I swore I could feel the hot trickle of the coffee all the way down my gullet and into my stomach. That’s another thing, I thought. When I was a kid, my digestion was always good, no matter what I ate or when I ate it. Enough of that. Straighten things out, let the lesser things fall away, and maybe the old stomach’ll even out, too. I downed the last of my cup and filled it again, then grabbed my coat and hat and went out to the porch to wait for Bobby.
* * *
“Chesterfields, Pete,” said Bobby, considering the cigarette he held between bony fingers as he drove. “Know what they taste like to me? Just like chocolate cake. Can’t live without ’em. Wouldn’t want to.”
“I don’t see it,” I said. “I don’t like chocolate cake.” I thumbed through the files from the coroner’s inquest that Bobby had obtained late the night before. I forced myself to look at the photographs long enough to burn the images into my memory. Atop the pile of grisly pictures, there was a studio head shot of Jane Hardiman. I thought the photo might have been made for a debutante’s ball. You could see the darkness in her, the anger, even with the lovely smile on her lips and the way the studio lighting fell down over her wavy pressed hair. Her eyes were calm and reminded me of the Rembrandt pictures I used to look at as a boy. Like one of those pictures the sad old painter had made of himself toward the end of his time, she seemed to look out onto the world with living eyes. The photograph, without color or breath, was more lively than my paltry memory of our brief meeting. You should have known, her eyes seemed to say—a trick of my sorry mind. She was dead; she was clearly gone, as I had seen too plainly for myself, and it was only ink and paper before me now.
“That’s why I always give two bits to the kid collecting for the cigarette fund for the boys over there, see? ’Cause I’d be crawling the walls in two minutes if I ever ran out.”
“Shut up, will you? I can’t read and listen to your flapping gooms at the same time.” I scanned the written report. Cause of death: suffocation, evidence of garrote around neck, though several dozen superficial knife wounds had been carved into the girl, most prior to death. Carpet fibers mashed into all the wet and bloody places. No trace of semen but severe damage to genitals and anus, presumably from the broken-off broom handle found protruding from vagina. It had not been quick. It had not been done in a fit of passion or stupidity or jealousy. I read the worst parts over and over until I could carry the girl’s violation deep in the pit of my belly. I wanted to let it stain me enough so that I wouldn’t have to think when the time came for action.
Finally I looked up from the papers—I could not afford to lose the use of my only eye. I looked over at my partner and noted the darkness under his eyes, deepening to black toward the base of his bony nose. I said, “Jesus, Bobby, you look like a toilet.”
“Time enough for sleep in the grave.”
“If you don’t sleep, you won’t be able to do anything right. You’ve got to give the old carcass a chance to catch up.”
“Black coffee and Chesterfields, that’s what I need,” Bobby replied, smiling thinly. “Listen, Pete, maybe you don’t understand how serious all this could be for us.”
“I got it fine.”
“I mean that somebody, almost anybody here, if he had a mind to, could make real trouble for us. Just takes one call to the Old Man and we’d be in it up to our chins.”
“Like Hardiman? What’s he got to gain by rolling on us?”
Bobby stretched his long fingers over the top of the steering wheel. “I don’t worry about Hardiman so much. See, he’s in it up to his neck already, and there are some things that just can’t be smoothed over, no matter how much money you might have. I’m being funny now, when I shouldn’t. But you know, I usually walk around with half a feeling that everybody is out to get me. That just helps to keep me alert to what’s going on. In the usual case, though, I might joke about it, but it’s not really so true—got me? In regular times, there’s always somebody you can count on being in your corner. With what we’re stepping into now, though, who can say?”
“You think Mitchell’s on the funny side somehow?” I asked. “In a tough spot like this, he gives us what to work with? Johnson and Walker?”
“You can bet,” said Bobby, “that Mitchell’s got other pots going on the back burners. But I don’t worry that much about him. I’ve made my place skating over the top of things—I’m a slippery guy and all of that. But this here … it seems like the heat is melting things. We don’t have a place to stand.”
My brain continued to plod along, as if I had ever been able to get to the bottom of any problem by a simple process of going through the elements one by one. “Well,” I said, “Johnson seems like a good kid. But Walker’s hard to read.”
“You’ve got to figure that Walker—and every other colored officer on the force—knows what you did to that colored boy. That’s still a raw spot. You’ve got to understand that it’s always going to figure in the social situation.” Bobby scratched at his stubbly chin. “But that’s neither here nor there. What I’m thinking, and what’s been bothering me, is that something’s going on and nobody wants to say what it is. It’s like we’re being set up for something.”
“Sure, you got it right. You and me, huh? Who’d be better for the job? We can do all the dirty work, and we’ve both been under the bridge enough to take the heat if it comes down to that. Who’ll miss us if it doesn’t fall to the good side? Just now the big fish are taking notice of us, that’s all. Maybe we’ve been lucky it didn’t catch up to us before now.” I felt a dry pang of hunger work through my gut. “Or it could be that you’re spooked because you need some sleep. What do you think, Mitchell isn’t telling us something? Then why would he send his own nephew to get mixed up in it?”
