by Jerry Brown
"My wife," he mumbled, still slumped and looking at his lap.
"Sir?" Robert responded.
"My wife usually leaves the television on all day while she does housework."
"Oh God!" Robert muttered. "Mr. Stump, does your wife know Mrs. Porter?"
"She knows her, but they ain't close."
"Please call your wife and have her arrange for someone to be with Mrs. Porter until you two can get there?"
"Sure."
While Uriah Stump used his phone, Robert stood over the slumped figure of the father, his hand on the man's back. Mr. Stump returned to the room and nodded to Robert, who assisted the man to his feet. Mr. Stump moved into position and took Robert's place. When the two left, Robert Kingwood fell back in his chair, rubbing his eyes with his palms. The medication had not been effective in relieving the throbbing in his head.
The following morning, Robert telephoned Auntee Lois, the wife of Uncle Easy, explaining to her in general the events of the previous afternoon. He apologized for missing her dinner party that evening. She attempted to cheer him up, as he knew she would, and offered to help in any way, as he also knew she would. She agreed to accompany him to the Porters that morning.
Arriving at the house, they were surprised by the absence of cars parked in front. Likewise, they were taken aback by the absence of family and friends in and about the house. Robert and Lois were greeted by a large woman with a shiny face who introduced herself as the Mrs. Stump. As they moved past her, she reached for her purse on the couch and began inching toward the door where she stopped. "Thank goodness y'all are here. I been here all night and morning. I needs to leave. Mr. Porter ain't here. Meet with somebody is all he told us. That man has done gone off the deep end and left that poor woman to deal with all of this misery by herself. I don't know who I'm the most worried about, him or her, but I know who I am most put out with."
"Who is it, Miz Stump? I'm up now" said a voice behind the front door. As the woman approached, Robert Kingwood's first impression was that she fit in a category in the black community that he referred to in family conversations as "the slow comers". Characteristically, black couples in their 40's, openly upwardly mobile members of the lower middle class, whose every outward appearance, whether in type or color of clothing and hairstyle, or even posture and gestures were toned down. His father described them as "restraints". Uncle Easy's word was "neatnicks". The faint derision of the tone carried the covert recognition that this group would spawn the power structure of the next generation.
When Robert looked into Mrs. Porter's glazed eyes, a shade went down on his thoughts. Despite his lifelong association with funerals and grief, he had never seen such pain.
He began to talk with the intention of introducing himself and his aunt when Lois moved quickly to the woman, holding up her hand to shush him. Although the woman was slightly taller and heavier than Lois, she crumpled into her embrace. No tears, no sounds, but her closed eyes screamed the mother's overwhelming pain. Still holding the woman, Lois took control. He looked for Mrs. Stump, but the woman was gone. Holding Mrs. Porter, Lois turned to him. "Robert", she never called him Robert before. "You go on and call me tonight. You don't need to be here. See if your mother can come over later this afternoon." She then turned and helped the woman from the room, leaving him standing there. His mood improved little, if any at all, over the weekend. He missed the easy feeling that usually came from the weekly dinner with his extended family. Saturday night on the town with an attractive young woman, visiting various clubs and haunts was always an ego trip and the highlight of each week, but he could not generate the interest. The reason was not simply his outrage over what had happened to the Porter child or his feelings of ineptness in handling matters with the child's parents. He began to question his ability to handle the job of mayor and was mentally kicking himself for dumping the problem on his aunt, notwithstanding her reassurances after he drove his mother to the Porter house and picked her up.
Sharing her experience with him, Lois recalled that initially, Mrs. Porter remained tightly gripped within herself and she merely stayed close and maintained physical contact. As Mrs. Porter began to loosen, so did her speech, first rambling and then in gushes. She told her that she heard the news reports about the body and its condition from television. She knew in her heart it was Laurell, but she tried to deny it to herself. When she watched her husband return, all her defenses evaporated and she dissolved into tears before he even made it inside the house. Lois conjectured that before the tragedy began, the woman had all she wanted in life and it was all encapsulated within her home. She was content being a housewife. It was enough for her to have her son and husband close to her and the television to entertain her. In an instant, her son was gone under conditions of horror, her husband had withdrawn into himself and related only in expressions of hatred, and the television was no longer a source of entertainment and diversion. All she had left was her house that was no longer a home.
"She's a strong woman, T", the aunt explained. "But she is very much alone. They have few close friends or outside activities. They keep themselves pretty much aloof from neighbors."
"Well, that pretty much fits the way I had them sized up," Robert said as he drove. "Her anyway. I never got to make any judgments about him. I was too busy tryin' to put out fires." As he looked over to his aunt sitting beside him, he was surprised to see her dabbing her eyes with a crumpled tissue, then blowing her nose. He said with concern as he reached over and touched her arm, "You're really making me feel guilty. Here I have wasted the weekend feeling sorry for myself, and here I put you through all that. I realize now that it was too rough on you."
