Officer Jones

Chapter 84

Maloney hid behind his large desk, wearing a brown suit over a crisp white shirt and a fashionable wiretap. He noticed the gun attached to Benson’s belt and swallowed hard. He rose to his feet, his legs feeling like jelly. He didn’t think they’d hold him upright very long.

“Can I help you, Officer Jones?”

“I think we need to go for a ride,” Benson responded coldly.

“I’m very busy. Can you tell me why?”

“I think it would be in your best interest to come with me.”

He doubted it would be. Benson tapped on the gun holstered at his waist to make his point. Maloney took a quick look down at his desk calendar that read October 10. It made it seem too real.

The two men walked into the dimly lit parking lot. Benson showed the first signs of aggression by grabbing Maloney’s elbow and forcing him into the passenger side of his squad car. He drove out of the complex onto Main Street.

“What is this about?” Maloney asked again.

“I think you know,” Benson replied, his eyes never leaving the dark country road as they sped by the village store.

“I demand you tell me right now what is going on,” Maloney attempted to be stern, but he knew he wasn’t convincing. He lived as a coward and now it was obvious to him that he was going to die as one.

“On the anniversary of this day, twenty years ago, you, along with Craig Kingsbury, Lamar Thompson, and Brad Lynch, made a conscious choice to toss a dummy resembling a human onto an oncoming car, giving the driver the perception of striking a human being.”

“It was just a college prank,” Maloney defended. He always knew that night would come back to haunt him. “We never meant for any of this to transpire.”

“Everybody is sorry after the fact.”

“Did you kill Noah Warner?” Maloney asked, hoping he would say yes, then the feds could pounce and end his misery.

Benson smiled cryptically. “I think there’s a good chance you may have arrested the wrong man in that case.”

“What do you mean the wrong man?”

“I think we both know the man they have in custody is an imposter. He’s as fake as that testimony you gave in Judge Buford’s court.”

“I was forced to say those things-I had no choice,” Maloney pleaded. “Please, I have children. It wouldn’t be fair for them to grow up without a father.”

“Fair?” Benson asked incredulously. “Was it fair for Marilyn Lacey’s children? They lost their mother, while Kingsbury walked away, thanks to you taking their blood money. Did that judge make you do naughty things to get your money, Bobby?”

“They twisted my words.”

“I have your taped conversations with Buford, along with your deposition that the judge kept in a safe in his home, ironically, to protect himself. He kept his records in very neat order.”

“How did you get those? Did you kill him?”

Benson laughed. “Buford died from an accident, resulting from his hedonism. I was his neighbor, and he provided the records to me in case something happened to him. Sort of an insurance policy.”

Maloney realized that Benson was much better trained for this fight, and was going to win it. He was the judge and jury, so Maloney threw himself on the mercy of the court. “I was just a kid. I’m a different person now. Nothing we do can bring back Mrs. Lacey or Brad. I never meant for…”

He angrily cut him off, “It doesn’t matter what your intentions were. Your bad choices led to death and misery and it’s now time for you to pay for your sins.”

“I wasn’t driving-Kingsbury was.”

Benson began to respond, but stopped when he noticed something in the rear-view mirror. In a flash, he reached across the seat and ripped open Maloney’s sweat-drenched shirt, exposing the wiretap. He tore the wires off, ripping off patches of chest hair.

With steely determination, Benson picked up his speed along Main Street. And now that their conversation had gone wireless, he spoke freely, “You want to know who really killed Senator Kingsbury? You did! By covering up his actions you sentenced him to death. As you did to everyone else involved in your ‘prank.’ They are all gone now, and I’m here to deliver justice to the last remaining murderer.”

Maloney was fairly certain that by justice, Benson wasn’t referring to a long trial with an expensive lawyer and a consultant to pick the most sympathetic jury. He shouted desperately, “The FBI is following right behind us in a van-you will never get away with this!”

“Neither of us is getting away. We’re going to die together, Bobby. We will die just feet away from each other, but our legacies will be miles apart.”

Benson picked up the receiver of the police radio and squeezed. “For those of you listening in the van, you have failed.”

“Kyle, this is Chief Tolland. I implore you to stop your vehicle so we can discuss this,” Rich’s desperate voice shot through the radio.

Benson clicked the radio again and responded, “I will only negotiate with JP Warner. I know he’s in your vehicle.”

Chapter 85

The young FBI agents looked at each other with confusion-Benson’s surprise request wasn’t in the manual. I was sure the same blank looks were going on in the van. So I did what I always do-I took the initiative.

I limped to the police radio in the command center and picked up. “Yeah, I’m here, Jones.”

I visualized the angry look on Hawkins’ face, but I didn’t care. Some two-bit bureaucrat wasn’t going to be able to save Gwen. It would take someone willing to put his life on the line for her. That person wasn’t Agent Hawkins.

“If you ever want to see Gwen Delaney again, I suggest you keep the van at a safe distance.”

“If you harm one hair on her head, I will break every bone in your body. Then I’ll wait for them to heal and break them again!”

“I think you are overrating your negotiating leverage. Now back off the van!”

I stood and kicked a row of historical books in disgust, spilling them to the ground in a clutter of dust. But when I observed the feed of the surveillance camera shooting from the front of the van, I noticed that they were actually getting closer!

Benson must have noticed the same thing, because he lashed out, “I said back it off or you will never see her again!”

I scrambled for my phone, but came up empty. I’d left my phone in North Carolina. And then Agent Hawkins had confiscated the new one I’d purchased as part of the babysitting guidelines. So I went to Plan-B. I turned to Officer Williams, who seemed like a better option than the two feds, and demanded his cell. He surprisingly handed it to me.

I panic-dialed Rich Tolland, who answered on the second ring. “Back the van off!” I yelled into the phone and ended the call.

Silence filled the airwaves, before Benson responded, “I’m glad to see you are being sensible, Warner.”

They had backed off. I felt relief.

The cat and mouse game was all well and good, but I had to get into the fight. I demanded Officer Williams give me the keys to his police cruiser. He didn’t look as willing this time. And on top of it, the two young agents stepped in and announced that their orders were to not let me out of their sight.

I didn’t have time for this, so I apologized to Williams. Before he could ask why, I punched him across the face. I struck him clean and a fountain of blood spilled over my mother’s carpet. I was never going to hear the end of that. I scooped up his gun and aimed it at Ellsworth. I held it on his temple and shouted at Williams, “Give me the keys or the kid dies.”

Nobody ever confused me with Jack Bauer. Within seconds, Agent Justice performed some wrestling move on me that Carter would have been proud of, and snatched my gun.

Desperate times called for desperate measures. So I pulled a new technique from the Sutcliffe bag of tricks-begging. “Please, we don’t have time. Gwen’s life is at stake!”

I could tell they were paralyzed by a moral dilemma. Which was more than I expected. Williams finally relented and tossed his keys to me.

Justice lowered his gun, and before anyone could change their mind, I once again ran toward the danger.