Benefit of the Doubt: A Novel

by Neal Griffin

  Ben tried not to sound sheepish. He thought about backing out, but he needed to do this. “Yeah, I did. I read it over pretty thoroughly.”

  “Good. Follow me, Ben.”

  As the two men walked down the quiet hallway, Ben sensed no distrust and again felt pangs of guilt. He reminded himself that the detective had no reason to doubt him. Thanks to the expert reconnaissance mission of Bernice, Ben had badge and credentials in hand. He had presented himself as Sergeant Ben Sawyer, Newberg PD, in Danville to follow up on the shooting of Tia Suarez. All perfectly true. Of course, Ben failed to mention his status as a rogue cop currently on suspension or that the badge had been recovered from his chief’s locked desk.

  “I understand you’re here to interview Gerald Donaldson.” The detective led Ben through a doorway marked POLICE ONLY. “We brought him over from the county lockup. I’m curious, though. What are you guys working on?”

  “Not much, really.” Ben tried to sound nonchalant. “My boss just wants me to hit the guy up about a case in Newberg. Officer Suarez may have been down here doing some off-the-clock follow-up. Looks like this guy Donaldson might be a witness in a case we’re working.”

  “Really?” Jensen asked. “What kind of case?”

  Ben tried to sound casual. “A homicide, actually.”

  The detective walked more slowly as he thought this over. “Wow, no shit? You’re thinking Donaldson could be connected? I don’t know much about his case, but he didn’t strike me as the serial type. Seems more like a guy who overreacted to gettin’ his junk sucked by a he-she. Almost falls into the category of ‘can’t blame the man,’ if you know what I mean?”

  “I’m just going at him as a witness. That’s all. Like I said, boss’s orders. Seems like Suarez had some reason to be down here talking to your detective about the case. We figured it might be worth following up on it.”

  “Yeah, weird coincidence, I guess.” They stopped in front of a closed door. “Here’s the interview room. Donaldson copped for a lawyer on our case, but if he’s just a witness to you guys, you should be good to take a run at him for anything unrelated. These days, though, even the witnesses are lawyering up. Good luck.”

  “Thanks.”

  Ben walked in and found a lone man seated at the table. Dressed in a jail-orange jumpsuit, Donaldson sucked hard on a cigarette, his hands trembling. Smoke billowed in front of his face.

  “Hello, Mr. Donaldson. My name is Ben Sawyer. I’m a police sergeant in Newberg, Wisconsin.”

  “What’s this all about? What do you want? I told those other cops I’m not saying anything until I get a lawyer.”

  Ben took a seat at the interview desk and tried to sound disarming. “Relax, Gerald. I’m not here to jam you up on anything.” From this point on, Ben knew, he would have to be careful with everything he said. If there was a case against Donaldson for murder, he didn’t want to jeopardize it. “Gerald, I’m not here to talk to you about your problems in Danville. Do you understand me? I want to be clear on that.”

  “I don’t care what you want. You’re a cop, right? I’m not talking to any more cops. Just get a lawyer in here right now.”

  Shit, Ben thought. I didn’t want to have to play it this way, but he’s shutting me down already.

  “Gerald, what if I told you I might be able to help you with your case?”

  “I’d say bullshit. I don’t talk to cops.” The man sat up straight in his seat and looked over the top of Ben’s head toward the door. Ben got the impression Donaldson was ready to shut things down and call for a guard. Ben knew he was going to have to give up more to gain the man’s trust.

  “Relax, Gerald. Just listen for a minute.” Ben leaned in closer. A sense of guilty malfeasance drove his voice down to a low whisper. “My wife is up on a murder charge, but I know she’s innocent. A friend of mine, another cop, was down here the day you got arrested. I’m sure it had something to do with my wife’s case. My friend and the detective who arrested you got shot. That’s what I’m looking into. I swear, I’m not here about your murder case.”

  The man looked at Ben, clearly puzzled. “What are you telling me all this for?”

  “My friend, the one who got shot? She was nosing around because she was convinced my wife was being framed.” The next words shot out of him before he could stop them. “Is that what’s happening to you, Gerald? Is someone trying to pin a murder rap on you?”

