“A little too clean for my taste.”
“A little too clean is making me suspicious.”
“JP, we already are suspicious. That’s why we broke into his house. We need to find something that connects him to Noah’s death.”
I walked a circle from living room to dining room, through the kitchen and back to the living room. I checked for cameras, listening devices, and anything that someone like Jones might put in his house because he was paranoid. A handy news-industry survival skill that I had picked up over the years.
I found nothing.
Gwen headed down a hallway, stopping to look at photographs hanging on the wall. “Do you find it odd, JP, that every picture and memento he has is related to his time in Rockfield. No old friends, family-it’s as if his life started the day he arrived here.”
“Not really,” I said. “He’s an only child who moved around, so he likely doesn’t have a lot of longstanding relationships. And as far as his parents, he probably doesn’t want a daily reminder of their death. We haven’t found any cracks in his timeline-he had a good record in the military, his boss in Arizona thinks he’s the Second Coming, and if he had something to hide in North Carolina, then why did he keep his house there?”
She nodded, but my words didn’t seem to convince her, so I stole Murray’s theory, “I think he might be running toward something, not away from it.”
I entered the first bedroom on the right. It was neat and antiseptic, just like all the other rooms. A single bed, a laptop computer sitting on a light colored, wooden desk, and a twenty-inch television in front of the bed.
Gwen followed me in, and went directly to his closet-dry-cleaned police uniforms on one side, casual wear like jeans, flannel shirts, and sweaters on the other. On the floor, hidden behind a folded ironing-board and a pile of heavy winter sweaters, were three cardboard boxes. Gwen knelt down and began going through them as I looked on.
It contained the history Gwen sought. A lot of awards and certificates dating back to Little League, including those noting his military and police achievements. He was so anal that he actually saved his schoolwork from the many schools he’d attended, spanning the globe from Germany to San Diego to Kentucky. Nothing incriminating.
Gwen appeared to discover something and summoned me over. She handed me a copy of the picture of Jones’ parents. I took a close look at them-they appeared to be out on a houseboat at some unidentified lake. “I told you he doesn’t want to deal with it every day. Those memories are best kept in a box in the closet.”
Gwen handed me more photos. They were from the Air Force days. Most were group shots-a bunch of cocky Top Gun wannabe pilots hamming for the camera. It made the military seem more like spring break than the blood and guts of war that I had witnessed firsthand.
She handed me more shots of Jones, posing in his Gilbert, Arizona police uniform, along with some assorted ones from his time in North Carolina, proudly standing by a small airplane.
Gwen continued to dig, finding a photo titled “Batman amp; Robin.” This was another Air Force photo, but this one was specifically of Jones and another man. The photo was signed:
Both men, dressed in their sand-colored flight suits, were young, vibrant, and didn’t seem to have a care in the world. They stood beside their aircraft, arms draped around each other, either about to embark on another successful mission, or perhaps just victoriously returning from one. Jones seemed to be having a more difficult time with the desert sun, his skin was blotched and blistered, while his buddy had a bronze tan.
“Do you think you can find out who this wingman guy is? He might know something about Kyle that we’re missing.”
“The only military contacts I have left are the kind who would like to use me for target practice. Maybe Carter can help with that. He’s like a cult hero with the troops.”
Gwen quickly changed the subject, handing me another photo. “Check this out.”
I studied a photo of Jones standing beside an attractive girl with curly dark hair. It was titled:
I’d love to have a conversation with this Lucy, but without a last name, and only a photo, she’d be difficult to locate. I looked for a copy machine, but couldn’t locate one. It would be too risky to take the photo, so I took a picture of it with my phone. It would have to do. I did the same with the photo of
We knew we didn’t have much time left, so we did one final sweep.
In his desk I found the usual identification markers, such as his social security card and his pilot license from both North Carolina and Connecticut. Unfortunately, there was no diary where he confessed to killing my brother. Gwen found a pile of old VHS tapes with my name marked on them in magic marker, and according to the label, they contained some of my most famous stories for GNZ. Looks like he was returning the favor by doing a little research on me.
All interesting finds, but nothing worth risking a long prison term for. “Hurry and put that stuff back, Gwen, I want to check out the basement before we go.”
Chapter 48
We cautiously descended the steps. My leg began to flare up with pain and I lagged behind. When I got to the bottom, I thought I’d walked into a Batman convention. Gadgets, posters, dolls.
“Holy freak show, Batman,” I said, upon the bizarre discovery.
“Can you shed any light on this?” Gwen asked.
“I think he might like Batman,” I said, feeling nostalgic. “I remember watching the Batman television show with you and we had to have my mom come in the room to read all the words that flashed on the screen during the climactic fight scenes.
Gwen smiled. “If I remember correctly, I learned to read before you and put a stop to that.”
“Are you ever not competitive?”
“I can’t believe you’re talking.”
She wandered to the wall and read out loud the inscription on it. It was a poem, entitled
Gwen turned back to me. “What do you make of this?”
I looked at my watch in a subtle nudge to hurry this along. “Not sure, other than it sure isn’t
I read the words on the wall one more time.
“I just left the police station. And so did Jones, so you might want to think about getting out of there.”
“What happened to stalling?” I asked, motioning Gwen to hurry up the staircase.
“Once I showed them a video of your boy assaulting me, they got rid of me as soon as possible.”
“I owe you one. I’ll give you first shot at Jones when we nail him.”
“It’s only going to take one. I’m going to kill that little punk.”
“Deal.”
We bolted up the stairs and out of the house, fairly confident nothing was out of place and no prints were left. I trailed her into the woods, using my cane to fight off branches and prickers. Our adrenaline warmed the cold night.
We arrived at the van, huffing and puffing. At least I was, Gwen appeared as if she was ready to run a 5K. She started the vehicle and we peeled out of the driveway like we were driving the getaway car at a bank robbery. As we turned onto Evergreen, it seemed we were home free, and I let out a sigh of relief.
But that’s when we saw the flashing aerial lights of a police car. We both knew who it was.
