“Is it normal for a stop to last nineteen minutes when you don’t write a ticket?” she asked.
“Sometimes, if I have to check a license or something,” he said.
“But you don’t remember this stop, so you don’t remember why it would have taken you nineteen minutes to check a license?” asked Kenny.
Olsen didn’t know what to say.
Kenny turned to Andrea. They hadn’t planned this out, and maybe they should have, but they had a natural rhythm to their approach.
“You know,” she said, “there is a camera at the light on Maple and Grovers Mill, right?”
Olsen shuffled, looking south in the direction of that intersection.
He didn’t say anything, but his eyes said it all. He was worried.
“The West Windsor patrol officer on duty that night until two a.m. was Benjamin Dobeck,” she said. “His patrol car crossed into Plainsboro because you called him.”
“No,” he replied.
“We checked phone records,” she lied. “You made a cell call to his number. He received a call from your phone.”
Olsen looked at them both, then at Sarah and Sadie, whose eyes remained glued on the play set splashed by the October sun. “I went to this school,” he said. A breeze picked up, starting to show hints of fall. “We played kickball on that field. They changed the play set, but still . . .”
He trailed off.
“You pulled over Bradley Dobeck, Patrolman Olsen,” Andrea said. “And you didn’t want to write him up, so you called your friend Benjamin. That’s totally understandable.”
“It’s more than that,” Olsen said. “He veered and hit the curb. He’d stopped to get out and check to see if there had been any damage to his car. That’s when I drove by. I saw him in the headlights. He had a gun. He was stumbling around, mumbling, barely sounding lucid.”
“He had a gun?” asked Kenny.
“I recognized him. I told him to lower the gun. He did, immediately,” said Olsen. “Holstered it behind his back, but I saw that he didn’t even have a holster for it. Just jammed the gun behind his sweatpants. I asked him what he was doing. He said, ‘Stopping them all from taking over.’ I asked him who he meant. He said, ‘All of them.’”
“That’s when you called Patrolman Dobeck?” asked Andrea.
“Yeah,” replied Olsen. “Benjy drove him back to Windrows in his grandfather’s car and I followed. He dropped Mr. Dobeck off, parked the car, then I drove Ben back to his patrol car. And that was it.”
“And Satkunananthan was killed less than an hour later?” asked Kenny.
“Yes, but I honestly didn’t put any of that together,” said Olsen. “I mean it. Dobeck was back in Windrows long before Sasmal’s time of death.”
“And the gun that Bradley Dobeck was carrying?” asked Andrea.
“A revolver, I think,” said Olsen. “I didn’t get a great look at it. Dobeck had his headlights behind him, mine were skewed to the side of his car, but yes, I think so.”
“And you didn’t write it up because of who Dobeck was?” asked Kenny.
“He’s senile,” said Olsen. “We get calls to Windrows all the time when he’s bothering people in the middle of the night. We’ve found him driving around. Other than the gun, it wasn’t out of the ordinary.”
“Okay,” said Andrea. “But when Bradley and Bennett Dobeck were arrested, why didn’t you say anything then?”
“Because I had no proof he’d done anything,” said Olsen. “I couldn’t hang Benjy out to dry, not after everything . . .” He trailed off. He looked at the playground again.
“After everything he’s gone through in that family?” asked Kenny.
Olsen nodded.
“Because he’s also your lover?” asked Andrea.
After almost a minute of silence, Olsen nodded again.
“Thank you, Patrolman,” said Andrea. “Chief Ambrose is likely going to want to talk to you when you get back to the station.”
As they walked to the gravel lot toward their cars, Olsen’s voice called after them, “I hope they rot in jail. Both of them. But Benjy doesn’t deserve it.”
Andrea considered offering a kindness, but unlike Kenny, who would have opted for some half measure of snarky sympathy, she preferred the cold, hard truth. “No matter what his upbringing, if Benjamin Dobeck killed Satkunananthan Sasmal, then he deserves to rot in jail right alongside his father and grandfather.”
