidental fall. If you don’t believe me, maybe you can come up here and test it out.”

“Very funny. I wouldn’t want my hard head to damage the rocks.”

“I guess I’ll have to settle for you securing your end of the hose as tightly as possible, while I toss it off.”

She sat down in the road, gripping the end of the hose between her clenched legs like she were the anchor in a tug-o-war, and held on for dear life.

When I sent Hoseman over, the simulated arms flailed and the wig blew in the wind. It looked like a bungee jumper. It hit the rocks thirty feet below and bounced in a lifelike style. The Red Sox hat flew off, landing softly on a small rock. I decided I would leave it there as a tribute.

Christina ran to the edge of the bridge, still holding the other end of the hose. Working together, we pulled it up slowly.

“So what did you see?” she asked.

“I saw that there was no possible way Noah wasn’t forced off the bridge in some fashion, especially since he was much heavier than the dummy. I also saw, by the way the hose bounced, the impact wounds on both his right side and on the back of the head were impossible to achieve by jumping. I think he was killed earlier, and then he was thrown over to make it look like a suicide. I’m betting that Jones’ nightstick caused those wounds.”

If so, I knew that weapon was long gone.

“But it was just a hose, JP,” Christina questioned. “And it’s not like it was made to Noah’s exact measurements.”

“I’m not saying it’s a smoking gun. All I proved is the need for a full investigation to answer the questions.”

We performed the same test five more times. Like a mad scientist, I used different levels of force and dropped it at different angles. Then after about forty-five minutes of tossing and hoisting Hoseman over the side of Samerauk Bridge, a police car appeared with lights flashing, but no sirens.

A uniformed police officer, along with his female partner, stepped out of the car. He formally introduced himself as Officer Williams, and his partner as Officer O’Rourke.

“Mr. Warner, you are going to have to come with us,” he stated.

“What charge?”

“Chief Tolland wants to talk to you. If you want us to come up with charges such as suspicion of stealing a fire hose, we will.”

“So let me get this straight—in Rockfield it’s illegal to toss a fire hose over the side of the bridge, but it’s perfectly fine to throw my brother over?”

“I’m sorry about Noah. I went to school with him and he was a good guy. I’m just the messenger here,” said Officer Williams.

I looked forward to a discussion with Rich Tolland, especially after what I just learned. “I tell you what, officers. If you make my life a little easier by helping me load my hose into my vehicle, then I’ll make your life easier by getting into the back of your squad car without a fuss.”

Williams and his partner must have seen this as a peaceful solution to a potentially volatile situation. They helped Christina finish hoisting Hoseman from its final swan dive, and loaded it into the Humvee.

I turned to Christina. “See how small town politics work. You wash my back and I’ll wash yours. Look the other way and accept my money and one day you get to be mayor. It’s no different in Rockfield than it is in Kabul or with tribes in Pakistan.”

The police officers didn’t appear to be amused, but neither did they seem overly offended. Like most people I’ve encountered, they just wanted to get rid of me. I told Christina to follow me to the police station, then I joined the police officers in the squad car.

Chapter 38

I walked through the police station, flanked by Officers Williams and O’Rourke. Upon my arrival, all police business stopped and the whispers began. I was used to the attention, but the difference in this case was that I wasn’t reveling in it.

I limped directly into Rich’s office. The first thing I noticed was an attractive woman talking to him. She was dressed in a business blazer, mid-length skirt, and heels.

What are you doing here?” Gwen asked, looking surprised by my presence.

“I killed a hose … what are
you
doing here?’

“I was just…”

“Here to see your boyfriend?”

Gwen looked to be taken aback by my tone. “If you mean am I meeting Kyle for lunch, then yes, that’s why I’m here.”

“Good thinking, you never want to cover up a crime on an empty stomach.”

“JP, I understand you’re hurt. I won’t say I know how you feel, because I never could. But your family has always been like my second family, even if we haven’t been in touch in recent years. So I feel like I lost a family member. At the same time, it wasn’t anybody’s fault. Everyone did all they could do to try to save him.”

“Don’t patronize me, Gwen. You know he didn’t kill himself.”

She looked like she wanted to send me to the ground again, but held her emotions in check this time. “I’m sorry about your brother,” she said and turned to Chief Tolland. “Thank you for your time, Rich.”

She dashed out of the office as if she were trying to outrun her emotions.

