“I think so. You know him?”
“Not offhand. I might dig up something. Some of my boys used to be users.”
Judge Sheffield said, “I see your point, Mr. Gray. But this could head in half a dozen different directions. Do you have any evidence that the Udall boy didn’t kill Ann Avery?”
Gray said slowly, “No, I don’t.”
“Is there any doubt about Udall’s guilt in your mind?”
More slowly than ever, Gray said, “At this stage, I have to suspend judgment. I can’t work any other way. Eddie may be guilty. He may be innocent. But I can’t believe either one until—until I’ve got more to work on.”
Sheffield shook his head. “We just can’t take the time,” he said firmly. “If you can give your opinion on whether the boy is fit for disposition by juvenile court, I’ll be very glad to have it. But there can’t be any more delay.”
Gray said, “I can give an opinion. But I do think that further investigation—”
“Mr. Gray,” Judge Sheffield said, “I’m sorry. I’ll certainly take into consideration the things you’ve brought up. But on this single question I’d appreciate an opinion right now.”
Gray heard himself saying with a strange remoteness, “I think he’s unfit for disposition as a juvenile.”
The judge said quietly, “Thank you.” He glanced from face to face around the room. “Anything else? Then—”
He touched a button under his desk. The door opened to admit the bailiff. The judge said, “We’re ready for the Udall case now.”
Gray watched the door.
Four people filed in. Eddie Udall came first, with a guard behind him. They sat down in chairs facing the judge’s desk. Behind the guard came a small woman full of quick, tense motions, and a large, slow man. The woman looked as if she had assembled herself very fast on short notice. Her skirt was unzipped at the side, and in the front of her graying hair two tightly wound curls were still pinned flat, as if she hadn’t had time to comb out her hair. The man was big and gray, with a square, placid face set in lines of worry that looked unaccustomed.
Both kept glancing behind them as if they had expected a fifth person to follow them in. But nobody came. Gray heard the woman talking about it in a vigorous whisper.
“Disgraceful…ought to be dragged in…boy’s own mother, and she doesn’t even—”
The judge cleared his throat and tapped the desk with the edge of the folder he held. The talking quieted. Gray could feel now how much strong emotion had come into the room with these people. There is always this sense of violent feeling in a juvenile hearing, the small room compressing so much fear and resentment, hope and anxiety, that even bystanders react to it.
The small, tense woman paused behind Eddie and stooped to whisper in his ear. He turned his head briefly and looked up at her. It was an eloquent look, briefly held. Eddie looked down again almost at once. But Gray had caught the flash of affection and trust on Eddie’s face and he knew how the boy really felt about his foster parents.
The judge coughed. “Mr. and Mrs. Reiner,” he said, “we appreciate your coming here today. As Eddie’s foster parents, your help will probably be needed before we can reach a conclusion about Eddie’s future. Especially”—here he glanced at the door “—since Mrs. Udall doesn’t seem to be here today.”
Mrs. Reiner bounced a little and started to speak. Her husband’s hand on her arm quieted her.
Gray recognized a shift in the focus of the hearing now. He, Polk and O’Donnelly had moved into the background, and the situation had subtly shifted toward formality.
Sheffield said, “This is a very serious matter. We’re all anxious to reach a decision that will be to the best interests of everyone concerned. Now, I think we all know what the situation is.” Nevertheless he outlined it briefly and clearly, and Gray felt, quite objectively.
Judge Sheffield said, “Mr. O’Donnelly, would you like to add anything?”
The assistant probation officer said, with a slight formality, “I think Eddie’s been trying hard since he was put on probation. It hasn’t been easy for him, but he’s been doing well, outside of a few matters that weren’t too serious.” He went on rehearsing what he had already reported. Gray watched Eddie. Not the slightest reaction showed on the impassive face.
Judge Sheffield said, “Mr. Reiner, is there anything you’d like to say?”