50
ANDREA was on the phone with Ramon while making some semblance of chicken cacciatore that she had the unmitigated chutzpah to call dinner. The kids were doing their homework in the kitchen. Sadie and Sarah were in the sunroom playing with Legos. She had to hurry because Eli had soccer at six. She usually fed him too close to practice time and he slogged his way through it. His trainer had complained about that. So much for his D1 scholarship.
“I just thought they should have placed a watch on him overnight,” she said.
“This has been weighing on you for months,” Ramon said. “You’re this close to having him and that’s when it feels the furthest away.”
“Yeah,” she said, thinking: he understands.
“And for people like you—like us—that’s the hardest part of all, because you have them, you know you have them, but you don’t have them because they don’t know you have them.”
He understood her.
She bit back tears. Goddamned hormones.
“Everything’s going to be fine,” he said. “Let yourself get some of the credit at the press conference.”
“Okay,” she said.
Andrea put the phone down and looked at the time. She was running late. She plated some of the chicken and sauce for Eli and slid the rest into a casserole so she could nuke it when she got back with Jeff.
“Have to run to get your father,” she said. “Ruth, keep an eye on them. Eli, get your equipment on after you eat. I’ll be right back.”
* * *
■ ■ ■
“I FOUND SATKU’S killer,” she said to Jeff matter-of-factly after he got in the car. “We’re going to arrest him tomorrow morning.”
“Why wait until tomorrow morning?”
“The West Windsor and Plainsboro PD have to coordinate a few things. And the officer’s union reps are going to be called in.”
“Wait, a union rep? A cop did it?”
“No comment until tomorrow, honest,” she said. “And sorry.”
“It’s the son?” he said. “The only one left who’s not in jail, right?”
“No comment until tomorrow.”
He smiled, but it was half-hearted, wary, shaded by a twinge of the old insecurity and jealousy, but something more as well. “Is that it, then? It’s over?”
“Short of the booking and the trial, yes,” she said.
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I know what you meant,” she replied.
He nodded. As they pulled into the driveway, he asked, “So, is it?”
“Yes,” she said, feeling hollow and useless. “It’s over.”
* * *
■ ■ ■
AT TEN FIFTEEN that night, Kenny sat in the near-empty parking lot of the Buffalo Wild Wings and waited. He knew Benjamin Dobeck was on desk duty until ten, but Mondays offered a two-for-one appetizer special until eleven, and even with his life falling apart, Benjamin wouldn’t pass on that.
He knew he shouldn’t be there, so he had to play it smart. Kenny couldn’t tip Benjamin to what was coming, but he had to make an emotional connection that would cement his personal involvement in the story.
A minute later, Benjamin’s car pulled into the lot. Kenny watched him shuffle into the restaurant. He didn’t look like a stone-cold killer. He just looked tired.
Kenny followed inside. He sat next to Benjam
in at the bar.
“Give me a break, please,” said Benjamin as he downed a quick shot and took a swig from his beer.
“Off the record, totally,” Kenny said. “We haven’t talked in weeks. Your dad and grandfather are in prison. You need to talk to someone about it.”
He motioned to Cheryl, the bartender, and ordered a Knob Creek. He took a sip.
“My family is gone. I’ve been confined to desk duty until the trial,” Benjamin said. “My career is basically over. Even if I transfer to another department, I’m always going to be . . . you know.”
“I know,” Kenny said. After an awkward pause, he asked, “But you didn’t know, right?”
“They never trusted me,” he replied.
“Because . . . ?”
“Yeah, because of that,” Benjamin said. “After my mom died, my dad just ignored it completely. Pretending it didn’t exist meant it didn’t exist, I guess.”
“And your grandfather? Belittling you every chance he got in front of his friends was just his way of coping?”
Benjamin chuckled but it was dry and haunted. “His method of conversion therapy.”
