A Movement Toward Eden

by Clark Howard

  “And that was how it went with Molly and Dan and their baby?” Dr. Fox asked.

  “Yes. Keyes arranged to have Molly released for a week of shooting on the pretext that her mother was critically ill—he’d use anything for an excuse, any lie at all, to get his own way. Anyhow, Molly got off and got rid of her problem and had a few days rest and then went back to work on the picture, and that was that.”

  “How did you feel about all this at the time, dear, do you remember?”

  “Yes, I remember. I felt pretty much the same about it as Keyes did, I guess. I thought Molly was stupid for letting herself get into a fix like that when it was so easy not to. But I thought, too, that it was good in a way because I knew that Keyes was insuring that much more guaranteed income for the future and that it was my future as well as his; and I was happy when he told me all about it because I knew he didn’t confide things like that even to his wife, and it pleased me that he put so much trust in me. You see, Doctor, I was still in my protege stage then; I was sleeping with Keyes by then, of course, but that’s as far as it had gone; he hadn’t started me on liquor at that time, and I hadn’t yet reached the point where I was so much under his influence that I would let him teach me all those things that he—that I—all those—perverted—”

  “All right,” Dr. Fox interrupted, “let’s not go into that just now—”

  “You always say that!” she suddenly screamed at him. “Can’t you stop saying that? What if I want to go into them now, don’t you think I have a right to? Do you think I want to forget the things he made me do?”

  “Abigail, dear, please try to control yourself. You know it does no good to—”

  “You want me to forget, I know you do!” she screamed hysterically. “You don’t want me to remember what it was like being an animal!”

  “Listen to me, Abigail,” Dr. Fox said firmly. “Here, take my hand as I’ve shown you—”

  “I won’t forget it, I won’t, I won’t, I can’t, I mustn’t! If I forget, it might happen again, he might get me again and do it all over again, all—over—again—’ ’

  She let out a piercing shriek that rose to a frightening level before it was voided suddenly by a sharp click as the recorder was switched off.

  Eleven

  Janet Sundean herself met Devlin in the foyer of her aunt’s mansion when he arrived at the engagement party. She held both her hands out to him and at once began scolding him affectionately.

  “You damned mystery man, where in the world do you keep yourself? We’re never able to find you anymore!”

  Devlin took her hands in his and kissed her routinely on the forehead. “Since when do you use words like ‘damned’?” he said mock-sternly. “Is that what you learned in finishing school?”

  “Oh, nuts to finishing school,” she retorted, “I’m all grown up now. Or maybe you hadn’t noticed?” She stepped back to give him a full view of her well turned young body, attired just then in a smart cocktail dress.

  “I see what you mean,” he conceded. “Perhaps I’m aging.”

  “You, you’ll never grow old,” she scoffed. “You haven’t aged a day since I was ten. Men like you are an eternal thorn in the side of womankind. And speaking of womankind, there are a couple of ladies here tonight just dying to find out first hand whether you’re for real or were made up by some James Bond-type writer.”

  “Sounds to me as if someone has been telling colorful crime stories again. Like you, maybe.”

  “No, sir!” she protested indignantly. “You can blame it on your ardent fan Mr. Holt this time. He spent two hours at a party last weekend telling everyone about the many exploits of Devlin the Great, racket-buster unique and nemesis of all evil. ”

  “How nice,” Devlin said sourly. He looked beyond her into the crowded room. “Where is the young chatterbox? ”

  “Come on, we’ll find him.”

  She slipped her arm through his and led him into a quite large, mirror-walled dining room set up with party tables, a lavish buffet, and bar. Some thirty-odd guests already had arrived; Devlin, however, saw only an occasional familiar face as he crossed the big room, for most of those present were from the society set of which, by birth and disinclination, he was not a part.

  They found Todd standing at the far end of the room with two other men: a tall, elegantly dressed Negro and an older, almost seedy-looking man smoking an ornately carved pipe.