Rich stood before me, looking angry, and I didn’t believe it was related to my spat with Gwen. As if this wasn’t going bad enough, Bobby Maloney strolled into the office. Rich slammed the heavy wooden door of his office, and closed the shades on the glass partition, walling off the gossipy audience. He meant business.

Rich’s face had turned a shade of scarlet, just as I remembered it as a kid whenever he became angered or flustered. But there was a new confidence to him that concerned me. “Sit down, JP,” he demanded.

“I swear the hose committed suicide. I just turned to go call for help and the hose was shouting, ‘I miss you’ over and over again, before just jumping off the bridge.”

“Sit down!” Rich repeated, this time rattling the framed photos hanging on the wall.

I followed orders and sat. “So what’s this all about?”

He spoke in a measured tone, “JP, what happened to your brother was a tragedy, and sincere condolences go out to you and your family from both myself and the entire police department. But what I will not put up with is you trying to publicly show up or denigrate my department. If I find any evidence to contradict the findings in your brother’s death, I will open a full investigation. But I’d appreciate you working with us, instead of this public grandstanding.”

Maloney couldn’t fight off the temptation to add his two cents, “I think you’re looking to capitalize on your brother’s death for your own publicity, which we all know you’re addicted to.”

Those were fighting words. I rose out of the chair, raising my cane as a weapon.

Maloney inched back with a look of terror on his face. A large yellow streak formed on the back of his dark suit jacket. He knew I wouldn’t lose a second of sleep if I bashed his head in. For once, he was right. After you’ve faced an AK-47 pointed at your head, silver spooned kids from the suburbs didn’t exactly evoke fear. Especially one who once missed our Little League game because he sprained a finger during a piano lesson.

Rich regained command of the room. “JP, my suggestion is to mourn your brother, console your parents, and be with your family. All this nonsense is going to do is tarnish your brother’s legacy.”

“I got a better idea. How about an investigative report on GNZ about Kyle Jones’ abuse of power, and how you enabled it?”

Maloney interjected again, “Jones is an excellent officer with a spotless record. You pull a stunt like that and we’ll file our lawsuit before the report is over. Go ahead, Warner, we need money to improve roads and schools.”

“He’s a vigilante,” I shot back. “He’s forgotten that his job is to protect and serve. I have one guy on record who says he broke into his home and arrested him on suspicion of DUI.”

“The allegations made by Scott Busby were completely unsubstantiated,” Rich returned fire. “I wish all my officers had such an exemplary record.”

“He knows what happened to Noah, and when I prove it, you two clowns are going down with him.”

Maloney looked ready to fight—as long as The Toll Booth was there to protect him—but Rich took a deep breath and spoke calmly, “JP, if you are intent on accusing an award winning officer of being involved in the death of your brother in some manner, you can file an official complaint before you leave. But unlike the way your business works these days, we still need things like proof and evidence, neither of which you have.”

“I didn’t say he killed him, but the tests I performed today proved it wasn’t a suicide. Everybody’s record is spotless until they find the bodies in the basement. You better open an investigation, or I’ll bring your whole department down.”

“Is that a threat?” Maloney asked.

I stared angrily at him. “It’s a promise, Bobby.”

Rich shook his head with frustration. “Ever since we were kids it’s always been about you, JP. It makes me sad that you have twisted the death of your brother to be about you.”

I struggled to my feet. “Consider my complaint filed.”

Having put my cards on the table, I limped out of the office as fast as I could. When I entered the parking lot, I spotted Jones beside a police cruiser. He was holding the passenger-side door open for Gwen to step in.

“If they won’t get to the truth, Jones—I will,” I shouted in his direction.

“JP!” Gwen blurted, shocked at my outburst. I wondered if she felt responsible for contributing to this lunatic I’d become.

Jones whispered something to her and then shut her door. If he planned on playing knight, I hoped for his sake he wore his shining armor underneath his uniform.

He approached me and spoke in a low voice, “My girlfriend and I are just trying to go to lunch. So please be a gentleman and leave us alone.”

“Cut the act, Jones. You know what happened to my brother and I’m going to get to the truth.”

We engaged in a battle of smug looks, before he said softly, “Your brother did the honorable thing. He committed an act of evil and decided to fall on his own sword. It was common courtesy, which I see doesn’t run in the family. I actually felt respect for him when he jumped.”