Officer Jones

Chapter 63

I loaded the Humvee onto the Hatteras Dock ferry for the forty-minute trip to Ocracoke. The morning looked brilliant, but out on the choppy water a brisk wind was knifing through me. The warm sunlight on my face was the lone thing keeping it bearable. I caught my reflection in the window of a neighboring vehicle, and I barely recognized myself-I looked like I hadn’t slept in a month. But there was no time to rest until I got to Gwen.

I tried to reach her again and was surprised that she answered this time. I’d become so used to getting the voice-mail that it caught me off guard.

“Where have you been? Didn’t you get my messages?”

“Hello to you, too. Yes, I got all fifty of them. But yesterday was Sunday, JP. I know you wouldn’t know anything about this, since you worked for GNZ, where the assistants have assistants, but I’m the whole show at the Gazette. I write it, edit it, and on Sunday’s I deliver it.”

“I was worried about you, so sue me. You said you’d call me back when I talked to you Saturday night. I hadn’t heard from you in thirty-six hours. And what the hell were you thinking going out on the lake with that monster!?”

“I couldn’t talk, JP. I was in the middle of getting proposed to.”

Stephen Dubois appeared in my head, mocking me. My stomach sank. That, or it was just seasickness. Either way, I suddenly didn’t feel well.

“Did you accept?” I tried to mask my feelings with a joke.

I’m sure she was tempted to tell me she had, but I think she felt the urgency in my voice. “I told him I wasn’t ready and he didn’t take it well. He got all bent out of shape and we returned to Rockfield that night. Haven’t heard from him since.”

“I’m not sure you need to follow Jones anymore. I figured out who he is, and his motivation. The next step is to find evidence to put him away.”

“Are you going to let me in on this or are you going to try to out scoop me, as usual?”

She obviously hadn’t checked the latest mark on my personal growth chart. “I can’t go into the details right now. I’ll tell you all about it when I get back to Rockfield. In the meantime, research a man named Grady Benson. Be sure to take a look at his Air Force photo, I’ll email it to you.”

“Have you left Charleston yet?”

“I’m in Ocracoke to pick up Carter. We should be home early tomorrow.”

Maybe it was the lack of sleep, or that I never think straight when I’m talking to Gwen. But it wasn’t until I heard the deathly silence from her end that I knew I made a major oops.

“What is Carter doing in Ocracoke?” she finally asked.

I got the feeling that she had a pretty good idea what the answer was. Just because she had the evidence didn’t mean she didn’t want to hear a confession.

“Well … um … well…”

“I thought we were going to trust each other … like partners. I can’t believe you sent your bodyguard to spy on me!”

“The only person who can’t be trusted is Jones.”

“You’re the one with trust issues, JP!”

“I was worried about you.”

“The only person you were worried about was yourself.”

Click.

I couldn’t help but to smile. Not only was I relieved that she was safe, but it was nice to know I could still get under her skin after all these years.

The ferry arrived on Ocracoke exactly forty minutes after it left the Hatteras dock. I then drove the Humvee onto the sandy roads of NC-12-my injured leg throbbed with pain and I felt a little naked without my cane. The initial adrenaline of the Grady Benson discovery had worn off and I now stood at the crossroads where hope and reality collided.

I used the lighthouse to guide me to the village. That’s where most of the island life resided, so I was sure I’d find Carter there. He was genetically programmed to search out a crowd.

I searched bars, restaurants, stores, and beaches-no sign of him.

I continued to search in vain for hours, before deciding to go right to the source-Jones/Benson’s house on the island. I called Christina and followed her directions to a remote sandy road on the north shore of Silver Lake.

Just like the owner, the house was unremarkable. A weathered structure balancing on wooden stilts. A red pickup truck with an attached sailboat was parked underneath. I decided to go the breaking-and-entering route once again.

I studied the house, noticing an open window on the second floor. I was in no condition to scale a wall, but gritted my teeth and managed to use crevices in the exterior to climb to the window, wincing the entire way.

Once inside, I began searching each room, emptying drawers one by one, and investigating every nook and cranny. The place was clean. No Carter. Nothing incriminating. Then I almost jumped out of my skin, startled by the ringing of my cell. It was Gwen, and her tone had completely changed.

“JP, I just received an anonymous letter from someone who claims to have Carter, and says if we don’t back off he will be killed.”

I racked my brain. I ruled out almost all of our many enemies, including Az Zahir and his buddies. There was only one true suspect.

“It’s got to be Jones,” I said.

“You mean Grady Benson?”

“I see you got my email.”

“I have the photo on my laptop right now,” she said, her voice quivering. “But if Carter was in Ocracoke like you say, and I was with Kyle … I mean Grady, the whole time. Then who…”

I continued to stand in the master bedroom, suddenly feeling a little paranoid. “Was there any point during the day that you were not with him?”

“There was only about a ten minute period when we were changing to go out on the boat. I found it strange it took so long after he was so eager to launch the boat before dark. I got the feeling that he was hiding something in his bedroom.”

“I’m in there right now,” I said. I could tell Gwen was surprised I’d broken in. I don’t know why, she’d known me since we were five.

I searched the entire room again, including under the bed and in the closet, finding nothing. If Grady Benson was smart enough to maintain an alternate identity all these years, he surely wasn’t stupid enough to leave a trail at any of his homes. What was clear, was that I needed to return to Rockfield-I knew that was where the next battle was to take place.

But before leaving, I decided that if Benson was sending messages, it wouldn’t be polite not to return the favor. I tossed all his clothing on the floor and threw a chair through the sliding glass door. I departed through the gaping hole and down the front steps.

It made me feel good. I finally realized it’s better to get things out into the open. Keeping things inside just builds resentment and hard feelings.