Bobby said, “Maybe Johnson isn’t on the level.”
“Nah,” I said, “that kid’s a Boy Scout if I ever saw one. But I’ll tell you what. You take Walker aside and see what he’s found out. He’s not likely to spill too much with me around anyway. I’ll take Johnson and see what’s what.”
“Pete,” he said, sliding to a stop at the curb, “I have to take the blame for dragging you into this. I honestly thought—”
“We’re partners, aren’t we?” I took a long look down Beaubien at the spectral figures already hustling to their offices. So early in the day, and the heat already made everything waver like a mirage over the concrete. “Just make sure you get me out of it.”
* * *
“Jesus, Johnson, I told you to scratch that notebook,” I said. I stood with my foot on the dressing bench while Johnson smoothed his tie. We were alone in the locker room except for the attendant, who puttered out of earshot, fixing a mop head to a handle.
“I know,” he said. “But it makes me look official. When I’m talking to someone, if I’m writing, they get an idea that I might give them a ticket or something. When they know they haven’t done anything I can arrest them for, sometimes they talk a little funny. You know how it is. But a ticket, well, they know that’s going to cost them something, and they might not think I’m so funny after all.”
“Don’t get too smart too soon, Johnson. That notebook won’t do you any good if some big nigger decides to knock a sap across your skull.”
I studied Johnson’s smooth face. The young patrolman was different from the boys I had hired in with so many years ago. Back then it was a good job for a big boy to try out for. Maybe times had changed. In the old days, it wasn’t a full day if you hadn’t cracked a wino or a racket boy with your nightstick. Simple fear let you do your job and let the decent folks know they’d better stay decent. But I could see that Johnson would never walk a beat in the way that it used to be done. He didn’t look like he’d smack anybody’s mouth just for being lippy. Still, he’d grown up with his father as the sheriff in Kalkaska, and the men from the lumber camps up that way weren’t soft. He must have seen some of that.
I said, “What’s the story with you and Walker?”
/> “As I think about it now, I should’ve let Walker go in by himself first, to see if he could shake something loose. But we both went in together, so we didn’t get much. I don’t think even Walker, by himself … you know how it is.”
“How is it?” I asked.
“Even though he’s one of theirs, so to speak, even though he’s a colored man, when he steps up wearing that uniform, they clam up on him. I think it’s even worse for him than me.” Johnson stopped to think. “We didn’t have much in the way of colored folks where I grew up. We had Indians.”
“Listen, Johnson,” I said, “this isn’t a job where you can afford to be soft.”
“I know that, Detective. I don’t intend to let anyone get the best of me. But I just keep thinking about different ways to get around the problem.”
“Things have been bad between the Negroes and the police since long before you were born. You’ve got a lot of ideas now, and maybe you’re thinking you’ll be able to do a little something about it. That’s all right. From where I’m sitting, I know you’ll get over that.” I leaned closer to him. “But for now, what we’re worried about is cleaning up this little mess without going down the toilet ourselves. I expect you’ll do what you’re told so I don’t get shot in my ass while you’re off talking or thinking somewhere.”
“I can follow orders.”
“I expect you can follow orders,” I said. “I don’t care about that. But I get the feeling lately that I’m stepping into a big heap of something smelly. I aim to come out on my feet. Can I count on you to help me out with that?”
“Well,” said Johnson slowly, “Captain Mitchell gave us clear instructions to follow your lead.”
“Is that all he told you to do?”
“I don’t follow you.”
“What I’m asking you, Johnson, is if there’s anything fishy going on that I should know about.”
“You mean between me and the captain.”
“That’s right.”
“Well,” said Johnson, “let me ask you something. Is it true you once knocked Joe Louis down in a scratch fight?”
“That’s true enough,” I said. “But he was just a kid then.”
“Then there’s nothing fishy going on.”
I looked hard at Johnson, and he looked right back. We stared at each other till I was satisfied. I said, “So you didn’t find anything to speak of.”
“Hold on,” said Johnson. “I didn’t say that. We were getting the stiff-arm from everybody, sure enough. I was getting a little hot, I guess. It’s hard not to take it personally. But Walker was all right, so I kept as cool as I could. Anyway, we got to a place a few doors down from Pease’s building, just as dumpy—I guess I’d hate to live like that, just the smell of it—and we rapped on one door. You could hear the old man talking long before he dragged himself to the door. ‘I’m coming, I’m coming,’ he says. ‘You got my boy?’ He opens up the door finally. It’s an old man hobbling around with two canes. I can’t say what’s wrong with him except he looks like he’s jumped off a grain silo. His legs are all splayed out so bad that he’s walking on the inside of his ankles.”
“I don’t give a shit what he looks like,” I said.
“I know, I know. But I’m just remembering. You told me I couldn’t write anything down. The old man figures we’re there to help him find his grandson. Starts mouthing off a little. Walker tries to calm him down, you know, tries to talk to the old fellow, but he wasn’t having any of that. He starts cussing us out. ‘You think my grandson jus’ run off? He a altar boy down to the Holy Sepulcher—’”
“Did you get the boy’s name?”