“Did it work?” Kenny asked absently, regretting it the minute the stupid filter between his brain and mouth had refused to work. Again. As usual. He quickly added, “Have you talked to either one of them?”
“My dad a couple times. My grandfather not at all.”
“Did your dad say anything?”
“About what? The conspiracy charges? No, he didn’t,” Benjamin replied. “And the only thing he said about Sasmal was that he didn’t do it.”
“You believe him?”
Benjamin nursed his drink, turning his wrist so the beer would swirl in the tall glass.
“Yeah, I believe him,” said Benjamin.
“What about your grandfather?” asked Kenny.
“What about him?”
“You think he did it?”
After a long swig of the beer, Benjamin said, “I think he had it in him.”
Kenny nodded. Benjamin had responded like a pro, in exactly the way necessary to answer the questions without lying about himself.
“It’s some story you got to tell, Benjy,” Kenny said.
“How do you mean?”
“You’re going to have some story to tell,” Kenny repeated, tossing a twenty on the bar. “You deserve the chance to tell it. People need to hear it, so everyone will understand. People have to understand what you went through. When the time comes, you have to be ready to tell it.”
He patted his sort-of friend on the back and left. Walking to the car, he thought he deserved to be in Guinness World Records for making an omelet without breaking any eggs.
* * *
■ ■ ■
THE NEXT MORNING, as Andrea drove Jeff to the train station, she couldn’t believe how incongruous everything felt. The numbing routine, every morning, every day, and every night, but here she was just a few hours away from fulfilling herself in a way that marriage and motherhood hadn’t even remotely approached over the past ten years.
Jeff sipped his coffee to wash down a piece of buttered toast he had brought into the car. “How do you feel?” he asked.
Wow, he really was trying, she thought. “Honestly? A little nervous. And a little . . . I don’t know, empty?”
“You love the chase, right?” he asked. “I mean, you want to see them behind bars, I know that’s important to you, but it doesn’t give you the same feeling of accomplishment that the chase does.”
“Don’t tell me, you started watching Dr. Phil for these insights?” she said.
“Don’t get defensive,” he said. “I didn’t mean anything by it. I mean, you know it’s true, so how can you get mad about it?”
“I shouldn’t,” she said. “I get mad because I know you’re right and I know it’s wrong for me to feel that way. The only thing that should matter about any murder case is that the victim gets justice and the perpetrator gets punished.”
“Give yourself a chance to feel proud, Andrea,” he said. “What you’ve accomplished is pretty fucking amazing.”
“Thanks,” she muttered, looking out the window.
They pulled into the train station. A woman was stopped on the left, dropping her husband off and blocking the flow of traffic. People honked. Every single fucking day. Every. Single. Fucking. Day.
* * *
■ ■ ■
ANDREA MET KENNY in the parking lot outside the police station at ten fifteen. She had felt the baby moving more than usual. Her discomfort gave her no patience for any antics from him. Luckily, he was succinct, saying, “Benjamin’s shift just started. He’s basically been chained to a desk. How are we playing this?”
“You know how we’re playing it,” she said. “You wait in the lobby. You’ll be able to ask Rossi questions once the arrest is made. You do not get to video Dobeck being arrested or talk to Dobeck, which you probably don’t need to, since I’m figuring you talked to him last night.”
“I didn’t give anything away,” Kenny said. “I just wanted background context so anything he said can be used to show his family’s hypocrisy—or, even better, generate sympathy for him.”
“Sympathy?” she asked.
“There’s gonna be a lot there, Andie,” he said wistfully. “You’ll see.”
* * *
■ ■ ■
INSIDE THE STATION, Andrea waddled her way through the office. Detective Garmin rose from his desk across the room and made his way toward Rossi’s office. They both reached the door at the same time. He gestured for her to enter.
“Ready?” Rossi asked.
She nodded.
He nodded to Garmin, who poked his head out the door and bellowed, “Dobeck! Acting Chief Rossi needs to see you.”
