“This is tops for you, darling!” Agnes screamed, her face radiant.
“Dad, I don’t want to sound like a know-it-all,” Tommy yelled. “But, tell me, do you know what a chief of police is?”
“No, son. You tell me,” Ruddy said.
“You are going to be a Little Caesar in that Brentwood Park police station. Your discretion is almost unlimited. Gee, nothing like this ever happened to us before. Hot diggity dog!”
Ruddy doubled his fist and nudged it tenderly under Tommy’s chin.
“Take it easy, boy. You know I’m no Hitler!” He grew serious. “Folks, come in and sit down. We’ve got to hold a family council.”
“Goody, goody,” Agnes crooned, dancing into Ruddy’s den.
“Dad, I got a million questions to ask,” Tommy announced.
“And I’ve got a million questions to ask you,” Ruddy said, grinning, pushing Tommy into a chair.
“Darling,” Agnes asked, “did you expect this? Had you any notion when that Mary Jane called this morning?”
“I knew nothing,” Ruddy said, sitting. “To tell you the truth, I thought I was being called on the carpet about something. I didn’t care, really, though. I thought my record’d save me.”
“But what happened?” Agnes demanded.
“I’ll get to it,” Ruddy soothed her. “Let me tell it my way. You see, what happened was this: Branden was killed…and—”
“We heard that,” Tommy and Agnes chimed together.
“Well, Commissioner King really tricked me,” he admitted. “He was making me accept it before I knew it. I knew nothing when I got to headquarters.” He leaned forward in his seat and smiled at his wife and son. “I hope you’re not angry. I—”
“You’re crazy,” Agnes sang.
“Dad. Dad! Chief,” Tommy murmured.
“Thanks, folks,” Ruddy sighed. “The board of directors votes me a dividend—”
“And elects you chief,” Agnes said, smiling mistily.
“Now, I got to work,” Ruddy said. “Look, I—”
“Let’s leave your father, Tommy,” Agnes began.
“No, no!” Ruddy checked their standing up. “For once, my work starts in my family.” He paused and stared at Tommy. “My first conference as Chief of Police of Brentwood Park is now coming to order. Tommy, they tell me that you studied that region last year and—”
“I’m still studying it, Dad,” Tommy declared, looking at the floor.
“Oh! I see,” Ruddy said. He laughed. “They’d call it graft if I put you on my payroll. But I must ask you some things. For instance…what the hell’s happening in Brentwood Park?”
Tommy stared at his father, bit his lips, and then rose again and walked the floor.
“I don’t want to sound off,” he said, obviously trying to control himself. “Maybe you’ll think I’m crazy. ‘What’s happening in Brentwood Park?’” He repeated Ruddy’s question. “Life, Dad. Life’s happening there.”
There was a long silence. Agnes glanced from her husband to her son and leaned forward tensely.
“Yeah. Go on. Explain it. I’m waiting,” Ruddy said.
“Who can explain life?” Tommy countered.
“Aw, son. Come on. Get down to brass tacks,” Ruddy chided him. “I’ve got to deliver. I can’t say that to the commissioner.”
“I know that,” Tommy agreed. “And that is what makes it so difficult. I’m not trying to dodge. I’m trying to find a way to tell you what’s happening so that you can give the higher-ups a hint, a glimpse, see? Now, Detective Heard’s son and I went over that joint with a fine-tooth comb—”
“You knew ’im?” Ruddy shot out, a policeman now, even though he was talking to his son, his flesh and blood.
“Yeah, Dad” Tommy grinned. “He was a personal friend of mine.”
“I know that,” Ruddy said.
“Really? How? Who told you? When?” The questions came tumbling eagerly.
“The commissioner told me,” Ruddy said.
“Oh!” Tommy exclaimed and stared off. “How did he know?”
“From Ed Seigel, another detective,” Ruddy said.
“Oh! I see.”
“Now, how did Heard’s son die?”
“How did he die?” Tommy repeated the question. Then he grew solemn and self-conscious. “He was killed—they say.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know, Dad.”
“How well did you know this Heard boy? Charles was his name, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah, Dad. I knew ’im well. Very well. We worked together, as I told you.”