"No, I'm glad you did." Lois reached in her purse for her compact and busied herself with repairing her makeup. "I wasn't cryin' for myself, but for her. Your mother and I will get together and see that she is not alone. By the way, before I forget it, Mrs. Porter mentioned that her son's only close friend was a white boy his age. Weeks back a person from some black group came up to the father and let him know that it was offensive to them. No specific threats were made, but Mr. Porter got the message. He made the child promise not to play with his friend in the park or walk home from school together any more. I don't know that it means anything, probably doesn't. Most hate-freaks are all bark and no bite unless they got a crowd around them. The police might want to check it out though."
Robert nodded while slowing the car for a turn. "I'm glad you mentioned it, because the police certainly need to know that. She didn't know the name of the group, did she?"
"She may have, but I don't think so. She was just talkin' and I was just listenin' and lettin' her go wherever she wanted to. I'll be with her again; and, when the circumstances are right, I'll find out, if you want me to."
"I very much want you to. The family is not very receptive to further contact with police detectives right now," Robert answered.
"T, I'd never try to tell you what to do." She turned in her seat and touched his arm. "You know that, but you had better find someone from the police who can get to that daddy. You don't want him workin' against ya'll, and there is no tellin' what he might do or say. Do you hear what I'm sayin' to you?"
"Yes, you bet I hear," he answered. "Do you think he would agree to counseling?"
"Nope, not yet, but I'll work on Mrs. Porter and let you know when he is."
They continued in silence along the crowded downtown streets until they reached her house. As he stopped and placed the gearshift lever in park, Robert turned to his aunt and began: "Auntee Lois, I..."
She faced him, placing a finger to his lips and then the tips of her fingers to his lips and said, "Shhh! I know you're grateful and we are always thrilled to help you, but now you've got to help us. Quit feelin' sorry for yourself and get yo' prissy little ass in gear." She grinned, "We all got too much ridin' for you to be wallowin' around. You gotta fly, Baby. You want me to get Easy and yo' daddy after you?"
He smiled and r
eturned, patted her on the shoulder and said: "No ma'am, I'll suck it up."
"Well, get it on then."
Renee Aubrian was exhausted. Driving from his office, thoughts rambled through his mind. He didn't know why. It had been a tough week but most were ,especially around Carnival. Things usually calmed briefly once the holiday came to an end, not this year!
The division meeting went about the way he thought it would. He had opened, allowed Flint and Johnson to present the case to the other detectives, and he had closed. There was the expected grumbling and groaning. The officers had been on extended hours for the several weeks of carnival season and their hopes for respite, relaxation, and returning to unfinished assignments had been dashed. Nevertheless, he knew that they would do all that was expected of them and that each of the detectives would be "up and at it" early the next morning, scouring the city, to press their pimps and sources.
His most immediate concern was the administrative meeting the next morning, which was being arranged by Stokely. After that, he would begin to structure the investigation, assigning Flint to establish FBI liaison and submitting an incident report to VICAP. Johnson would be instructed to reestablish contact with the parents, or should it be Flint or maybe one of the more intimidating black detectives. Perhaps he should give more thought to that consideration. He would need teams to scour the neighborhood and question any golfers who may have been playing the course in the park on the day of the offense, maybe just one detective at first. There shouldn't be many folks playing golf on Fat Tuesday in that weather but if by chance that had not closed the course, there would be some. He thought he had better send someone to the school, interview teachers, and find out who the kid usually spent his time with. Then there were the juvenile authorities. Maybe the Porter kid was into gang activities or drugs. He's young but, hell, what's young any more, he thought. Why in the hell am I doing this to myself. These procedures are all rote. I don't even have to think about it. Maybe the information is already out there. Perps talk. Thank God they talk. They have to brag. That's how most cases are solved. Hell, I think I need a double scotch up at Tujaques. They usually pour a fair drink. What the hell, better make that two.
The following week was tense for Robert, his full attention turned to the Porter case, coordinating with Landry, and responding to constant media demands while trying to calm and reassure. He was "suckin' it up", but no one had to tell him that he was able to accomplish little more than an uneasy truce. While he thought that the pressures on him were stringently intense, he was soon to know that this period was actually the calm before the storm. There had been no break in the case. Increasingly outrageous rumors resulted in the greater community becoming polarized along racial lines, notwithstanding the centered efforts of Robert and local religious leadership.
Chapter 6
The weather in New Orleans had begun its moderation into spring, or that was the impression Reverend Righteous got as he sat in his Detroit apartment watching the television coverage of an interview with the New Orleans police superintendent. He peeled back a red velvet drape by the gold fringe to view a wind driven icy rain adding another layer to the slush below. An idea began taking root.
Dropping the drape and skirting the room, Reverend Righteous admired his face in the mirror and ran his finger along the heavily oiled hairline of his forehead then flipped one of the long, tight curls behind his right ear. Heh, heh, what I lost in front, I made up for in the back, he said aloud to no one, still looking in the mirror. He then bared his teeth to inspect the gold cross embedded in an incisor. Wearing only a silk undershirt and shorts, he posed sideways and snapped the elastic at his waist. Fat and fine! he commented. Fat and fine! He returned to the window and pulled back the drape again. Damn, what'cha gotta put up with to eat in this damn place. He dressed himself and waited at his desk for the arrival of the two bodyguards who came for him each day at mid-morning. Looking around the dimly lit large room, it occurred to him how routine his life had become.
