Officer Jones

Chapter 81

Sunday October 9

I drove the van to the Gazette headquarters to get the first edition. I sat at Gwen’s desk, drinking coffee that Murray had brought, along with a bag of jelly-filled doughnuts.

The headline read: Local Drifter Arrested in Noah Warner’s Murder.

I read the front-page story that I wrote under Gwen’s name. It wasn’t too bad, considering I hadn’t written for a newspaper since college, but it didn’t compare to Gwen’s work, and I knew it.

I moved on to the more important, and much better written, full-page editorial. As only Murray can do, he turned Benson into a heroic figure, lashing out at the epidemic of drunk driving that took approximately eleven-thousand lives last year, more than triple the number of lives lost in 9/11. Where is the outrage? he asked. He compared Benson’s actions to everyone from Robin Hood to New York subway vigilante Bernie Goetz. And of course, Batman.

He used his endless connections to get the editorial run in most major newspapers around the country. The article sparked debate, much to Murray’s delight. He always was a firm believer in the accuracy of news stories, but the editorial page was the playground for his contrarian nature. The “Hero vs. Vigilante” question was being argued on the Sunday morning news shows, and trending on the Internet. Grady Benson was getting his headlines.

Murray put on his fedora and headed toward the door. Before leaving, he turned back to me with a smile. “I’m off to church, John Pierpont. Hopefully nobody will decide to hang me on one of those many crosses they like to decorate the walls with.”

“Thanks for everything, Murray.”

“We will get our girl back, don’t worry.”

He didn’t have any sources to back it up, but his words made me feel a lot better. When he exited stage left, I skimmed through the rest of the paper. A fake opinion poll said 75 % of all citizens in the area believe Benson performed heroic deeds and shouldn’t be prosecuted. Fake letters to the editor vociferously praised Benson. We were turning him into the heroic figure he craved to be. The only problem for him was that he was no longer Grady Benson. Two can play that game.

I leaned back in my chair and ran my hands through my hair. I thought about the beautiful editor who the letters were addressed to.