(2012) Officer Jones

by Derek Ciccone

  She knew the only way to connect the dots was to find the motive behind Jones’ obsession, and the only way to do that was one on one, like a real reporter.

  A couple areas of interest were his parents, whose death led to the settlement that helped him afford the home in Ocracoke, and the plane that delivered them here. Also, Kyle’s wingman from the photo. JP was working with Carter to get access to Air Force records to try to discover his identity, but Gwen thought her time alone with Kyle would be more fruitful in that search. The other point of emphasis was the girlfriend from Arizona named Lucy.

  Jones’ extensive Batman collection fascinated her, and she’d researched the Batman tales since the break-in. Bruce Wayne and his parents were returning home from the theater after watching The Mask of Zorro, when Bruce witnessed his parents shot to death by a mugger in a dark alleyway. Bruce vowed to dedicate his life to fighting crime in the dark night. He did so with a relentless obsession and a burning passion to punish all criminals, disguised as a mythical figure called Batman. On some levels, it seemed to parallel Jones’ pursuit. But for all she knew, he could be just a Batman fan like millions of others around the world. She had her work cut out for her.

  Jones put his arm around her and walked her across the small runway to a waiting taxicab. He held the door for her with a smile. He was very much like many zealots she had interviewed in the course of her work. Calm, smiling, and charming most of the time. But when their zealotry was questioned, even slightly, they would lash out.

  He made no mention about the one-week suspension he’d received from the force. Her source told her that it was related to an incident where he was caught on video roughing up a DUI suspect, which Tolland had tried to keep quiet—although, it sounded more like the work of Maloney. Officially, Jones was on vacation. Her source was Jeff Carter.

  She never pushed the issue. The last thing they wanted was to shine a light on Jones. He would have gone on high alert, and the odds of connecting him to Noah’s murder would decrease.

  They entered the cab that advertised low rates to “all island airports,” even though there was only one. He instructed the driver to take them to a restaurant called The Back Porch. The familiarity of the island seemed to put him into a comfort zone. Gwen played the passive girlfriend, allowing him to feel in charge.

  The taxi sputtered as it pulled away. Jones lightly set his hand on her leg. “You have been so quiet.”

  Gwen came out of her daze, sporting a nervous smile. “I just have a fear of flying. I feel better now that we’re safely on the ground.”

  “It’s completely safe, Gwen. I used to fly with people shooting at me … now that’s when someone should have a fear of flying,” he said with a cocky grin.

  Gwen went into reporter mode. “I guess you were like one of those guys in Top Gun. I had the biggest crush on Tom Cruise.”

  He appeared annoyed by the question. “We were Air Force—Top Gun pilots are Navy.”

  Jones could spot a drunk driver three counties away, but couldn’t notice a sense of humor if it smacked him across his skull.

  “Did you still get to have one of those cool pilot nicknames like Maverick or Ice Man?”

  “I was Batman.”

  “Did you have one of those co-pilots like Goose?”

  “It’s a wingman—not a co-pilot. He was Robin … we were Batman and Robin.”

  “I’m glad we had a couple superheroes keeping us free and safe. That must be an amazing bond, I can’t even imagine the connection.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Wingmen. You put your lives on the line for each other every time you went up in that plane. It must connect you for life. Do you and Robin stay in touch?”

  “I haven’t seen him since I left Arizona. We had a falling out—a girl came between us.”

  “I’m sorry. Maybe I can arrange a reunion.” She smiled. “Your new girlfriend wouldn’t make you choose. If you give me his name...”

  He put his arm around her. “I’m just concentrating on who I’m with right now. I’m very happy.” He kissed her on the cheek and she fought against her natural squirm.

  “Then I’m going to concentrate on getting to know my brave pilot even better. Did you get the name because you were a big Batman fan? I used to religiously watch the TV show when I was a kid.”

  He seemed to travel down memory lane. Gwen wondered what skeletons he passed on his trip.

  “I got it because just when it looked like the bad guys would get away, I’d spring out of the darkness to save the day. Just like Batman. Plus, I flew in a swooping style like a bat.”

  “For what it’s worth, Kyle, I think you are a lot like Batman. Always taking the law into your own hands to get the bad guys, so that Rockfield is a safer place. When I was a little girl I always dreamed of marrying a cowboy. You are a modern day cowboy.”

  Jones’ mood switched on the dime. “I never take the law into my own hands! I’m a police officer. I took an oath to follow the law and that is what I do.”

  Gwen took it as a sign to back off the conversation. As he brooded, she gazed out her window, taking in the view of Ocracoke. It was a quaint island with pristine beaches. It looked like it came straight out of a travel brochure.

  A few miles later they entered the most populated section of the island that surrounded Silver Lake—motels, grocery stores, and gift shops seemed to appear out of nowhere. People filled the streets, walking and biking like they were in a fitness infomercial. Jones noticed that the Ocracoke Lighthouse, which stood over the village as if it were guarding it from intrusion, had grabbed her attention.

  “The lighthouse was built in 1823 and can be seen as far as twenty miles out at sea. If you’d like, we can take a tour during your visit.”