“I didn’t want to look too interested, and Walker was doing the talking. The boy didn’t come home Thursday or Friday night. And I looked up Holy Sepulcher, it’s only—”
“I know where it is,” I said. I stroked my chin for a moment, sliding my thumb and forefinger slowly over the places I’d missed shaving. “Tell you what, Johnson. You go down to Sepulcher and have a word with the priest, have him keep an eye out for the boy.”
“I think I can do that.”
“And keep it under your hat, got me?”
Johnson nodded. “I can do that, I guess. I get the feeling I’m lying when I leave Walker out of it, though.”
“Walker can take care of himself,” I said. “He’s a grown man.”
“I don’t worry—it would just be easier to be able to treat everybody the same. Wouldn’t have to remember so much to keep the stories straight.”
“Everybody’s not the same.” I stood up and worked out the kinks that had formed all down my spine. “If everybody was the same, we wouldn’t have a job.”
I turned away and walked slowly out of the room. Johnson closed his locker and followed. We made our way down the stairs to the old interrogation room. I wondered if Captain Mitchell was like Johnson when he started out on the force. I couldn’t see Johnson ever getting that hard without going through a war, as Mitchell had. It seemed clear to me that Johnson would be moving up in the department, though, with or without his uncle’s help. It was like he walked onto the job expecting advancement. What did he think of me? I guess I’ve always had one foot out the door. With everything I’ve done and everywhere I’ve been, I never quite felt like I belonged on the inside.
“You wouldn’t believe it at first,” Bobby was saying as we entered, “but it’s true. Just like chocolate cake.” He looked up and waved an arm as a theatrical introduction. “Caudill and the boy wonder have arrived.”
“Morning, Detective,” said Johnson. He nodded to Walker.
“Listen, Pete,” said Bobby. “I was just telling Walker about my rules for living.”
“He doesn’t seem amused.”
“It’s not a laughing matter,” said Bobby. “We’ve got just a short time here, just one life to live. Any shortcut you can get to figure things out is going to help you in the long run. Am I right, Walker?”
“If you say so, Detective.”
“Can you tell Detective Caudill what you told me about Pease?”
“Well,” said Walker, “if he wants to hear it.” He paused for a signal from me and satisfied himself with my attention. “Johnson probably told you that we didn’t find much of anything. The folks in the neighborhood weren’t happy to see us. They didn’t give us much. I gather they didn’t think much of Mr. Pease. He didn’t seem to have any friends among his neighbors.”
“You think that might have something to do with the fact that he liked going around with white girls? How would something like that go over in the colored district?”
“Jesus, Pete, do we need to get into that?” Bobby asked.
“That’s all right,” said Walker. “Detective Caudill is trying to get the lay of the land. I can understand that. He’s right. I don’t expect Mr. Pease was well liked down there for a number of reasons. He was going about with white women, it’s true. That’s one thing. But he was also known to be a thief with a criminal record. Johnson and I heard some whispers about possible use of marijuana. We also managed to figure out that Pease was a pickup man for the numbers racket over there. Now, colored folks tend to look fairly well on the numbers. They have the idea that they can make a little money with it.” Here Walker paused. He seemed to hope that Johnson might pick up the tale. Then he said, “But I guess in this respect, colored folks are something like white folks: We don’t like men like that in our neighborhoods, where our children walk to school and play on the stoop.”
I guess he might have been directing this last comment toward me. It struck me so, but I couldn’t say why. I said, “So, boiling it down, we don’t have a clue where Pease might be.”
“Do we know who’s heading up the numbers down there?” Bobby asked.
“He was getting to that,” said Johnson. “I made a few calls and picked up the name. Rufus Beamon. Turns out that’s an old friend of Walker’s.”
I was thinking about Johnson making a “few calls,” but I sa
id, “That so, Walker?”
“That’s right,” said Walker. “We grew up together over in the Valley. You might say we were partners in trouble in the old days. You know how boys go. But old Rufus kept a liking for troublesome ways.” He paused and pulled a drink from his coffee, gone cold. “It took the better part of the rest of the day to track him down. I spoke to him, and he claims he hasn’t seen Pease for a few days.”
I felt like my skin was getting red all over, like I was flaming up somehow. I was dizzy. It was me and not Walker, I guess. Maybe it was my blood fizzling out from not eating. But all I could think was I’d hate to have to sit in on a poker hand with him. Not only don’t I know what he’s holding, I’m getting so I don’t know what’s in my own hand. It seemed that Walker was talking directly to me, trying to stir up something personal, but I couldn’t really say that he wasn’t just being polite. If he was playing, I couldn’t beat him, and I couldn’t even say if he was playing. I managed to say, “Could you tell if he was on the level?”
“I’ve always known Rufus to be an easy liar, but he knows me, and he knows I haven’t been putting any extra money in my pocket. If Pease has gone missing, it wouldn’t mean much to Rufus. He could get another pickup man anywhere. Rufus wouldn’t go to any trouble for him. So I would say he hasn’t seen Pease.”
“Bobby,” I said, “can we lean on this guy?”
Bobby shook his head slowly. “Not without drawing a lot of attention.”
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