Officer Jones

thinking about returning to police work. They traded a few emails, Jones asking if he could use him as a reference, and he gave Jones a glowing review to Chief Tolland. He hadn’t spoken to him since his return to Rockfield, but Jones had sent him a ‘thank you’ note for the reference, and they exchanged Christmas cards each year since.

My explanation for the call was that I was doing an article for the Rockfield Gazette on Jones having received the Lisa Spargo Memorial Award. Dahl wasn’t surprised that Jones would win an award, but when I pressed him about Jones’ devotion to drinking and driving, he couldn’t recall any such compelling interest when Jones was in Arizona. But added, “Kyle was always trying to help the community, so maybe he was affected by a specific case.”

Not only was I not getting anywhere, but was actually making a case that Gwen would be better off with Jones. The guy was a Boy Scout.

My questions soon turned more personal in nature and Dahl became suspicious. When I asked how I could reach the ex-girlfriend whom he’d broken up with prior to his move from Arizona, I crossed the line. Dahl began to answer, giving her first name as Lucy, but then his police instincts took over. He stopped in mid-sentence without providing a last name.

When I pushed, he turned testy. “Why are you so interested in his love life?”

I stumbled through an obvious lie. My lack of sleep dulled my usually sharp answers. Dahl demanded a number of my superior at the paper. I gave him Murray’s name, but couldn’t remember his phone number, which made me seem even more suspect. The next sound I heard was the click of the phone.

At that point, I tried to get some much-needed sleep, but my dreams kept reliving my last conversation with Noah.

I gotta take off JP, but we will definitely hook up at Ethan’s on Monday.

Hot date?

No, I’m just going to meet an old friend. We haven’t talked in a while.

I woke up in a cold sweat, realizing that I wouldn’t be able to sleep until I got justice for my brother.

I always believed when panning for information, the true golden nuggets came from “Joe Local.” So that’s where I decided to start. The police department would have their own spin on Jones, and Gwen was obviously fooled by him. I paused in thought; still unable to believe Gwen could be with this guy. I doubted I could accept anybody she dated, but this one really didn’t add up.

Then a sad truth hit me. One that I had been aware of since our encounter at the fair, but I didn’t want to admit it-Gwen Delaney wasn’t the person I once knew.

Chapter 36

While wandering around the Rockfield Fair on Saturday afternoon, in one of the few moments I wasn’t fighting with someone, I ran into an old friend from high school named Adrian Herbert. He invited me to watch the opening week of NFL football at Main Street Tavern with him and some of the old gang, and gave me his phone number. He said it would be like old times, although I couldn’t remember ever watching football with Herbie. I doubted I’d take him up on the offer at the time, but I gave him lip service about keeping it in mind. And following Noah’s death, I suddenly had the urge to meet up with the boys and swap some stories. Preferably about a certain police officer.

Main Street Tavern was a wooden firetrap that was a favorite watering hole of the locals. A small but raucous crowd was always present on fall Sundays to watch NFL games, including some of my old high school football buddies.

They proceeded to greet me warmly, along with providing condolences for the loss of Noah. I spotted my old teammates, Vic Cervino and Steve Lackety. We used to get together once a year for a reunion of our league championship team, but the reunions became fewer and fewer, before dwindling to non-existent about ten years ago.

I knew it must look strange that I’d be here, just twelve hours after my brother committed suicide, but nobody questioned my presence.

Before I could get into the topic of Kyle Jones, there were old football stories to be told. They had grown into Greek mythology over the years, and what they lacked in truth, they made up in grandiosity. Between stories, I continued buying rounds of beer for the boys until one o’clock; when the game between the Main Street Tavern favorite, New England Patriots, and the Miami Dolphins began.

When halftime arrived, it was time to talk Officer Jones. I was counting on the alcohol removing all inhibitions, and assisting in some honest dialogue.

Herbie was the first to take issue with him, “I’ll tell you what that guy did. He came to our softball party-he was dating the sister of one of the guys on the team, who worked at the bowling alley-hung out with us and acted like our best friend. Then he left and hid down the street and nailed half the squad with a dee-wee.”

“But you guys were breaking the law by driving drunk,” I played devil’s advocate.

“I’m not saying we were right, but if Jones really wanted to stop people from driving, he could have taken people’s keys or arranged rides when he was at the party. He wanted credit for making the bust.”

I noticed a bunch of nodding heads. A man named Lucas caught my interest. He identified himself as being a former member of the Rockfield Police force, who had worked with Jones, but left for a job in the private sector. “The guy is obsessed. Something is not right with him,” he remarked.

The bartender, Wally, who was also the tavern owner, chimed in, “He’s not allowed in here anymore. He used to wait in the parking lot in an unmarked car and follow my customers home.”

“You should do one of your investigative reports on that bastard,” Vic Cervino shouted out with a mouthful of salsa chips.

I smiled. “I would if I had something good on him. So far, nothing you told me is against the law. And those he arrested certainly were breaking it. Sounds like he might just be doing his job a little too well.”

The former cop, Lucas, spoke up again, “I’ve witnessed him break the law.”

“How come you didn’t report it?”

Lucas laughed as if I were naive. “If I accused the department’s fair-haired superstar of doctoring Breathalyzer results, or that he pulled people over without just cause, it would have been spun that I was not committed to reducing crime. Besides, with all due respect to Noah, the fact he got off with what appeared to be a slap on the wrist put a bull’s-eye on Rockfield. Maloney, like any public official looking to get re-elected, made drinking and driving his top priority, and Jones became his poster boy for this pursuit. Even if Tolland wanted to do something about Jones, Maloney would overrule him, especially after the money began rolling in from the ADDs.”

“The ADDs?”

“The against drunk driving organizations. They are good organizations, don’t get me wrong. They’ve played the biggest role in cutting fatalities. But sometimes when money gets involved, people tend to turn their heads at the means, as long as they get to the ends.”

Sounded like the Maloney I knew.

Halftime would be ending soon, so I had to move fast. A guy named Scott Busby, who owned a local hardware store, provided me with the incriminating story I was waiting for.

“Jones had heard a rumor that I’d driven home from here, three sheets to the wind. I don’t know where he heard that, but I was home the whole night watching the Yankees game. I put down a six-pack and chomped on a bag of potato chips. I got a knock on the door and when I answered, it was Jones. He dragged me down to the station, where they charged me with drunk driving.”

“And he got away with it?” I asked with great surprise.

“Yeah, they gave me a Breathalyzer, which of course I failed because I was drinking…in my house! It was Jones’ word against mine. The judge basically called me a liar at my sentencing.”