  “Well,” Todd feigned surprise, “is it really you, back from the dead?”

  “How are you, Confucius?”

  “Confucius?”

  “Yes,” Devlin said dryly, “wasn’t he the great storyteller?”

  “Oh, I see,” Todd said, “somebody’s been tattling.” He looked scornfully down his nose at Janet. “If there’s one thing I can’t tolerate, wench, it’s a woman who talks too much.”

  “Practice what you preach and you won’t get into trouble,” Janet retorted, stepping nimbly out of range as Todd aimed a slap at her pert little bottom. “Bye, everybody,” she said sweetly, moving off toward the buffet line.

  “I can see that you two are going to be ecstatically happy,” Devlin remarked.

  “She’s the sunshine of my life,” said Todd. He turned to the two men with whom he had been talking. “Gentlemen, this is the notorious Mr. Devlin, of whom I’m sure you’ve heard me speak. Dev, meet Dr. Price and Mr. Chace.”

  The three men shook hands.

  “We’ve just been discussing the recent U.S. Supreme Court rulings,” Todd continued, “and have unanimously agreed that the majority of that esteemed body ought to be impeached. Particularly Mr. Warren.”

  “Well,” Devlin smiled, “I’m sure you’ll be able to find some support for a theory like that, especially if you solicit federal agents.”

  “What’s your opinion of the situation, Mr. Devlin?” Dr. Price asked. “From a professional law officer’s viewpoint, I mean.”

  “Regarding what specifically?”

  “Oh, the self-incriminating confession, for instance,” the doctor said randomly, speaking around the stem of his pipe.

  “I’m really not qualified to comment on that one,” Devlin said. “What you’re referring to is a problem that affects a prosecutor. I’m an investigator; I seek factual evidence that will convict, rather than depending on an interrogation that results in a personal confession.”

  “Yes, but what about an instance where there is no factual evidence, where there’s nothing but the criminal’s confession?”

  “Such as,” Todd interjected, “that fellow Bruner who murdered his wife and four children, and was let go because his conviction had been based solely on his own statement.”

  “And,” added Barry Chace, “the infamous Boston Strangler, Albert DeSalvo, who cannot even be brought to trial for the dozen or so murders to which he has freely admitted. ”

  “I think those are somewhat isolated cases, aren’t they?” Devlin said.

  “They are, admittedly,” Dr. Price conceded. “But today’s exception may very well be tomorrow’s rule.”

  “Statistically speaking, that is the trend,” said Barry Chace.

  “Barry is a statistician,” Todd explained to Devlin. “He knows what he’s talking about.”

  “I’m sure he does,” Devlin said. He busied himself with extracting a cigarette from his coat pocket and lighting it, all the while watching Todd’s face as his young friend turned to Chace for substantiation.

  “How long have you been making your private study of the statistics of modern justice, Barry?” he asked for Devlin’s benefit.

  “About seven years now,” the tall Negro replied. “I first became aware of this somewhat unusual trend while I was working toward my master’s degree. The Chessman case brought it to my attention—do you remember the Chessman case, Mr. Devlin?”

  “Yes, certainly.”

  “A man condemned to the gas chamber as a kidnapper, sex pervert, habitual criminal and general terrorist against society. Yet
for eleven years he managed to evade his punishment simply by relying upon the insecurity, indecisiveness and basic weaknesses of the modern judicial system. His punishment was not swift and sure, as it should have been; rather it was slow, confused, involved—to the point where this completely degenerate man came dangerously close to actually being turned loose into the community again. His lawyers, you recall, used the courts’ indecision to their own advantage by claiming that keeping Chessman under sentence of death all those years amounted to cruel and unusual punishment, which constituted grounds for his release. It was a very ingenious legal manuever; as a matter of fact, if they advanced it today, they’d probably get away with it.”

  “The fact remains,” Devlin said quietly, “that they did not get away with it then, and that Chessman was never let back into society.”