From a cubicle at the far end of the office layout, Officer Benjamin Dobeck rose and walked toward them. He didn’t betray any suspicion until he reached the doorway and saw Andrea. Though she had been an active part of the office decor for weeks now, Dobeck’s hackles went up.
He asked, “What’s up, Chief?”
“Acting chief,” said Rossi, as if thinking if he said it often enough, the role would be over soon. “We have to go downstairs.”
“Where?”
“Lockers,” said Garmin.
“Why?”
“We need to see your locker, Ben,” said Rossi.
“I don’t understand,” he said.
Andrea had little patience for the soft hand they were showing him. “On the night of the murder of Satkunananthan Sasmal, your grandfather, Bradley Dobeck, was pulled over by Plainsboro patrolman Luke Olsen. A partially incoherent Bradley Dobeck was brandishing a gun. Recognizing who he was, Olsen called you. You went to the scene. Patrolman Olsen provided a visual identification of the gun as a thirty-eight-caliber pistol. You drove your grandfather home in his car to the Windrows complex in Plainsboro.”
With every word she said, Benjamin Dobeck’s face slowly came apart like a jigsaw puzzle made of ice, fracturing from the heat being placed on it.
“Chief, what is this?” he asked. “Why is she here?”
“Your grandfather had been on his way to kill Satkunananthan Sasmal for the express purpose of forcing the Sasmal family into abandoning their pursuit of a pool permit. He was worried the Sasmals would win if they took it to court and that Cleon Singleton’s torso would have been uncovered. You took his gun and used it to kill Satkunananthan. After your shift was over, you returned to the station with the gun inside the gym bag you had in your patrol car. You then placed the gym bag in your locker, where it has remained since the night of the murder.”
He looked to Rossi and Garmin for support.
“Station cameras in the parking lot show you entering the house with the gym bag when your shift ended t
hat night, Ben,” said Rossi. “And we looked at every single shift you’ve had since then and that bag has never gone home with you. In fact, two days after the murder, you came to work with a new gym bag.”
“So, I kept a murder weapon in my locker for two months?” he laughed. “That’s ridiculous.”
“Actually, it’s the smartest thing you did,” said Andrea. “It’s been in the safest place it could be. You protected your grandfather, your father, and yourself by keeping it there. The night before the arrests of the conspirators, you planned to retrieve the gym bag, but Kenny Lee saw you and prevented you from acting on that impulse.”
“So, if I did have this gun, what would have stopped me from switching it to my new gym bag after they all got arrested? And then dumping it in the D & R Canal?” he asked.
“Nothing,” said Andrea. “Except you wanted to keep it as leverage.”
“Leverage?”
“Against both of them,” she said. “Leverage to keep them from dragging you into the family cover-up of Singleton’s murder. Leverage if you ever decided to come out.”
He backed up a step. “What?”
“We don’t care, Ben,” said Rossi. “None of us would have cared.”
“I might’ve cared a bit,” said Garmin. “But not much.”
“But your father would have cared and your grandfather knew. So, you kept the gun as leverage against them.” She was going to let it go at that, but decided their sheer stupidity had to be called out. Her voice escalating with anger, she continued, “The irony of it all, for you, your idiot father, and your grandfather, is that if you had all just let the Sasmals dig their pool, Cleon Singleton’s bones would never have been uncovered! His torso had been buried outside the existing fence line. You killed Satkunananthan for nothing!”
Benjamin slumped against the file credenza along the back wall of Rossi’s office. He shook his head slowly, but said nothing. Rossi put his hand softly on Benjamin’s shoulder and said, “C’mon, Ben. Let’s go to your locker.”
Downstairs, the four entered the locker room. Benjamin opened his unit and there was the gym bag. Garmin took it out. Inside was the Smith & Wesson 13 Revolver .38 Special that had been used to kill Satkunananthan Sasmal. Using a handkerchief, Garmin removed it from the bag, holding the grip between two fingers so it dangled gingerly beneath his hand.
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