Ben walked into the office of the Newberg chief of police unannounced and uninvited. Jorgensen looked up and broke into what was for him a wide grin.
“Ben Sawyer. The conquering hero returns.” Jorgensen stood up in greeting and, with a bit of flair, waved Ben forward. “Do have a seat.”
Ben dropped into the chair centered in front of the chief’s desk. He slumped, set the bottoms of his shoes against the expansive mahogany surface, and balanced the chair back on two legs. Jorgensen looked a little put out, but Ben knew the man had no choice. At this point, no one was going to mess with Ben Sawyer.
Jorgensen sat down and said, “I guess you’ve come for this?” He reached into his desk drawer and pulled out Ben’s badge and police ID. The chief held the items as if to tantalize.
“Keep it. I’d rather the new chief reinstate me.”
“Oh, you heard wrong, Ben. I’m not going anywhere. Granted, it was quite a shit storm you stirred up. But remember, once I learned of the Lee connection, I was on it. I couldn’t have known the crimes McKenzie was involved in. I have nothing but respect for you, uncovering McKenzie’s graft and corruption. Tell me, how’s Lars holding up? Does he realize what was going on? It’s unfortunate that all this will leave a real blemish on his administration.”
“Forget about my father-in-law,” Ben said. “McKenzie puts most of this shit on you, says you were pulling the strings. Hell, he’s even said Lipinski’s death was actually a murder. He gave you up as a coconspirator. I hear Chippewa County is reopening the case. Seems Doyle McKenzie’s had a come-to-Jesus kind of moment.”
“Nah, nothing that noble. McKenzie is a desperate man, not to mention a lying son of a bitch. I think my adamant denials will make good copy in the papers, don’t you?”
“Bill Petite might be a little more convincing.”
Jorgensen laughed.
“Try again, Ben. Bill Petite knows better. He’s just happy to be out from under a murder conviction. He’s already busy trying to reinvent his law career. Believe me when I tell you he won’t be too interested in rehashing ancient history.”
Ben kept pushing. “The stolen gun Lars planted on Lee? It was from a Newberg burglary. The report was taken by a patrol officer. Fella by the name of Walter Jorgensen.”
Jorgensen licked his lips, and Ben saw the slightest twitch in the chief’s eyes.
“Touché, Ben, well done. But what of it?”
“I pulled the report, Jorgensen. The gun was stolen along with some credit cards. The crook was caught with the cards the next day. He confessed to the burglary and to stealing the plastic but said that was it. He didn’t know anything about a stolen gun.”
“Crooks lie, Ben.” There was the slightest tremor in Jorgensen’s voice. “Is that news to you?”
Ben kept going. “Then, a week later, Lars somehow pulls that gun from a car driven by Harlan Lee. A gun that two days before had been used in a killing up in Florence.”
“What are you implying?” Jorgensen asked.
“I’m not implying anything. I’m drawing a pretty obvious conclusion.” Ben dropped the chair onto all four legs and sat forward. “You stole the gun from the burglary. That way the gun could be reported along with the stolen cards. Two days later that weapon was used to kill a dealer in Florence County.”
Ben stared across the desk at Jorgensen. “Tell me, Walter. Did you do the killing yourself? Or was it Lipinski? Who actually pulled the trigger? How did you get Lars to agree to the plant? What story did you tell him?”
“That’s quite a theory, Ben.” Jorgensen’s voice was shaking now; Ben wondered how much longer the chief would be able to hold it together. “Very impressive. But what makes you think Lars needed convincing? If you want to come up with a list of suspects for your wild tale, his name better be on it.”
Ben made no response. Jorgensen seemed encouraged by his silence, and his voice rose with fresh conviction.