  She forced a smile. “I’d love to Kyle.”

  So you can toss me off it like you tossed Noah off the bridge?

  Chapter 50

  Gwen reached into her overnight bag and pulled out a camera. As the taxi stopped at a sandy intersection, she snapped photos of the lighthouse. “This place is wonderful, Kyle. What inspired you to move here?”

  “My family came here on vacation a few times when my parents were stationed in North Carolina. When I left Arizona, I was at a crossroads—unsure what I wanted to do with the rest of my life. Ocracoke had always provided me with peace, so I figured it would be a good place to sort things out. I fell in love so much with the homey atmosphere that I bought a house on the beach and vowed I’d only leave if I could find a place that matched the small town feel. That’s why, when I decided to return to police work, I chose Rockfield over other offers. You should see the small store that’s docked in the harbor. It’s practically the floating version of the Rockfield Village Store.”

  “What made you return to police work?”

  “I enjoyed my life here, but I had always felt a calling to stopping the bad guys, so to speak.”

  His answers sounded like cover stories to Gwen. His preparedness didn’t surprise her, and his intelligence wasn’t to be underestimated.

  The cab driver pulled into the small parking lot of The Back Porch and dropped them off. The wait was short, and they were soon seated at a patio table—a light breeze blew, filling Gwen’s senses with the aroma of the ocean. She thought that this really would be a fantastic vacation spot under different circumstances. Jones took control, ordering for her—a fillet of flounder dredged in nuts, and an iced tea.

  When the waiter left, Gwen instinctively rolled up her sleeve to scratch her itching arm.

  He reached across the table and grabbed her hand.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, nervously.

  “You shouldn’t itch that—it will only make it worse.”

  Gwen stared back, thinking there was no way he could ever have known how she got it. But there was something about the look in his eyes that scared her.

  “You’re right, Kyle. But sometimes it itches so much it’s hard not to.”

&
nbsp; “Life is all about self discipline, Gwen.”

  She nodded subserviently.

  “So where did you get poison ivy?” he asked.

  The question caught her off guard. “Um … I’m really not sure. I must have gone somewhere I shouldn’t have.” She fixated on the oozing red bubbles spread across her forearm.

  “I guess there are always consequences for going where we shouldn’t go.”

  Gwen needed to regain control of the conversation. She reached into her bag and pulled out her camera. She focused it on Jones, and took a photo of him as he sipped his drink.

  “What are you doing?” he asked with annoyance.

  “I think I’m going to do a story on you for the Gazette. Rockfield’s superhero policeman relaxing on vacation!”

  His face angered. “I thought you came here to be with me. But obviously you only care about your career.”

  “All I want to do is get to know the real you—as would Rockfield. You never talk about your past … your family … your hopes and dreams. I’m your girlfriend, but you treat me like a reporter,” she said loud enough to purposefully make a scene. She hoped the patrons staring in their direction would remember this moment when she went missing.

  Jones got his emotions under control. “I’m sorry, Gwen. It just takes me a long time to trust someone.”

  “I’m sorry too. I guess the journalist in me gets the best of me sometimes. I know it can be a little overbearing.”

  The waiter arrived with their food, interrupting the tense moment. They ate in silence, allowing Gwen to gather her thoughts. Since he’d brought up the topic of trust, she thought she would continue with the theme.

  “You know how you said you don’t trust people easily, Kyle?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, I don’t either … so I’ve been debating whether I should tell you what I know about a certain subject. Can I trust you, Kyle?”

  He perked up. “Of course, Gwen … of course.”

  “Okay,” she said, acting as if she were in the midst of an internal debate. “I got a call from a source the other day. The Casey Leeds case from a few years ago … no I shouldn’t tell you … I’m sorry.”

  Jones looked to be on the verge of springing out of his seat. “No, please tell me, Gwen. Maybe I can help.”

  She feigned hesitance. “Okay, but this is only between us … promise?”

  “Of course.”

  “My sources have indicated that Leeds was set up by a member of your department.”

  His face turned pale as a ghost. He took several sips of iced tea, which seemed to help him recover. “Go on, who did they say was involved?”

  “No, I shouldn’t. I’ve already told you too much.”

  “Gwen, if there’s a dirty cop on the force I have a right to know about it. I work with these people. My life could be in danger. Leeds took me hostage—I’m involved, whether I want to be or not.”

  She paused to let him twist in the wind some more, before adding, “My source claimed it was Betsy O’Rourke.” She flashed a look of buyer’s remorse. “Are you sure this will remain just between us? At least until I have enough to go forward with it.”

  “You have my word,” he said, looking relieved. He reached into his pocket and pulled out Gwen’s missing diamond earring. “If I wasn’t trustworthy I’d have already sold this on eBay.”

  She looked stunned. “Where did you get that?”

  “It must have fallen off in my car on our way to the restaurant the other night.”

  Gwen looked at the earring and then at Jones. It was like trying to read a book with no words. She felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

  “Thank you, I do trust you,” she said, no longer feeling in control.

