Officer Jones

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.