  “Chessman, no,” the doctor put in pointedly, “but Bruner has been released; he’s a free man today—”

  “Free to kill someone else’s wife and children this time, if he feels like it,” Todd said almost viciously. Devlin gave him a quick, curious glance. Todd, he knew, was headstrong and impulsive when stirred by a cause in which he believed; but Devlin could not recall ever having heard him speak with such obvious venom. Vehemently, yes, but never malevolently. Mustering a smile, he laid a fraternal hand on his young friend’s shoulder.

  “Justice always seems to work out in the end, though, doesn’t it,” he said easily. “Except in those very rare cases—”

  “That’s just the point, Dev,” Todd said tightly. “Those very rare cases are becoming more and more frequent all the time. Barry here can tell you; his head is full of figures and percentages that prove beyond any doubt that modern justice has reached the point where it’s actually working in favor of the criminal element!”

  “I don’t think you really believe that,” Devlin said.

  “Of course not,” said Dr. Price. “Not the way he just expressed it, at any rate. But what he means, Mr. Devlin, is that our principles of justice today have evolved to such a refined, sophisticated level that they have become over-protective of the criminal to the detriment of society as a whole. Justice, you see, must grow stronger as the ethics and morals of mankind deteriorate. Our justice, unfortunately, is weakening.”

  “Do you believe that mankind’s ethics and morals are deteriorating?” Devlin asked.

  “Don’t you?” Dr. Price parried. “I should think a man in your position, working as closely as you do to the sordid side of life, would be the first to agree that the stature of our species is very definitely on the decline.”

  “Perhaps you’d care to be more specific,” Devlin quietly challenged.

  “If you like.” Dr. Price turned to Barry Chace. “Roughly how much did the population of the United States increase last year, Barry?”

  “Slightly more than two-and-a-quarter million,” said Chace.

  “Percentage?”

  “Approximately one-point-two per cent.”

  “One-point-two per cent. All right. Now be as precise as you can on these next figures. What was the increase or decrease percentage-wise of, let’s say, forcible rapes in the United States?”

  ‘They increased twelve per cent.”

  “Ten times as much as the population increased,” Price, said to Devlin. Then back to Chace, “How about armed robberies?”

  “Up six per cent.”

  “Five times greater than the population increase,” the doctor pointed out. “Murder?”

  “Up three per cent.”

  “I’m fully aware, Doctor,” Devlin said, “that the crime index is rising. But you can hardly consider that a basis for condemning the whole of civilized society.”

  “I don’t,” Price answered confidently. “On the contrary, I wish that the figures pertaining to the so-called non-criminal element of our society were as low as those Barry just quoted; but unfortunately they are not. Shall I illustrate?”

  “Please do,” Devlin said, his voice now grown cool. Dr. Price turned again to his human computer.

  “Just off the top of your head now, Barry, let’s see how the respectable side of society is living. How were liquor sales last year?”

  “They increased sixteen per cent,” the tall, immaculate Negro answered.

  “Illegal abortions?”

  “Known cases showed an increase of nine per cent.”

  “How about legal forms of gambling? Race tracks, Las Vegas, that sort of thing.”

  “Up twenty per cent. ”

  “Juvenile delinquency?”

  “Up three per cent.”

  “Divorces?”

  “Up two-and-a-half per cent.”

  “Recorded cases of venereal disease?”

  “Roughly a five per cent increase.”

  “Drug addiction?”

  “That took a big jump, thanks largely to LSD. Up about nineteen per cent.”

  “How about known instances of incest?”

  “Up three per cent.”

  “Drunk driving?”

  “Up seven per cent.”

  “Business fraud?”

  “Against the general public, up about twelve per cent. That includes such areas as false advertising, fraudulent packaging, and other types of fraud aimed at the average citizen. Specific business frauds perpetrated against selected individuals increased about nine per cent.”