  Donaldson stopped looking at the door and stared straight at Ben. “I’m listening.”

  “Look, Gerald, I don’t know what the connection is between your case and my wife’s, or even if there is one, but I know for a fact my wife didn’t kill anyone.”

  Suddenly Donaldson seemed to give in to a sense of desperate trust. “Mister, I didn’t kill that hooker. I came back from Chicago like I do every week. I don’t know anything about that gal, guy, whatever it was in my trunk.”

  “Okay,” Ben said. “Then tell me this. Have you ever met Alexandra Sawyer?”

  “Never heard of her.” The man was no longer hesitant; he answered freely, though anxiety filled his voice.

  “How about Louis Carson?”

  “No. I don’t know him.” Donaldson buried his head in his hands. “Holy Christ. A dead body in my trunk? My prints on a baseball bat? Shit, that bat has been in my garage for two years. How did someone in Chicago get killed with it?”

  “How about Newberg? You ever spend time in Newberg, Wisconsin?”

  “No. I grew up in Florence,” Donaldson said. “It’s a long way from Newberg.”

  “Florence? Okay, you’ve got a tie to Wisconsin. You got friends there? Family?” Ben thought harder. “What about enemies, Gerald? You piss anyone off up there?”

  Donaldson blinked several times in rapid succession and drew deeply on his cigarette. The break in eye contact meant something, Ben knew.

  “What, Gerald? No big deal, I’m sure. You got baggage upstate?”

  Donaldson studied Ben, sizing him up. Ben could see Donaldson was deciding whether or not to trust any cop no matter how high the stakes.

  “What happened in Florence, Gerald?”

  No answer. Ben reached for the composite drawing in his shirt pocket, but before he could pull it out, the door flew open.

  “That’s it, Sawyer. Donaldson, keep your mouth shut.” Detective Jensen grabbed Donaldson and escorted him from the room. Jensen shot Ben an angry stare as Donaldson began to object.

  “What the hell is going on? I want a lawyer right now, damn it. I know I get a lawyer.”

  Ben could hear Donaldson continuing to protest as he was dragged down the hall. A second man in a suit—a man with a greater air of authority than the detective—walked in, accompanied by a uniformed officer. Ben was suddenly filled with a sense of dread. It was clear to him the jig was up.

  “I’m Lieutenant Gregory Isaacs.” Ben could feel the anger rolling off the man’s words. His fist was clinched into a black ball of bone and flesh. His sharp brown eyes penetrated deep enough that Ben felt laid open before him. “Jensen works for me. Told me about your visit. Thought that sounded pretty odd, so I shot a call up to Newberg. Got hold of your chief. He wants that badge back.”

  Ben wanted to explain. Wanted to tell the man it wasn’t what it appeared to be, but words wouldn’t come and he said nothing.

  “Mr. Sawyer,” the lieutenant said, “you are under arrest for interfering with an official police investigation. Officer Blake, take this man into custody. Keep him away from Donaldson.”

  “Yes, sir.” The uniform pulled a set of handcuffs from the front of his Sam Browne belt and said, “Turn around and place your hands behind your back.”

  Without moving, Ben looked at the man in charge. His heart raced as it became clear to him what was occurring. “Lieutenant, please. Give me five minutes of your time and I’ll clear this up for you.”

  “Five minutes, my ass.” Ben could hear the seething anger in the words. “You come down here and stick your nose int
o a cop killing? One of our own? Pass yourself off as being on official business?”

  “I didn’t talk to Donaldson about the murder of your detective, Lieutenant.” Ben wanted the man to know he hadn’t stooped that low. “I wouldn’t jeopardize your case.”

  “I talked with your chief. I know what you’re all about, Sawyer.”

  “Wait a minute. Please.” The cuffs were going on and desperation took hold. “Jorgensen’s got his head up is ass. Let me explain.”

  “Sawyer, you’re a disgrace to your department. Shit, you’re a disgrace to the profession.” A look of contempt accompanied the words. Ben felt horsewhipped. Isaacs directed his next words to the uniformed officer. “Get him out of here. Like I said, keep him away from Donaldson. Other than that, he gets no special consideration.”

