Ben heard, but did not see, Renfroe hit the ground with a large crack. Gasping for breath, shards of broken glass biting him in his side, Ben rolled over to the edge of the balcony and peered down at Renfroe’s body laying still on its side, one leg bent awkwardly beneath him. Renfroe did not appear to be breathing. Ben couldn’t see the gun.
Ben pushed himself to his knees, then to his feet. The screen door hung on one hinge, swaying gently in the breeze. He looked at it, then back down at Renfroe’s body below. He looked dead. How could it all come to this? A dead husband and father down there on the walk. All this because he didn’t want anyone to know the truth. Ben stretched his back and felt a stabbing pain in his side, just like he did the night he was attacked a couple of months earlier. He looked down and saw a small shard of glass sticking out of his shirt. It was poking him in the side. He gently pulled it out and dropped it in a pile of broken glass before pulling the door open and going inside.
As he walked downstairs, Ben took inventory of his parts. He felt a trickle down the right side of his face, touched it and looked at his fingers – blood. He felt more small cuts on his face and was sure he had a couple on his back as well. His right hand was scraped pretty good too. His knee felt a little funny as he came down the stairs, but all in all, he had emerged okay, certainly better than he could have. Certainly better than Renfroe.
He walked through the copy room, reached the door to the outside and stopped. The hallway to the garage, where his keys and cell phone were located, was to his immediate right, but Ben figured he’d better find the gun just in case. Rubbing his jaw, he pushed through the door to the outside and saw Renfroe rolling onto his right foot, his left leg dragging behind him, the gun on the ground right in front of him. “Shit,” Ben said and jumped back as it registered. He couldn’t believe it.
Renfroe had heard the door open. He looked to his left, saw Ben and grabbed the gun, firing wildly in Ben’s direction as he fell over onto his side. Another window shattered above Ben’s head and off to his left. Ben barely heard it over the roar of a freight train now rolling by the building. Ben ducked back inside the building and Renfroe fired again. More glass shattered behind Ben and he burst through the doorway and ran out toward the garage, slamming the door behind him. That was at least three shots, Ben thought as he ran. How many more did he have? He locked the door even though he knew that would only hold Renfroe for an instant.
Once back inside the garage, Ben searched for a weapon of his own. He scanned the walls. The buffalo head and horse’s rear end were of little use at the moment. Then he looked up toward the ceiling. There, on one of the beams crossing through the center of the room, hung two Civil War-era infantry sabers. Ben jumped on one of the chairs, then atop the conference room table, and yanked at one of the swords. It was fastened tightly and wouldn’t come off at first. Finally, Ben wrenched it free just as he heard Renfroe’s lumbering footsteps in the hallway outside over the sound of the passing train. He turned back toward the door as Renfroe hit it for the first time. Renfroe hit the door a second time and a third time before the door finally gave way and he barreled into the room, gun drawn.
Ben leapt from the table and swung the sword over his head at the instant Renfroe crashed into the room. But Renfroe saw the attack coming and turned to shield himself while trying to get off another shot. Ben’s blow caught the Protector on the shoulder, forcing the gun down and the shot harmlessly into the floor. Although the sword was not sharp, it was heavy and dealt a powerful blow. Ben swung it again like a left-handed hitter attacking a high outside fastball. Renfroe ducked out of the way, his right arm coming up to protect his head, and Ben caught him solidly on the right bicep, the sword bouncing down his arm, the gun flying out of his hand and skidding across the floor.
The strength of Ben’s blow forced Renfroe’s weight over onto his damaged left leg and he toppled over onto his side. Ben immediately went for the gun. He tried to get around the fallen Renfroe, who swung around and kicked at Ben with his good leg. The kick caught Ben in the hip and sent him reeling into the corner of the table, knocking some of the wind out of him. Renfroe kept at it, swiping Ben’s legs out from under him with another kick. Ben went down onto Renfroe and the two men wrestled and fought on the floor. Renfroe tried to wrest the sword away as Ben jammed his elbow into Renfroe’s neck. As they struggled, Renfroe’s gun was kicked under a nearby rolltop desk.
