Officer Jones

Chapter 13

The house was one floor, three bedrooms, two baths and a large open area that extended from kitchen to living room. Simple and neat-just the way he liked it. A sliding glass door led to a raised sundeck with a view of the Atlantic Ocean.

He opened a window and inhaled the salt air. Then took a moment to listen to the sounds of pounding waves in the distance and the booms of amateur fireworks shows. But now was no time to become complacent-there was much work to be done.

First, he changed out of Culver’s police uniform. He slipped into a pair of denim shorts and a Rockfield PD T-shirt.

His forehead broke out with beads of sweat, and his stomach felt as if it were being strangled by nerves. This moment was always so overwhelming, yet so satisfying. He grabbed a magic marker and entered the closet of the master bedroom. As he did, he felt the weight of every life that had been taken, and those who were left behind. It was a burden he was honored to carry on his broad shoulders.

He separated a wall of hanging shirts and removed a piece of wood paneling from the back of the closet, exposing a door handle. He then maneuvered the numbers of the combination lock. The numbers were significant.

He entered an 8 x 8 windowless room that was encapsulated in a steel structure. The door was fourteen-gauge steel mounted in a steel frame and secured by three dead bolts. It swung inward.

The contractor had guaranteed him the room would provide protection from 250mph winds and projectiles traveling at 100mph. Safe rooms were common in beach houses to reduce loss of life and injury during a major storm. His use of the room focused on loss of life, but had very little to do with storm safety.

He walked to the wall that displayed the pictures of Craig and George Kingsbury. He methodically drew an X over them with the magic marker. He felt sparks shoot through his body, and he tried to make the pleasure last as long as possible. When he finished, he took a step back, feeling dizzy, and a rare smile leaked from his lips. Another mission completed successfully.

He didn’t savor it for long-his attention diverted to the photos still awaiting an X. His mood turned melancholy-realizing the job would never be finished. He had so much still to do, and time was rapidly slipping away. He was overcome by emotion, and tears began to trickle down his face.

He wiped the tears, ashamed of them. He took one last look at the picture of Craig Kingsbury, which now had a large X scrolled across his perfect smile. His eyes wandered to another newspaper article taped to the wall, which had faded to a dull yellowish color. When he locked on the date of the article, it confirmed that it wouldn’t be long until the twenty-year anniversary of the event. A reunion would take place in Rockfield, Connecticut, where Kyle Jones was a police officer.

After a couple of deep breaths, he was able to pull himself from the shrine. But before leaving, he tested the alarm-when it was tripped, it was programmed to buzz the medallion that hung around his neck, to indicate that the closet had been penetrated. It was on the same necklace that contained a locket with pictures of lost loved ones. He caressed the necklace, vowing to get them justice, or die trying.

After he secured the lock, he moved to the kitchen. He grabbed a diet soda from the refrigerator and retired to the outside deck.

The humidity felt soothing, and his swirling emotions slowed. He sipped his drink and watched the fireworks over the beach as he dozed off to sleep. His dreams were peaceful.

The next morning, he would fly back to his Connecticut home and begin the meticulous preparation for his next mission.