  Chapter 51

  Gwen spent the rest of the afternoon strolling around the island under a splendid, sun-filled sky with her pretend, murderer boyfriend. Not exactly every girl’s dream. When he would grab onto her hand she felt chills down her spine, and not the romantic kind.

  They journeyed in and out of the many specialty shops, galleries, and historic island cottages that surrounded Silver Lake. Gwen stopped to take numerous photographs of the sailboats that were scattered throughout the protected cove.

  They eventually reached the less populated northern beaches. The day eased into night, dropping the temperatures. Gwen suddenly felt very alone, and very vulnerable.

  Jones stopped in his tracks, surprising her. He pointed at a typical beach house, and announced, “There it is.”

  “There what is?”

  “My house. Come on in, I want to show it to you.”

  She held back, and he noticed. “What’s wrong?”

  “I just think it’s strange that you’ve never invited me into your house in Rockfield, but now you want to show me inside your beach home.”

  “Like I said, it takes me awhile to let someone in. In this case, literally,” he said with a disarming smile.

  She knew when she agreed to come, at some point she’d have to be alone with him in his house. Still, it reminded her of that moment in every horror movie where you’re pleading with the character not to enter the house with the killer.

  “We’ll just be a few minutes so that we can change to go sailing—the lake is beautiful at night, and really it wouldn’t be proper to change on the beach,” he added.

  The fact that the lake was a much smarter place to kill her, rather than in the house, strangely made her feel better about entering. The sailing was another story—she pondered how dark it would be at night on the water. An easy place to get rid of a body. But she’d come this far and couldn’t turn back now.

  “That sounds great, Kyle,” she mustered up enthusiasm as she followed him toward the weathered beach house. They walked underneath the stilts that held the place up, into a garage area. She noticed a red pickup truck already hooked to a small sailboat.

  They climbed a rickety wooden staircase, arriving at a small deck with peeling green paint, and entered through a sliding glass door. Jones took off his docksiders to avoid tracking sand into the house. Gwen followed his lead and removed her sandals. The first thing she noticed was a similar sterility as inside his Rockfield home.

  Jones played gracious host, offering a glass of water, which she declined, and then showed her to the bathroom, as she requested. He clicked on a radio and a twangy Tim McGraw song filled the house.

  Gwen tossed water on her face and stared into the mirror. C’mon, Gwen, you can do this, she muttered. Like the Little Engine that Could (get herself killed), she found the resolve. She strolled back into the small living room and plopped down on the couch. In front of her on a coffee table sat a newspaper called the Ocracoker. She noticed the date on the paper was from last summer.

  She skimmed the front-page story entitled: Kingsbury Suspect Cleared. The suspect was a local police officer named Ron Culver, who was in charge of providing a secretive security escort for the Kingsburys that night. Gwen’s skim turned disinterested and she gently set the paper back on the coffee table.

  Jones noticed her reading the old paper, and explained, “That was from the last time I was here. I like to leave a paper or magazine so it feels more lived-in when I return.”

  Gwen nodded, remembering when Stephen first moved out of their apartment, and she used to leave the television on so it seemed like someone was home when she returned from work.

  “I can’t believe they haven’t solved this case yet. What’s it been, three months?” she said, pointing at the paper.

  “It took place on the Fourth of July. Biggest fireworks these parts have ever seen.”

  “How close to here did it occur?”

  “It happened on the Oregon Inlet Bridge. About twenty miles north of Hatteras, which is where people pick up the ferry to come to Ocracoke.”

  Gwen forced a smile. “I guess they need Officer Kyle Jones to come down here to solve it for them.”

  He didn’t appear to be listeni
ng. He was staring intently at his watch, as if time was suddenly critical. “We better hurry, Gwen. You can change in that room over there.”

  His urgency struck her as strange. The whole day he wouldn’t let her get an arm’s length from him, yet now he showed an eagerness to get rid of her. She knew that whatever the reason, the only way she would find answers would be to play along until he was in a more vulnerable and weakened state. She stood with her overnight bag, which contained the tools she hoped would do the weakening, and entered the bedroom.

  She pulled a fuchsia-colored string bikini out of her bag, thinking that it was more string than bikini. All was fair in love and war, and this certainly wasn’t the former.

  Chapter 52

  When he stepped into the master bedroom he became Batman. He overloaded with anticipation and began to sweat profusely. He opened a window and the breeze cooled him.

  He was convinced that Gwen had no idea that he was aware of her betrayal when he found her earring in his yard, in a patch of poison ivy. Leave me a note? Do I seem that stupid, Gwen? But it was to his advantage to keep it that way. He also knew he had a weak spot for her that he’d never had for anyone before. He would have to fight off the temptation she provided. It would be his toughest test in completing his mission.

  He walked into the closet and parted the clothing. His necklace began to vibrate—his warning system working perfectly.

  Once he completed the code for the combination lock, he opened the heavy door and strutted into the musty room. He flipped a light switch and the room filled with dim light. He took a plastic, three-ring binder from a small bookcase. As he held the sacred book, his hands began to shake. He waited for the shaking to cease, and then added his new entries into the binder, which told the cautionary tale of Noah Warner.