They fought over the sword, Ben on top and the Protector thrashing beneath him. Although Renfroe was the bigger and stronger man, Ben had greater leverage and eventually managed to wrest the sword from Renfroe’s grasp, the latter seeming to let go. In doing so, Ben fell back against a couple of bankers boxes. He quickly scrambled to his feet and raised the sword over his head, only to discover the reason that Renfroe had given up so easily.
Renfroe rolled over and pulled himself up to a sitting position. In his right hand, he held the gun. Ben froze. “Drop it!” The Protector screamed. Ben looked around searching for an alternative, finding none. Renfroe was at least ten feet away and had the gun firmly leveled at Ben’s chest. It wasn’t a tough shot and Ben was too far away to get a jump on him. “I said, drop it,” Renfroe repeated. Ben paused, then placed the sword gently at his feet, never taking his eyes off of Renfroe. “Nice try,” Renfro said. “That’s too close. Kick it away toward the door.” Ben did so and backed slightly away from Renfroe in the process. He wanted to get around the conference room table if he could, to get something between himself and his pursuer.
The Protector was on to him, however, and wagged the gun at Ben as he pulled himself to his feet. Ben stopped. Renfroe sneered. Covered in sweat, his hair matted with blood from an oozing wound on the side of his head, his left leg apparently almost useless, Renfroe looked more like a wild animal than a man. “You’re pretty tough little shit, aren’t you? Greenfield wasn’t nearly this tough.”
Ben tasted blood and wiped at his mouth with the back of a fist. “Greenfield probably didn’t see it coming, did he?”
“You think you know all the answers, don’t you.”
“Enough of them. Greenfield figured it out too.” Ben said.
“He had an idea, let’s put it that way. Fat lot of good it did him.”
“When did Sally first begin sleeping with him?”
“Not sure exactly. Probably around the same time as Megan. Then, obviously, for a time afterward.”
“Just long enough afterward,” Ben interjected, “for her to get pregnant with his child.” It was a statement not a question.
The Protector nodded. “Yes. At least that long enough, but not much longer. He decided he was through with her by then, before he realized that she was pregnant with his child, with his son. But that doesn’t matter now, does it?”
“No, I guess not.”
Renfroe paused, suddenly lost somewhere in the past, remembering. Ben glanced around trying to find something that would help him. He inched a little bit further back.
Renfroe started speaking from his memories. “That’s where I came in. Sally and I had been friends for a long time and when she was pregnant, she didn’t know where to turn, except to me. She was scared. I told her that I would marry her and raise her son as my own, and I’ve done that. He is my son now, not Daniel Greenfield’s. I’m proud to be married to her, and I’m proud to be David’s father. Sally is my best friend in the whole world, and she’s done more for me than anyone else ever could.”
Ben said nothing. He just looked at the other man. They endured a nervous silence, Renfroe still seemingly lost in his memories. Finally, Ben said, “Then Greenfield started figuring it out. What happened? Did he find out she had a son when she joined the Reunion Committee?”
Renfroe snapped back and Ben regretted speaking. “Something like that. Actually, I think someone mentioned to him a couple of months before that they had run into Sally and that she had a nine-year old child. Eventually, he must have started wondering.”
“And what about
Megan? Look what you’ve put her through.”
“I think he may have wondered about her too. She was on the list.”
“Yes, I’ve seen the list,” Ben said. “It’s funny though, the police never found Greenfield’s copy. I suppose you took it?”
The Protector nodded. “Yes. He had some notes written on it about both Megan and Sally, notes that were very incriminating and might very well have proved that he knew that Megan’s son was not his own, and that David … well, you know that already. I thought I could reason with him, but that didn’t work. He wanted a paternity test, a DNA test. He was obsessed with having another family, with having a son, and once he thought that our son might really be his, he wouldn’t let go. I tried to reason with him. I didn’t want to kill him, but I knew I had to do whatever it took to protect my family.”
Ben nodded. “And the bat, that was a convenient weapon?”