  The uniformed officer snapped on the second cuff and spun Ben around, pushing him toward the door. Ben offered no resistance. At this point he figured he had it coming.

  FORTY-FIVE

  One night in jail had been one night too many. Back home, Ben looked at the papers on his nightstand and considered the mess his life had become. The purpose of this correspondence is to inform you of your immediate termination from employment with Newberg Police Department.

  Arrested and booked for felony interfering, it had taken significant legal maneuvering by a court-appointed attorney to secure Ben’s release on his own recognizance and passage back to Wisconsin. Now Ben had his own trial to worry about in addition to Alex’s. His wouldn’t take place for a month or two, and Ben had no idea what his life would look like by then. But the real salt in the wound had come in the form of the person who delivered the documents.

  “So, Ben, let me see if I got this straight.” McKenzie had glared through the bars of his jail cell. “You break into Jorgensen’s office, steal your badge and police ID, then come down here and pass yourself off as being on official business. Gotta hand it to you, Ben, you got balls.”

  The half-dozen other men in the cell took note of the conversation. “Oh, sorry. Didn’t your new friends know? No worry, boys. As of today, it’s Mr. Sawyer.” McKenzie held the envelope up high for everyone to see.

  “Got some official correspondence from the department for you, Benny. I insisted Jorgensen let me make the delivery by hand. On a rush basis.” McKenzie pushed the papers though the bars, and Ben watched them drop to the dirty cement floor.

  “You’re fired, you little prick. You’re done.” McKenzie turned to go, flinging his final sentences over his shoulder. “Interfering carries up to eight years in Illinois, Benny. But don’t worry. You’ll still be out way ahead of that murdering bitch wife of yours.”

  Fired. Arrested and jailed. Alex headed to prison. What’ll become of Jake?

  Though it was still early in the morning, Ben threw back the sheets and got out of bed.

  On the brink of losing everything, Ben knew, beyond any doubt, that the answers he needed were locked inside the old man who lay doped up across town. He thought back to the old days with Lars Norgaard. The good years. What was it the old man always used to say back when Ben first started hitting him up about being a cop?

  “It’s like working in a sausage factory. People don’t want to know how you make it. They don’t even want to know what goes into it. They just want to buy it with no questions asked.”

  True enough. Police work could get ugly. Unconventional, even.

  Ben picked up the composite sketch from Danville. He stared at the face of the killer, who had been seen by a half-dozen terrified witnesses. A detective, a good man, was dead. Tia Suarez had been shot to hell. Alex was going on trial for murder.

  According to Tia, the man in this picture was the key to it all.

  Ben would find him. He’d get answers by any means necessary. He had tried to work within the system, to abide by the rules. But they had taken his badge and gun. They were destroying his family. At this point, all bets were off. Police work could get ugly alright, and at this point ugly was called for.

  FORTY-SIX

  Doyle McKenzie lolled on the couch in the officers’ break room and watched as the door came open. Alex Sawyer entered cautiously, and he let his gaze travel the length of her body.

  “Hello there, Alex,” he said, cigarette in hand directly under the No Smoking sign. “I understand you’re more comfortable in this room than the usual visitor area. I thought maybe you and I should have a little chat.”

  “What are you doing here? I’ve got an attorney now, remember?”

  “So you have. Might work out okay for you and your husband to share, assuming your guy can practice in Illinois.” He winked through the smoke.

  “Sorry, McKenzie. If you’re here to try to upset me, Ben told me about his arrest. He also told me about Officer Suarez. Shouldn’t you be working on that instead of going over the same old ground with me?”

  “Danville PD is working that case,” McKenzie said, “and you and I never really got a chance to talk, what with you getting a lawyer and all. I just wanted to be sure you haven’t changed your mind. Sometimes memories get a little clearer when the trial starts getting close. You could still reach out for a plea.”

  Doyle stood and stepped closer. Alex backed away in fear. McKenzie worked to unsettled her further. He wanted to test the waters. He wanted to see if Alex or, more important, Ben had started to crack the protective layer he had placed over the truth.

