Final Exam: A Legal Thriller (64 page)

Ben nodded.
 
“And the bat, that was a convenient weapon?”
 

Renfroe
looked at the gun.
 
“I had the gun with me at the time,” he said holding it up, “but the bat was just sitting there, and I had already looked at it and we had even spoken about it briefly, so when he leaned over to put some exams in his briefcase, I hit him.”
 
Renfroe
paused, his eyes remembering.
 
“He fell to his knees, then I hit him again, and again, and again.
 
The first sound was loud, almost like hitting a board with a hammer, but then as I crushed his skull, I could hear it and feel it in my hands.
 
I don’t know how many times I hit him.
 
I saw on TV that they said ten or twelve times.
 
That may be right, I don’t know.
 
When it was done, I left.
 
Through the library as you guessed.”
 

Ben noticed that
Renfroe
was breathing very heavily.
 
His leg must be killing him.
 
“You knew about the security cameras?” Ben asked.

“Yes.
 
I had made a number of visits to the law school and had even spoken to the security guard, your Charles Powell, on a couple of occasions.
 
He told me about the time limit.
 
I think he just assumed I was another student because I always had a backpack with me.
 
I had longer hair back then too.
 
I actually looked like a student.
 
I went back throughout the second semester in the spring so that he wouldn’t get suspicious.
 
I even saw you there.
 
That was amusing.
 
You were working so hard trying to figure out what happened and I was right there in front of you watching you the whole time.
 
I hadn’t met you yet.”
 

Ben stared intently at
Renfroe
, looking for an opening.
 
“Why did you have the guy attack me?”

“I just wanted to shake you up a little, make you think you were on the right track and didn’t know it.
 
Keep you from looking in my direction.”
 

“I didn’t really know anything at the time,” Ben said.
 

“I know that.
 
I’d been here in the office on numerous occasions.
 
I looked through your files.”
 
He gestured proudly toward the boxes on the table.
 
“I was keeping close tabs on you the whole time.”
 

“You’re the one who set the alarm off,” Ben said.
 

Renfroe
nodded and sneered.
 
“Yes, that was me.
 
You got out and locked up before I could leave the building.
 
I had no choice.
 
I simply slipped out the front door, walked over to the bar and disappeared into the crowd.
 
No problems.
 
I even have a key.
 
Took it from one of the secretary’s desks.
 
They shouldn’t leave stuff like that lying around where anyone could take it.
 
The only thing I didn’t have was the code to the alarm system.”
 

“Who beat me up anyway?”
 

“A busboy at my restaurant.
 
He was going to go back to Mexico anyway, so, you know, I slipped him an extra five hundred bucks to do a little job for me and then leave a week or two early.
 
I told him you disrespected my wife.
 
He understood.
 
No one will ever find him.”
 

Ben nodded.

“Now you answer a question or two for me,”
Renfroe
said, “now that you know everything.”
 

“Sure, go ahead.”
 
Ben wanted to keep
Renfroe
talking as long as he could.
 

“When did you start to figure it out?”
 

“Something may have clicked when I saw you on the street that night.
 
But then again, I didn’t get a really good look at you and you got out of there so fast, it didn’t really register.
 
I knew I recognized you from somewhere.
 
I just didn’t know where, and since I had a lot of things going on at the time, I didn’t put it together.
 
Something about today though, changed that.
 
I saw you and everything clicked into place.
 
I thought I knew what happened and who did it.
 
At first, I thought it might be Sally, but then I realized that Sally really has changed over the years since her son was born.
 
She wasn’t the same person she was in law school, the same bull in a china shop she used to be.
 
That left me with you.”
 
Ben paused and continued looking at Peter
Renfroe
.
 
“And here you are.”
 

Renfroe
scowled.
 
“Enough talking,” he said.
 
“It’s time to get this over with.”
 

Ben heard a soft sob, followed by a gasp.
 
He and
Renfroe
simultaneously looked back toward the door to the main part of the building.
 
Sally
Renfroe
stood there, tears streaming down her long face and onto her coat.
 
“No, Peter,” she whispered in a choked voice, “it’s already over.”

55

Renfroe
shook his head emphatically.
 
“No, I can’t stop now.
 
I can’t give up.
 
I can’t leave my family now.
 
No, I just can’t.
 
I vowed ten years ago I would protect you and David and make sure everything would be okay, and I have protected you and I’ll keep protecting you.
 
It will be okay.
 
I’ll fix this!”
 

Sally moved toward him, her arms outstretched, her face pleading.
 
She spoke softly.
 
“No, Peter, you can’t do this.
 
You have to put the gun down.”

Peter
Renfroe
was facing his wife now, his back to Ben.
 
Ben moved further to his left and now the table was directly between
Renfroe
and himself.
 
Ben wanted to give Sally a chance to get the gun away from her husband, but wanted to give himself a chance to jump
Renfroe
if Sally proved unsuccessful.
 
He kept inching further to his left.

Peter
Renfroe
kept shaking his head as Sally approached, the gun still raised.
 
She stopped about three feet from him, her arms still outstretched.
 