Renfroe looked at the gun. “I had the gun with me at the time,” he said holding it up, “but the bat was just sitting there, and I had already looked at it and we had even spoken about it briefly, so when he leaned over to put some exams in his briefcase, I hit him.” Renfroe paused, his eyes remembering. “He fell to his knees, then I hit him again, and again, and again. The first sound was loud, almost like hitting a board with a hammer, but then as I crushed his skull, I could hear it and feel it in my hands. I don’t know how many times I hit him. I saw on TV that they said ten or twelve times. That may be right, I don’t know. When it was done, I left. Through the library as you guessed.”
Ben noticed that Renfroe was breathing very heavily. His leg must be killing him. “You knew about the security cameras?” Ben asked.
“Yes. I had made a number of visits to the law school and had even spoken to the security guard, your Charles Powell, on a couple of occasions. He told me about the time limit. I think he just assumed I was another student because I always had a backpack with me. I had longer hair back then too. I actually looked like a student. I went back throughout the second semester in the spring so that he wouldn’t get suspicious. I even saw you there. That was amusing. You were working so hard trying to figure out what happened and I was right there in front of you watching you the whole time. I hadn’t met you yet.”
Ben stared intently at Renfroe, looking for an opening. “Why did you have the guy attack me?”
“I just wanted to shake you up a little, make you think you were on the right track and didn’t know it. Keep you from looking in my direction.”
“I didn’t really know anything at the time,” Ben said.
“I know that. I’d been here in the office on numerous occasions. I looked through your files.” He gestured proudly toward the boxes on the table. “I was keeping close tabs on you the whole time.”
“You’re the one who set the alarm off,” Ben said.
Renfroe nodded and sneered. “Yes, that was me. You got out and locked up before I could leave the building. I had no choice. I simply slipped out the front door, walked over to the bar and disappeared into the crowd. No problems. I even have a key. Took it from one of the secretary’s desks. They shouldn’t leave stuff like that lying around where anyone could take it. The only thing I didn’t have was the code to the alarm system.”
“Who beat me up anyway?”
“A busboy at my restaurant. He was going to go back to Mexico anyway, so, you know, I slipped him an extra five hundred bucks to do a little job for me and then leave a week or two early. I told him you disrespected my wife. He understood. No one will ever find him.”
Ben nodded.
“Now you answer a question or two for me,” Renfroe said, “now that you know everything.”
“Sure, go ahead.” Ben wanted to keep Renfroe talking as long as he could.
“When did you start to figure it out?”
“Something may have clicked when I saw you on the street that night. But then again, I didn’t get a really good look at you and you got out of there so fast, it didn’t really register. I knew I recognized you from somewhere. I just didn’t know where, and since I had a lot of things going on at the time, I didn’t put it together. Something about today though, changed that. I saw you and everything clicked into place. I thought I knew what happened and who did it. At first, I thought it might be Sally, but then I realized that Sally really has changed over the years since her son was born. She wasn’t the same person she was in law school, the same bull in a china shop she used to be. That left me with you.” Ben paused and continued looking at Peter Renfroe. “And here you are.”
Renfroe scowled. “Enough talking,” he said. “It’s time to get this over with.”
Ben heard a soft sob, followed by a gasp. He and Renfroe simultaneously looked back toward the door to the main part of the building. Sally Renfroe stood there, tears streaming down her long face and onto her coat. “No, Peter,” she whispered in a choked voice, “it’s already over.”
55
Renfroe shook his head emphatically. “No, I can’t stop now. I can’t give up. I can’t leave my family now. No, I just can’t. I vowed ten years ago I would protect you and David and make sure everything would be okay, and I have protected you and I’ll keep protecting you. It will be okay. I’ll fix this!”
Sally moved toward him, her arms outstretched, her face pleading. She spoke softly. “No, Peter, you can’t do this. You have to put the gun down.”
Peter Renfroe was facing his wife now, his back to Ben. Ben moved further to his left and now the table was directly between Renfroe and himself. Ben wanted to give Sally a chance to get the gun away from her husband, but wanted to give himself a chance to jump Renfroe if Sally proved unsuccessful. He kept inching further to his left.