  “Look, Alex. I’ve known from the very beginning this was a case of self-defense, but I don’t know the details. Only you know. Let me help you. Tell me what happened and then we can spin it the right way. You’re a cop’s wife. No one wants to see you go down for murder one.”

  “Save it. I don’t need any help from you. Ben is twice the detective you could ever hope to be.” Alex’s voice cracked with emotion.

  “Ben’s working this for you, is he? Without a badge? He tried that already, you know. Ended up in jail.”

  “And I’d still take him over you,” Alex said, raising her voice. “In fact, between Ben and my father, I don’t even put you in the same category.”

  McKenzie knew he was getting to her. He kept pushing. “Your husband and your father? A fired cop and an invalid. You sure you know what you’re doing?”

  McKenzie waited as Alex stewed over his last comment. He watched as her anger boiled over and got the best of her. “So tell me, McKenzie. Does the name Harley mean anything to you?”

  McKenzie played it off like a man with plenty of experience in being deceitful. He shrugged. “Not unless it’s followed by Davidson.”

  “Ben and my father will figure it out, and that will clear up quite a few things up. We’ll see you in court.”

  “That’s fine, Alex. I just wanted to offer you a last chance to go on record with the truth. Juries in Wisconsin are made up of sensible, salt-of-the-earth kind of people. You get uppity with them, with all this right to remain silent bullshit, and they’re likely to make you pay for it. I hope you know what you’re doing.”

  Alex knocked on the door, signaling the guard she was ready to leave. “I can’t wait to get this in front of a jury, McKenzie. Then everyone is going to see you for the horse’s ass you are.”

  The door opened and Alex turned to leave. McKenzie called out. “Suit yourself, Alex. But don’t go trying to saddle me up just yet.”

  FORTY-SEVEN

  Light snuck up from under the basement door, so Ben stopped to listen from the top of the steps. The tap, tap, tap of Jake’s cell phone was all too familiar. Texting. California, no doubt. Like any kid these days, Jake could keep a half-dozen long-distance conversations going without ever saying a word. Ben walked down the stairs and found Jake slumped on the dilapidated couch off in the corner, legs pulled up high and elbows resting on his knees. Jake stared vacuously at the two-inch screen, totally absorbed by modern technology yet surrounded by relics from the Sawyer family past: an old television, several floor lamps, even furniture from Alex’s childhood bedroom
. It seemed odd Jake would prefer the musty air and cramped space of a cellar to his room upstairs. But then again, Ben thought, anything to be clear of me. Ben shuffled his feet until he was certain Jake must have heard him. When the boy still didn’t acknowledge him, Ben spoke. “What’s up, Jake?”

  “Nothing.” The voice was flat. “I just want to be alone, that’s all.”

  Ben walked closer and hit Jake’s feet to signal he wanted room to sit. Jake scrunched his face with annoyance but swung his feet high onto the back of the couch, pulling the phone closer without missing a keystroke.

  “Who you texting?”

  Jake made no acknowledgment and Ben playfully swatted at the phone. “You deaf?”

  Jake looked up as he slid the phone into the front pocket of his sweatshirt, his eyes contemptuous. “Seriously, Dad. I just want to be alone. Is that all right with you?”

  Ben couldn’t take any more. “No, actually, it’s not. I mean come on, Jake. This is pretty hard on me too. It wouldn’t hurt if you—”

  Jake cut him off. He sat up straight, swinging his feet to the floor almost kicking Ben in the head. “Are you kidding me? You think this is hard for you?”

  Ben, shocked by the maturity and anger in the boy’s voice, fired back. “Yeah, Jake. I do.”

  “Oh, man. Really, Dad. Just leave me alone.” The tone sounded like a warning. “You don’t even want to go there with me right now.”

  “Hey, no problem, Jake. Let’s go.” Ben decided the hell with it. He’d speak from the heart. “Let me hear why it is you act like such a dick. Treating me like I’m the goddamn enemy. I’m doing everything—”

  That was as far as he got.

  “Fine. I’ll tell you why, Dad.” Jake slowed down to enunciate each word and syllable. “You—ruined—our—lives.”

  The words hung in the air, and Ben stared ahead as if he were rereading them to make sure he heard it right. Jake went on.