Officer Jones

Chapter 55

After about thirty minutes, the “lovebirds” came out of the house. Gwen wore a string bikini that made the trip worth it for Carter. But then she put on a baggy sweatshirt. There was always a catch.

They left the house in his pickup truck with sailboat trailing behind. Carter knew if he planned to kill her on the water, there was nothing he could do about it. So he stayed behind to check out the insides of the beach house.

He wasn’t sure how he would get in. That was, until he noticed that Jones did him a favor by cracking open his bedroom window. The sloppiness didn’t seem to match JP’s scouting report on Jones. Perhaps that bikini was messing with his mind.

He scaled the outside of the house, using a paracord climbing-rope he always kept in his backpack. He normally used it to tie people up, both enemies and girlfriends, rather than climbing. Also in the pack were his videophone, a gun (in case Jones came back), and a few bottles of beer (in case he didn’t).

Within ten minutes, he was standing in the master bedroom. He noticed nothing out of the ordinary, so he walked out to the main area of the house. Nothing unusual-just as he thought. He did a sweep of the bathroom, along with the other bedrooms. He only found Gwen’s bag, and her clothes folded neatly on the bed.

Carter was convinced the house was clean. He also knew that if they went sailing, they’d be gone for a while. He had time. He popped open a bottle of Corona with his teeth and sat on a chair in the living room. Part of him hoped Jones would return, so Carter could get some payback for their last meeting. The thought made him grin.

When he finished the beer, he decided to move on to his next mission-to find out if Ocracoke had any strip clubs-and returned to the master bedroom with plans to exit out of the same window he entered.

As he walked through the bedroom, something pulled him toward the closet. A sixth sense that had developed from his many years spent in the danger zone.

He stepped in the closet and moved the clothes out of the way, expecting to find someone hiding. Maybe Jones had a partner in crime. But what he found was a door with a complicated lock scheme. A piece of wood paneling was missing-obviously Jones wanted to keep this room secret. Which begged the question: why would he put so much effort into securing the room, yet leave it cracked open? He was pretty sure the credit should go to Gwen’s bikini.

Carter entered the room. It was small, eight by eight, and dark. He found a light switch and flipped it on.

The photos on the wall illuminated. Some he knew, some he didn’t. The Xs drawn over the faces weren’t subtle.

Carter continued to scan the photos and remembered JP telling about the unlucky fireman named Casey Leeds. Another picture was a friend of a friend, which puzzled him. Didn’t he die in a freak accident in front of numerous witnesses?

The picture of Senator Craig Kingsbury with his face crossed out dropped his mouth. But then his logical side kicked in, and he grew skeptical. It was unlikely a simple cop could get so close to a US senator. He must have been celebrating their deaths with his hit list, but involvement in some wasn’t possible.

He walked to a cork bulletin board. It was full of push-pinned newspaper articles about the deceased members from the wall of fame. Some were old and had turned a shade of yellow. The most recent were a New York Times article on the demise of Craig Kingsbury and the Rockfield Gazette story on the death of Noah Warner.

The article refocused Carter on Noah’s photo. He was captivated by the resemblance to JP. He could smell the fresh smell of magic marker and his anger boiled once more.

The only piece of furniture in the room was a cheap, plastic bookshelf. On it sat a three-ringed binder. Carter placed his backpack next to the bookshelf and picked up the binder. He opened it and began to read. It was quite a page-turner, to say the least.

Any doubts of Jones’ involvement evaporated. It detailed each murder in horrific detail, outlining his deepest thoughts, perverted reasons, and sickening joy of the acts. Unless Jones was writing fiction, he was more than some small town menace-he was on his way to becoming one of the most notorious murderers in history!

Carter turned to the section describing the death of Noah:

It was my duty. It was my destiny. I honor the great master who sent me to Rockfield, having confidence that I would be the one who could eliminate an evil force like Noah Warner. I was invigorated when he fought. It made it extra special that he wanted to live. I would have killed him the year before, but he wanted to die last year. This year he wanted to live and it made it so much more just. That is what filled my mind with each strike of my nightstick to the back of his head, and then watching his lifeless body tumble to the rocks below.

Carter looked up from the disturbing scribbles with a look of disgust. He decided he would wait until Jones returned and rip his head from his body.

Suddenly his sixth sense perked up again.

Then everything went dark.