“That’s right. You want to stir all this ancient shit up, go ahead. It’ll be quite a show. But remember this: As far as all the shenanigans that were perpetrated against that innocent boy, Harlan Lee, I never signed any report. I never raised my hand and swore to anything. As far as the crimes … the sins … that were committed, I can only say I’m ashamed to have been that close and not have figured it out what was going on. I most certainly should be held accountable for my shortcomings. I suppose I could lose my job over it. But old Lars, that’s a different story altogether.”
Jorgensen stood and stepped around his desk. He towered over Ben and went on. “It was always easy to motivate Lars … under certain circumstances. He was never one to take so much as a free meal. But if you told Norgaard that a crook might beat the rap, the rule book would fly from the window like it had sprouted wings.
“Personally, I’m not comfortable prosecuting an invalid,” Jorgensen said. “But maybe that’s only because of my close personal affection for the accused. The public might feel differently. Tell me, Ben. You’ve been the subject of a media feeding frenzy. How well do you think old Lars is going to hold up? Criminal charges for perjury? Filing a false police report? Allowing an innocent man to sit in a prison cell for near twenty years? Hell, maybe they’ll even want to revisit the murder in Florence. You gotta wonder how Lars came to have that gun.”
Jorgensen stepped back behind his desk.
“You have to ask yourself if the old boy will even survive it. How about his daughter? That little grandson of his? Course they’ve been through it before, haven’t they?”
Jorgensen reclaimed his seat and took his turn to prop his feet up. His cotton sky blue dress shirt with a satin tie was a perfect fit around his massive neck, but Ben could see that a ring of sweat had begun to form.
There was some truth to what he said. Any case against Jorgensen would be tough sledding, but Lars was pretty much bought and paid for. Right now, Lars would welcome his day in court as a chance to confess his sins and admit his involvement.
Hell, it seemed like Lars wanted to go to jail. He had allowed an innocent man to spend nearly twenty years in prison for a crime he had not committed. Lars might feel like he had it coming, but Ben knew better.
The fallout would never end, and it wouldn’t just be Lars who paid the price. His family would be labeled for life. As would every member of the Newberg Police Department, past and present. Everyone would pay a price and nothing would change. Harlan would still have lost two decades of life and the dead would stay dead.
“Here’s what’s going to happen, Jorgensen,” Ben said, meeting the other man’s gaze. “Pack your shit because you’re retired. You walk away from Newberg PD and you don’t even sniff around another cop job. Your days of scamming the public are over.”
“And if I decide to stay?”
Ben stood. Staring into Jorgensen’s eyes, he took a step forward, placed his hands flat on the desk.
“I can live with you walking away, Jorgensen. But I won’t have you wearing a badge. Lars will welcome the chance to put the truth out there. My wife and son, they’ll understand that. But you’re right. It won’t change a thing and I’m really not up for it.”
“Good to hear, Ben,” Jorgensen said. “I figured with your own history, you’d see the wisdom of keeping this all in house. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have—”
Ben reached out and slapped Jorgensen’s feet from the desk. Jorgensen was caught off guard and leaned forward to regain his balance. Ben took the opportunity to reach out and grab Jorgensen by the tie. He pulled hard and the man stretched across the desk. Ben leaned in and spoke in a low voice.
“Yeah, I get it, Jorgensen. Here is what we’re going to do. You walk away and that’s the end of it. But if you stay?” Ben hesitated for a moment, pulling harder on the chief’s necktie. “Stay and we all go down together. And I promise you, you’ll do time. Hard time.”
Ben tightened his grip even more, and the man gagged. “And know this, Walter. You make me do that to my family? You’ll do time, all right, and I’ll see to it you don’t survive it.”
Ben pushed off with both hands and Jorgensen fell back, landing hard in his leather chair. Jorgensen’s hands went to his throat, and Ben waited for a response. After several moments of silence, Ben turned to walk out, leaving Jorgensen seated at his desk, disheveled and breathless. “Clean out your desk and get out Jorgensen,” he called out as he left. “Either that or plan on joining your boy McKenzie in a jail cell.”