“But why would anybody want to kill ’im?”
“Gee”—Tommy scratched his head and stared off—“I don’t know.” Tommy looked at his father, then his mother. Then he broke into a loud and long laugh.
“What’re you laughing about?” Ruddy demanded sternly.
“Excuse me, Dad. But you see, in our studies, we don’t study such questions.”
“What do you study?” Ruddy asked and did not know that he had asked it. His mind was suddenly lost in a region that was alien and frightening to him.
“We…w-we s-study about why hasn’t he already been killed?” Tommy said stammeringly.
“What?” Ruddy echoed.
“What do you mean, Tommy?” Agnes asked, her lips parted.
Tommy sighed, laughed again, and sat down.
“Dad, what I’m going to say to you will sound wild and crazy,” Tommy began. “In school we are trying to understand things just as they are. You ask me: ‘Why was Charles killed?’ And in our studies we asked: ‘Why is Charles not being killed?’ Sounds crazy, eh? Well, it is simply because you’ve not heard the question put before. Now, wait—does that mean we are advocating Charles being killed? No, no. There’s more meaning in that question than you think, Dad. The question is: ‘What is it that keeps people from killing Charles?’ That takes us into history, into law, into the ideals by which we live.” Tommy paused.
Ruddy stared, looked nervously toward the bottle from which he had taken a drink, but did not move.
“Yeah,” Ruddy said dryly, “go on.”
“Dad, do I make any sense to you?” Tommy asked with eager passion.
“The law that I uphold, that I swore today to uphold, says that you must not kill.” Ruddy spoke slowly, heavily. “That’s the law I took an oath to keep.”
“But who’s behind that law?” Tommy asked with breathless passion.
“What? Who’s behind it? Hell, it’s the law,” Ruddy bellowed.
“Okay, okay,” Tommy agreed. “But where did it come from?”
“The people made the laws,” Ruddy said.
“Sure, sure,” Tommy readily agreed. “But what people?”
“The American people, you dope!” Ruddy shouted.
“Okay, okay,” Tommy murmured, smiling, looking off. “I see what you mean. Look, Dad, this is the first time we’ve talked about this. That’s why I’m going easy, see? Sure, I know the people made the laws. They elected people to represent them, and those people made laws that the people accepted. But how long ago was that? Do the people who now live under those laws believe in them? Was there ever a time in the whole history of the human race when murder was more popular? Was—”
“What in hell are you taking about, son?” Ruddy demanded.
Tommy giggled and sighed. He looked at his father and said, “This is going to be hard. But you’re my father and you’ll have to listen. I’ll make you listen.”
“Tommy, shut up! You’re crazy!” Ruddy shouted.
“Tommy, you never told me about this,” Agnes stammered.
Tommy rubbed his hand nervously over his mouth.
“Back of law are people,” Tommy began, “and back of people are the beliefs of the people. Those beliefs come down the ages and most people are unaware of how they come and what they mean. Even when people stop believing in their beliefs, they still walk around repeating them but negating them
by their actions. Now, now, take it easy, Dad. I know: we’re talking about Brentwood Park. I’m talking about it, too, but in a general and abstract way. I’ll get to those murders later on. Every now and then in history men meet, argue, fight, and finally embalm their so-called beliefs in great documents. The Bill of Rights. The Rights of Man. The Magna Carta, and so on. But history rolls on. Slowly time, usage, progress, saps the meaning of those documents. And men are unaware of that sapping. Now, when those men created those documents and forced kings at the point of death to honor them, those men felt that those documents embodied not only what they felt deep in their hearts but also what the universe endorsed. God wanted those documents enacted, those men felt. Now, the time that sapped the meaning and validity of those documents was impersonal. No cynic destroyed the meaning of those documents. Gangsters had nothing to do with it. Thieves did not plot it. Forgers did not tamper with the writing. Inventions, discoveries, etc., made those documents useless. But the people did not know it. So they went on living by the word of those documents while they really obeyed the living spirit of their times. Now, let’s get to Brentwood Park. Something happened over there that runs counter to the laws that you just swore to enforce. Who’s breaking those laws? Bad men? Gangsters? Thieves? NO! The men whose forebears made those laws. Why? Because they don’t really believe in those laws anymore; they don’t feel the need for them. The laws don’t serve their interests anymore. They have outlived the usefulness and meaning of their laws. So that is why I asked: Why should not Charles Heard be killed? I’m not advocating his death. I’m simply calling to your attention that there just does not now exist in this state or nation any real hindrance to the killing of the thousands of Charles Heards. That’s my point, Dad.”