Tears continued flowing down her face and she spoke in almost a whisper.
 
“Honey, we can get through this, but you have to put down the gun.
 
There can be no more killing.
 
Not because of me.
 
You don’t have to do this.
 
It will be alright.
 
I’ll help you.
 
Just put the gun down.”

The Protector seemed shocked at her words.
 
He looked at her as though she didn’t understand why he did it in the first place and why he had to do it now.
 
He scrunched up his face in an angry mask.
 
“No.
 
I can’t turn back now.
 
I can’t.
 
Don’t you understand?
 
You must believe me.
 
I did this for you, for us, for David, for our family.
 
Now stand back and let me finish this now.”

Sally didn’t stand back.
 
She started moving forward again.
 
“Peter, I love you with all my heart, but you can’t do this.
 
You just can’t.”

The Protector couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
 
Just as Sally reached him, he screamed and pushed her to the floor.
 
“Don’t you see I did all this for you?”
 
He wanted to make her understand.
 
Now he was crying too.
 
He turned back toward Ben and pointed the gun at Ben’s chest.
 
Ben raised his hands.
 
Sally screamed.

Suddenly, a blast rocked the garage.
 
Ben dove behind the table.
 
A second blast slammed into the safe behind him.
 
He heard a thump, a moan and another blast.
 
Something hit the floor.
 
Then, a couple of seconds later, one final blast.
 
The sounds boomed like a cannon in the confines of the garage.
 
The blasts deafened him.
 
His ears rang.
 
He couldn’t hear.
 
The acrid smell of gunpowder filled the air.
 
Ben lay on the floor behind the table as still as possible.
 

The smell of gunpowder grew stronger and Ben looked up and saw wisps of smoke floating over him.
 
Trying to remain as quiet as he could, Ben rolled and looked back under the table toward where Peter
Renfroe
had been standing.
 
Gazing through the legs of the table and chairs and around
bankers
boxes, Ben saw a body crumpled a few feet from him, its arm outstretched.
 
He vaguely heard Sally’s screams as though they were coming from miles away.
 
Ben got to his knees and moved around to the corner of the table.
 
He saw the outstretched hand less than three inches from an automatic pistol lying on the floor.
 

His ears still ringing, no signs of movement, Ben slowly pushed to his feet.
 
Peter
Renfroe
lay motionless on the floor.
 
Sally lay over her husband sobbing.
 
Behind them in the doorway of the garage, a .45 caliber pistol raised, smoke wafting from its barrel, its owner staring transfixed at the body on the floor, stood Brad Funk.
 

“Brad,” Ben said not knowing how loudly he was talking.
 
He still couldn’t hear himself.
 
No answer.
 
“Brad,” he said again, this time louder, trying to get over the sound of Sally’s wailing.
 
Still no response.
 
“Funk,” he screamed.
 
“Funk,” he screamed again.
 
Then a sliver of recognition and Funk’s eyes slowly moved and met his.
 
“It’s okay,” Ben screamed, his hands out in front of him as though trying to slow traffic.
 
“Put the gun down.
 
Put the gun down now.”
 

Slowly, Funk nodded and lowered the gun about a foot, then another six inches.
 
It was still pointed in the general direction of
Renfroe
on the floor.
 
“Be careful,” Ben said.
 
“Don’t shoot me.
 
It’s okay.”
 
Ben inched forward and slid the gun further out of
Renfroe’s
reach with his foot.
 
Gradually, Funk seemed to be regaining his senses.
 
It was as though someone had slapped him in the face and he was beginning to come to.
 
Ben moved forward and looked closely at
Renfroe’s
body.
 
Sally cradled him in her arms and held him as she cried, her body heaving with each breath, but she could do nothing for him now.
 
Blood began to seep from beneath him and cover the front of her clothes.
 
Ben watched the blood trickle off of her left knee and puddle on the floor.
 
There was no doubt this time.
 
Shot three times, Peter
Renfroe
, the Protector, was gone.

56

Two hours later, Ben and Brad Funk sat in the lobby drinking their second beers.
 
By then, Mark had joined them, having finally been located at home,
summoned
by Ben to serve as Funk’s attorney in the event that there were unexpected problems with the police.
 
Funk had fired three shots, the first of which struck
Renfroe
in the back, staggering him, but allowing him to get off a single shot as Ben dove to the floor.
 
Funk’s second shot dropped
Renfroe
and his third, fired with
Renfroe
laying on the ground and reaching for his dropped gun, finished him.
 

Ben called 911 and the Ithaca Police were there within minutes.
 
Shortly thereafter, he found Nelson’s cell phone number in his office and called him as well.
 
Detectives Nelson and Cole arrived about an hour later, and they were out in the garage now conferring with the Ithaca Police, who had taken control of the crime scene.
 
Ben did not allow Funk to talk to the police until Mark had arrived.
 
Rather, he explained what happened since it had been Funk, not himself, who had fired the fatal shots.
 
By now, Funk had fully regained his senses, yet the impact of what had occurred was certainly not lost on him.