A familiar rap sounded at his door, he disengaged three locks and immediately turned, walking to a closet. Two men entered. There was no conversation. The lanky dark man sat on the edge of the desk without invitation. The other helped Righteous with his overcoat. Without comment, the Rev led the way out the door, the two men following closely behind. All placed dark faux fur caps on their heads before they left the building. The street was all but abandoned. The three men trudged through the sludge, their hands clasping the lapels of their coats at the collar as they bent to face the weather. Entering a nearby restaurant, the guards went directly to a table while Righteous strolled about the room stopping at each table and making animated conversation. A waiter entered the room carrying a tray loaded with three identical plates piled high with scrambled eggs, sausage, hash browns and biscuits. Righteous caught his eye signal. In response he walked quickly to the table. Socializing ended. The three men greedily consumed the food. Finishing the food quickly, Righteous led the two men back to his apartment. He shook the icy residue from his coat and dried his face with a towel, once again studying the mirror as he patted his hair dry. While regarding his image, he addressed the two men standing nearby awaiting his instructions. "Willie, Punch, this is what I want you to do. Ya'll both take your rides and have Lugene take mine. Take four big brothers with ya'll and head for New Orleans this afternoon."
Willie answered guardedly: "When we got to be there?"
"I want you there Sunday night so's you'll be rested Monday morning. Want you to scout out four adjoining rooms in the fanciest hotel you can find and be ready to pick me up at the airport Monday afternoon."
"Hell, we'll leave in the mawnin', get there in plenty of time. Got heavy plans this evenin," Willie countered, taking care to grin widely while rocking from one foot to the other.
Righteous' eyes hardened at Willie. "No, that ain't what I told you to do. Get your shiny ass in the road this afternoon. You're going to drive under the speed limit all the way," he said, shaking his head from side to side. "Can't have no redneck cop checking no serial number on those wheels, even if they ain't registered to me. Don't want to spend my time getting you out of jail. Need you to have things ready for me. Just do what I told you to do, EXACTLY like I told you and call me when you get there." He pointed his finger at both men. "Can't be worrying with you now. I'm going to be rattlin' cages and lightin' some fires from here in the meantime." He lowered his voice in a boastful manner. "Time I get there everybody in the country will know I'm coming. Every reporter in the south'll be there to meet me. Be scared they going to miss something."
Willie, his lower lip protruding, grumbled under his breath, "I know whose cage you gone be rattlin'."
"Son, if you want to keep your job, don't you worry about what I'm gonna do." Righteous said adjusting his collar. "I know how to handle my end. Just get out'ta here and get gone and do what you're supposed to do down there!" he barked. "Wait up and turn to the wall."
Reverend Righteous walked over to a large safe, placed his body between himself and his cohorts to block their view while he worked the combination. He quickly opened the safe door and grabbed a one inch stack of fifty dollar bills. Thumbing the corner of the stack as if counting them ,he moved to his desk placing the money in a large manilla envelope. He then handed the package to Willie. "Give 'each driver fifty dollars a day for gas and pay for their rooms out of this. Just make sure you don't ride along together. It'll draw too much attention. Meet every night someplace and give them gas money in the morning so they don't drink it up at night." Once Willie departed, Righteous seated himself at his desk and flipped open the telephone directory. He then dialed long distance information for the number of the mayor of New Orleans. As he dialed and fingered his curls, his voice automatically lowered an octave adopting the affectation of ministerial inflection.
Breaking her conversation with Robert, Joni leaned across the front of the mayor's desk, catching the phone on the first ring. "Mayor Kingwood's office." S
he listened then placed her hand over the phone to mute her words. "This is someone called Reverend Righteous, do you want to talk with him?" Robert wrinkled his brow and shrugged. He remembered the name, but couldn't match a face with it. He shrugged again and said, "Why not." He took the phone away from Joni and leaned against his desk. Enunciating very carefully in his practiced way, Righteous began, "Mayor Kingwood, this is Reverend Righteous calling from Detroit. Mr. Mayor, my parishioners have come to me to express their concern over the news of what has happened to that child in your city," he said.
Robert stuck his tongue between his lips and rolled his eyes. "How do you do, Reverend," he replied. "I'm pleased to talk with you. Are you talking about the Porter child?"
"Yes, the Porter child. I could tell my people nothing more than what they already knew, so I thought I would ask information of you directly.”
"As you know, Reverend, the investigation has only just..."
"Yes, I understand that the investigation has just started, but what I am asking you is, do you have reason to believe that arrests will be made soon?"
"First of all, let me thank you for your interest and concern", Robert answered, beginning to feel his rhythm. "In a crime of this sort, the solution might come today or..."
Interrupting his adversary and taking control again, Reverend Righteous responded indignantly: "So you have no way of knowing. Okay Mr. Mayor, I see it will be necessary for me to come and see for myself!"