In the silence that followed, Ruddy sighed, rose, and walked about the room with steps so heavy that he jarred the parquet. He paused, stared at Tommy, whose eyes avoided his, whose lips drew deep and nervously upon a cigarette.
“If I felt like you, I couldn’t be a chief of police,” Ruddy said.
“Dad, it’s going to be hard for you in Brentwood Park,” Tommy told him. “It’ll not be like enforcing the law in a Black Belt area. There, the folks believe in the law even when they violate it. They do it sneakily, in the dark, sweating and trembling. They know they are doing ‘wrong’ when they do ‘wrong.’ But in Brentwood Park the law is violated in the light of day, in the sunshine, with hundreds looking on.”
“They’re criminals just the same,” Ruddy ruled.
“No. They’re just folks having a good time,” Tommy corrected his father. “They feel no guilt. That’s the main thing. It’s hard to catch a criminal who has no sense of guilt.”
“All I’ve met so far have felt guilty,” Ruddy said uneasily.
“In Brentwood Park you meet some who don’t,” Tommy said.
“Well, you oughtn’t try to discourage your father,” Agnes said in a troubled voice.
“He’s not bothering me any,” Ruddy said too loudly. “Ha, ha! Looks like I’m going to have some help right in my home this time with my police work. Tommy, I’ll test out some of your ideas.” He rubbed his palms together to indicate an eagerness that he did not feel. “Well, wife, how about some grub? How do you expect a starving man to do a decent job of being a chief of police?”
CHAPTER 7
The late breakfast was filled with laughing chitchat; Ruddy felt sleepy and even the strong black coffee did not help him much. And beneath his hunger and lack of sleep the job he had to do slumbered stirringly.
“Tommy, when did you start visiting the Brentwood area?” he asked, pushing back his chair from the table and lighting a cigarette.
Tommy hesitated and nudged his father in the ribs with his elbow. “Am I a suspect?” he asked, grinning.
“No. I’m wanting to know how well you know the place,” Ruddy said.
“Oh, about a year ago,” Tommy said, shrugging.
Ruddy’s lips opened as if he were about to ask another question, but he remained silent. He yawned.
“I got to lie down and try to sleep,” he mumbled.
“Come, darling,” Agnes coaxed. “Let me tuck you in.”
“What’re you doing?” he asked her gruffly. “Trying to baby the chief of police?”
“That’s exactly what I’m going to do,” Agnes said. “Your poor eyes are heavy with sleep.”
“Okay. Lead me to that bed, baby.” Ruddy grinned meekly. “See you, Tommy.”
“Take it easy, Dad,” Tommy called out in a seemingly false voice of joy.
With her arm affectionately entwined about her husband’s sturdy waist, Agnes led Ruddy into the bedroom.
“Tired, darling?” she asked in a whisper.
“Yeah. And excited too,” he confessed.
“Pull off your clothes and lie down and—”
“Naw. Just my shoes. Captain Snell’s coming at four o’clock.”
“Want a sleeping pill?”
“No, no. Just a little relaxation.”
He slipped off his shoes and eased himself onto the bed; Agnes sat beside him and put her cool, soft palm on his brow.
“What a day,” she whispered to him.
“You can say that again,” he murmured, eyes closed.
“Are you glad?”
“Yes and no.”
“Why no?”
Ruddy was silent for a long time. Agnes moved her hand and stood.
“Sleep.”
“No,” Ruddy said quickly, opening his eyes and lifting himself up on an elbow. “Say, Agnes, when did Tommy start doing this fieldwork in Brentwood Park for his course in sociology?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Agnes said, frowning. “Oh, yes. I think it was at the beginning of February—the beginning of the first semester. I’m sure of it.”
