What they didn’t take into account was Benson’s planning and creativity. The murder of Kingsbury was probably years in the making. And there was no specific pattern to his murders-he killed Leonard Harris and Casey Leeds in public spots full of potential witnesses. But he acted covertly when it came to Noah, Buford, and the Kingsburys. And now that we put all the cards on the table with the fake arrest, we had turned him into a cornered animal. Would that change how he operated? And was it possible that he knew the ballgame was over and he’d decide to go out in a blaze of glory, perhaps just walking into Maloney’s office and shooting him? Since Maloney was already an emotional disaster, and we needed him to pull this off, I kept these questions to myself. Not that anyone was listening to me at this point, anyway.
I was told that I couldn’t be involved from this point on. A proclamation that led to a lot of yelling on my part-I was more invested in this than anyone, I argued. But they cited an FBI policy of not allowing civilians in operations such as this, particularly crazed ones like myself. When I declared that this was America, and they couldn’t stop me, they informed me that they were the FBI, and yes they could. And just to be sure, I was left with a babysitting task force made up of Ellsworth, Justice, and Officer Williams from the Rockfield PD.
As dusk descended, the FBI agents and Rich Tolland moved to their position in the surveillance van. The van was white with
At 8:32 pm, my babysitters and I watched on the video surveillance as Benson parked Kyle Jones’ patrol car in front of Rockfield Town Hall. The only light came from the office of First Selectman Maloney, who was presumably burning the midnight oil.
Benson walked methodically through the corridors of the deserted building, in full police uniform, including the straight brimmed hat. It was eerily quiet, except for the rhythmic clicking of his heels. He knocked on the heavy oak door that read
A meek voice on the other side uttered, “Come in please.”
Chapter 84
Maloney hid behind his large desk, wearing a brown suit over a crisp white shirt and a fashionable wiretap. He noticed the gun attached to Benson’s belt and swallowed hard. He rose to his feet, his legs feeling like jelly. He didn’t think they’d hold him upright very long.
“Can I help you, Officer Jones?”
“I think we need to go for a ride,” Benson responded coldly.
“I’m very busy. Can you tell me why?”
“I think it would be in your best interest to come with me.”
He doubted it would be. Benson tapped on the gun holstered at his waist to make his point. Maloney took a quick look down at his desk calendar that read October 10. It made it seem too real.
The two men walked into the dimly lit parking lot. Benson showed the first signs of aggression by grabbing Maloney’s elbow and forcing him into the passenger side of his squad car. He drove out of the complex onto Main Street.
“What is this about?” Maloney asked again.
“I think you know,” Benson replied, his eyes never leaving the dark country road as they sped by the village store.
“I demand you tell me right now what is going on,” Maloney attempted to be stern, but he knew he wasn’t convincing. He lived as a coward and now it was obvious to him that he was going to die as one.
“On the anniversary of this day, twenty years ago, you, along with Craig Kingsbury, Lamar Thompson, and Brad Lynch, made a conscious choice to toss a dummy resembling a human onto an oncoming car, giving the driver the perception of striking a human being.”
“It was just a college prank,” Maloney defended. He always knew that night would come back to haunt him. “We never meant for any of this to transpire.”
“Everybody is sorry after the fact.”
“Did you kill Noah Warner?” Maloney asked, hoping he would say yes, then the feds could pounce and end his misery.
Benson smiled cryptically. “I think there’s a good chance you may have arrested the wrong man in that case.”
“What do you mean the wrong man?”
“I think we both know the man they have in custody is an imposter. He’s as fake as that testimony you gave in Judge Buford’s court.”
“I was forced to say those things-I had no choice,” Maloney pleaded. “Please, I have children. It wouldn’t be fair for them to grow up without a father.”
“Fair?” Benson asked incredulously. “Was it fair for Marilyn Lacey’s children? They lost their mother, while Kingsbury walked away, thanks to you taking their blood money. Did that judge make you do naughty things to get your money, Bobby?”
“They twisted my words.”
“I have your taped conversations with Buford, along with your deposition that the judge kept in a safe in his home, ironically, to protect himself. He kept his records in very neat order.”
“How did you get those? Did you kill him?”
Benson laughed. “Buford died from an accident, resulting from his hedonism. I was his neighbor, and he provided the records to me in case something happened to him. Sort of an insurance policy.”
Maloney realized that Benson was much better trained for this fight, and was going to win it. He was the judge and jury, so Maloney threw himself on the mercy of the court. “I was just a kid. I’m a different person now. Nothing we do can bring back Mrs. Lacey or Brad. I never meant for…”
He angrily cut him off, “It doesn’t matter what your intentions were. Your bad choices led to death and misery and it’s now time for you to pay for your sins.”
“I wasn’t driving-Kingsbury was.”
Benson began to respond, but stopped when he noticed something in the rear-view mirror. In a flash, he reached across the seat and ripped open Maloney’s sweat-drenched shirt, exposing the wiretap. He tore the wires off, ripping off patches of chest hair.
With steely determination, Benson picked up his speed along Main Street. And now that their conversation had gone wireless, he spoke freely, “You want to know who really killed Senator Kingsbury? You did! By covering up his actions you sentenced him to death. As you did to everyone else involved in your ‘prank.’ They are all gone now, and I’m here to deliver justice to the last remaining murderer.”
Maloney was fairly certain that by justice, Benson wasn’t referring to a long trial with an expensive lawyer and a consultant to pick the most sympathetic jury. He shouted desperately, “The FBI is following right behind us in a van-you will never get away with this!”
“Neither of us is getting away. We’re going to die together, Bobby. We will die just feet away from each other, but our legacies will be miles apart.”
Benson picked up the receiver of the police radio and squeezed. “For those of you listening in the van, you have failed.”
“Kyle, this is Chief Tolland. I implore you to stop your vehicle so we can discuss this,” Rich’s desperate voice shot through the radio.
Benson clicked the radio again and responded, “I will only negotiate with JP Warner. I know he’s in your vehicle.”
The young FBI agents looked at each other with confusion-Benson’s surprise request wasn’t in the manual. I was sure the same blank looks were going on in the van. So I did what I always do-I took the initiative.