  “So in every case,” Dr. Price pointed out to Devlin, “the particular illegal or unethical practice showed an increase at least twice that of the population growth, and in many cases—as a matter of fact, in most cases—the proportion was much greater than that; usually five to ten times greater.” The doctor removed his pipe from his mouth and stared almost solemnly at Devlin. “If that isn’t an indication that the human race is going straight to hell, Mr. Devlin, then I don’t know what would be.”

  A pall descended over the intimate little group as Dr. Price’s quiet, confident voice fell silent and left hanging among them the ominous point he had made. Devlin, whether he liked it or not, knew that he had been placed in the position of adversary to the doctor’s reasoning; but there was, he knew, no logical argument to the cold, hard statistics put forth by the unperturbable Barry Chace. Assuming that the doctor’s computer-minded companion was correct in his figures, the picture they drew of civilization’s destiny was, at very best, a bleak one. But, as Devlin knew, such trends were never beyond reversal. Many countries now proud and strong, had in their past been forced by circumstance to the task of overcoming the often bloody tyranny and godless treachery of their own people—and inevitably the few had overcome the many, and right had reigned again. Not the least of those lands had been that of Devlin’s own heritage: Ireland. And yet Ireland lived and thrived; so nothing was hopeless.

  “What do you think of those figures?” Todd Holt asked.

  “I’m not really sure yet what I think of them,” Devlin hedged, and countered with a question that to him was infinitely more important. “How do you feel about it?”

  “I’m with the doctor,” Todd said levelly. “I think we’re going straight to hell, all of us, unless we do something about it.”

  “What do you think should be done?” Devlin asked.

  “Well—” Todd began, then hesitated and glanced quickly at Dr. Price. The doctor was watching him intently—perhaps, Devlin thought, even anxiously; and, Devlin also noticed, Barry Chace’s normally unreflective features seemed for a brief moment to tighten, to tense slightly. Finally Todd merely shrugged, as if he did not have an answer at all, and raised his glass for a drink.

  “Perhaps,” offered Dr. Price in the awkward silence that followed, “it’s too serious a subject for such a pleasant occasion as our young friend’s engagement party.” He smiled and lifted his own glass. “To the happy couple.”

  Barry Chace drank with him, after which the two men excused themselves to join the buffet line, leaving Todd and Devlin alone.

  “You’re keeping unusual company these days,” D
evlin remarked with a smile after the doctor and his companion were out of earshot.

  “They are brilliant men, both of them,” Todd said almost defensively.

  “Yes, so they seem,” said Devlin. But, he thought, there are directions of brilliance. Hitler was brilliant too, but his was a negative brilliance.

  Todd was watching him closely, as if, now that they were alone, he expected Devlin to speak detrimentally of the two men who had just left their company; but Devlin, realizing that he knew nothing at all about Dr. Price or his friend Chace, other than their left handed opinion of present society and modern justice, and suspecting with a growing uneasiness that his friend was somehow intimately associated with the men, decided that his best strategy for the present was to avoid any further conversation about them; so he merely nodded toward the bar and mentioned that he had not yet had a drink since arriving.

  “You can thank my scatterbrained betrothed for that,” Todd said dryly. “She was so busy informing on her fiancee that she forgot her manners. Come on, we’ll remedy that little handicap for you.”

  With fresh drinks they retreated to the edge of the party and gradually made their way through open French doors to the lighted patio. Todd seemed to be relaxing somewhat and Devlin made a subtle attempt to ply him into casual conversation.

  We haven’t seen too much of each other lately,” he said. “Been keeping busy?”

  “Fairly so,” Todd told him. “Had a lot of pretty involved corporate cases this last session, most of which had to be carried over for further arguments at the next sitting. The C.J. will be damned busy when the next session gets underway; the whole court, for that matter. ”

  “How is the old boy?” Devlin wanted to know. “I haven’t seen him tonight, incidentally—”

  “He’s supposed to be along later; and he’s fine, as usual. You know him.”

  “Yes, I do,” Devlin said thoughtfully, a fondness in his voice. He put his glass on a low brick wall that separated the patio from the lawn, and took out another cigarette.