Peter Renfroe kept shaking his head as Sally approached, the gun still raised. She stopped about three feet from him, her arms still outstretched. Tears continued flowing down her face and she spoke in almost a whisper. “Honey, we can get through this, but you have to put down the gun. There can be no more killing. Not because of me. You don’t have to do this. It will be alright. I’ll help you. Just put the gun down.”
The Protector seemed shocked at her words. He looked at her as though she didn’t understand why he did it in the first place and why he had to do it now. He scrunched up his face in an angry mask. “No. I can’t turn back now. I can’t. Don’t you understand? You must believe me. I did this for you, for us, for David, for our family. Now stand back and let me finish this now.”
Sally didn’t stand back. She started moving forward again. “Peter, I love you with all my heart, but you can’t do this. You just can’t.”
The Protector couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Just as Sally reached him, he screamed and pushed her to the floor. “Don’t you see I did all this for you?” He wanted to make her understand. Now he was crying too. He turned back toward Ben and pointed the gun at Ben’s chest. Ben raised his hands. Sally screamed.
Suddenly, a blast rocked the garage. Ben dove behind the table. A second blast slammed into the safe behind him. He heard a thump, a moan and another blast. Something hit the floor. Then, a couple of seconds later, one final blast. The sounds boomed like a cannon in the confines of the garage. The blasts deafened him. His ears rang. He couldn’t hear. The acrid smell of gunpowder filled the air. Ben lay on the floor behind the table as still as possible.
The smell of gunpowder grew stronger and Ben looked up and saw wisps of smoke floating over him. Trying to remain as quiet as he could, Ben rolled and looked back under the table toward where Peter Renfroe had been standing. Gazing through the legs of the table and chairs and around bankers boxes, Ben saw a body crumpled a few feet from him, its arm outstretched. He vaguely heard Sally’s screams as though they were coming from miles away. Ben got to his knees and moved around to the corner of the table. He saw the outstretched hand less than three inches from an automatic pistol lying on the floor.
His ears still ringing, no signs of movement, Ben slowly pushed to h
is feet. Peter Renfroe lay motionless on the floor. Sally lay over her husband sobbing. Behind them in the doorway of the garage, a .45 caliber pistol raised, smoke wafting from its barrel, its owner staring transfixed at the body on the floor, stood Brad Funk.
“Brad,” Ben said not knowing how loudly he was talking. He still couldn’t hear himself. No answer. “Brad,” he said again, this time louder, trying to get over the sound of Sally’s wailing. Still no response. “Funk,” he screamed. “Funk,” he screamed again. Then a sliver of recognition and Funk’s eyes slowly moved and met his. “It’s okay,” Ben screamed, his hands out in front of him as though trying to slow traffic. “Put the gun down. Put the gun down now.”
Slowly, Funk nodded and lowered the gun about a foot, then another six inches. It was still pointed in the general direction of Renfroe on the floor. “Be careful,” Ben said. “Don’t shoot me. It’s okay.” Ben inched forward and slid the gun further out of Renfroe’s reach with his foot. Gradually, Funk seemed to be regaining his senses. It was as though someone had slapped him in the face and he was beginning to come to. Ben moved forward and looked closely at Renfroe’s body. Sally cradled him in her arms and held him as she cried, her body heaving with each breath, but she could do nothing for him now. Blood began to seep from beneath him and cover the front of her clothes. Ben watched the blood trickle off of her left knee and puddle on the floor. There was no doubt this time. Shot three times, Peter Renfroe, the Protector, was gone.
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Two hours later, Ben and Brad Funk sat in the lobby drinking their second beers. By then, Mark had joined them, having finally been located at home, summoned by Ben to serve as Funk’s attorney in the event that there were unexpected problems with the police. Funk had fired three shots, the first of which struck Renfroe in the back, staggering him, but allowing him to get off a single shot as Ben dove to the floor. Funk’s second shot dropped Renfroe and his third, fired with Renfroe laying on the ground and reaching for his dropped gun, finished him.
Final Exam: A Legal Thriller Page 38