“Why? How?” Ruddy asked, the policeman in him forcing him to demand logic from his wife.
“Why? Because it was—”
“Right after that affair he had with that girl, wasn’t it?” Ruddy asked excitedly.
“Yes, that was it.”
“Agnes.”
“Yes.”
“What in hell happened with Tommy and that girl? Do you know?”
“No more than what he told me,” she said.
“He was engaged to marry her,” Ruddy summarized. “And then he broke it off. Or she did. What happened?”
“He wouldn’t tell me,” Agnes said.
“Goddamn,” Ruddy growled. “I don’t know that boy of mine. He’s my son and I don’t know a thing that is happening with him.”
“Oh, don’t say that, darling,” Agnes protested. “You know him as well as I do. Tommy’s right here every day and—”
“I don’t know ’im!” Ruddy almost shouted.
“No, darling. Don’t shout. He’ll hear you and—”
“I’m sorry.” Ruddy was suddenly contrite. “But don’t you see what I mean? He was engaged to marry. Then it’s off. And I couldn’t get a goddamn word about it out of ’im. Now, tell me, didn’t he say something to you? Didn’t he tell you anything?”
“Nothing, Ruddy,” she said. “I didn’t want to press ’im. He was in such a state. I thought I’d make ’im feel worse. A father maybe could get it out of him better than I could.”
“I told you he wouldn’t talk to me,” Ruddy complained. “All I could get out of him was that he didn’t want to speak of it. That he was all right. Always he said: ‘I’m all right.’ I don’t like that. Look, think back. That morning he went to buy that marriage license…what happpened?”
“Nothing. He went out. Just before he left, he told me confidently that he was going to get the license. He was smiling, eager, excited, and all…then he left. Two hours later he came back. He looked green, pale, sick. I was scared. I asked him what was wrong. He said, ‘Nothing. But that marriage is off.’ That was all. I kept at ’im and he started yelling. ‘Leave me alone!’ That was all. I touched him. He was as cold as ice. He was swea
ting. He had had a shock of some kind. There was no doubt about that. And soon after that was when he said that he had quit his field studies in the Black Belt and was working with that Heard boy in Brentwood Park, wasn’t it?”
Agnes stared, then started. Then she forced a laugh.
“Good Lord, Ruddy,” she exclaimed in a whisper, “you’re not linking Tommy’s doing that with the murder of that Catholic priest?”
“I didn’t say anything about that,” Ruddy protested quickly. “I just want to know when he began studying that area, that’s all.”
“Oh, I thought it was about the girl you wanted to know,” Agnes said innocently.
Ruddy gaped. Yes, deep in him there had been stirring a vague thought about that. Ruddy had quit his studies in the Black Belt right after his marriage was put off, and it was soon after that he had begun frequenting Brentwood Park.
“If Tommy was studying in that area about that time, then he could tell me a lot about the atmosphere and attitude of the people there,” Ruddy said, rationalizing his mood.
“But he knew nothing about that murder or the other one,” Agnes said stoutly.
“Yes,” Ruddy said. “It is not about those killings I want to ask him but about the population, see?”
“Oh.”
“And he knew that Heard boy when he was killed,” Ruddy maintained.
“Yes. He told us of it before we read it in the papers,” Agnes remembered.
Ruddy felt a desire to ask Agnes if she recalled the exact date and time of his son’s speaking of that third crime, but he desisted. No, that would make Agnes feel bad. Goddamn, he was acting too much like a cop about his son. Yes, he would talk to him. But that talk would have to be different from the one he had had a little while ago.
“He’s a stranger to me,” Ruddy burst out.
“Who?”
“Tommy.”
“Oh, no. Don’t say that. You sound angry,” Agnes chided him.
“But, dammit, a father ought to know his own son—”
“We all have our secret places, places that we don’t want others to touch or poke,” Agnes said. “Something that hurt him happened with that Marie. I know it. I feel it. And I think the best thing to do is leave it alone.”
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