“I don’t think Eddie’s told the—” Mrs. Reiner began.
The judge held up his hand. “Mr. Reiner first, please.”
Reiner said slowly, “I don’t think I can say anything. Eddie’s been doing okay while he was with us. Like Mr. O’Donnelly said, there were a few things, but not too many. They’re all in the record, I guess. He was still seeing the Witczak kid, but—” Reiner shrugged.
Mrs. Reiner said, “Matt Witczak’s a hoodlum. But it was that woman. She was the trouble.”
“What woman?” Judge Sheffield asked. “Mrs. Avery?”
Gray, watching the Reiners, saw an almost imperceptible stiffness go over them both. Reiner neither moved nor spoke, but Gray caught the definite feeling that he was somehow signaling his wife. Mrs. Reiner said, less aggressively,
“I meant Eddie’s mother. The way she treated him—”
“That’s all in the record,” Judge Sheffield said. “What we’re interested in now is Eddie’s future. How do you feel about his chances from now on?”
“He’s a good boy,” Mrs. Reiner said without reservation. “Give him half a chance and he’ll make good.”
Reiner added, speaking slowly, “There’s nothing wrong with Eddie. Nothing important. I’d still put my bets on him.”
The boy’s sullen features darkened with his scowl. Judge Sheffield nodded at him.
“All right, Eddie. It’s your turn now. You’ve heard what we’ve been saying. What do you think about it?”
Eddie slowly raised his eyes to the judge’s face. He looked belligerent, rebellious. He glanced once at the door, and a little flicker of feeling showed briefly on his face. Gray wondered why, and then thought he knew. Everyone here had glanced toward the door more than once, looking for Blanche Udall. But Blanche wasn’t here. She wouldn’t be here. To Eddie it must have seemed like one more episode in a long chain of rejections, his mother failing him now as she had done all his life. Once more he must have felt himself valueless to her, and therefore worthless.
“I got nothing to say,” Eddie told the judge.
Judge Sheffield said, “This isn’t a court trial, Eddie. We want to do what’s best for you, but we need your help. Do you understand that?”
“Yeah,” Eddie said.
“You got in trouble, six months ago. But since then you’ve been trying hard and doing well, until this new trouble came up. How about that?”
Eddie said suddenly and loudly, “I don’t give a good God-damn what you do to me. I’ll bust out of any lousy kids’ camp you send me to. I’ll bust out of any jail you—”
“Eddie!” It was Mrs. Reiner.
Sheffield held up his hand to silence her. He still watched the boy, who had stopped abruptly.
Gray leaned forward, tense with sudden excitement, waiting for what came next. Procedure tied his hands and he couldn’t speak, but he knew a crisis when he saw one. At times of emotional climax like this a patient sometimes reaches important new insights. Now was the moment for Gray to use all his skill as a psychoanalyst to try to uncover whatever secret the boy was hiding, perhaps even from himself. But all he could do was watch.
Judge Sheffield said calmly, “What do you think should happen to you, Eddie?”
But Eddie’s brief crisis was over. Now the solid, furious sense of resistance he felt was almost tangible.
“I’m through talking,” he said.
“If you have anything to say, I want to hear it,” the judge told him. Eddie only shut his lips tight and looked blankly at the wall.
Sheffield tried again. It was useless, and everyone knew it. Finally
the judge signaled to the bailiff and Eddie, still silent, left the room with his guard. The Reiners stood, hesitating, at the door. Sheffield gave them an impersonal, dismissing smile, and unwillingly they went out.
Sheffield let his troubled gaze move from O’Donnelly to Polk to Gray.
“All right,” he said, picking up his pen. “You’ll be handling the case, Polk. I’m declaring the boy unfit for disposition by juvenile court.”
Gray drew a long breath. He had known this would happen.
But he knew, too, that his own efforts had only begun. He couldn’t stop now.
8
As Gray hurried out to his parked car, he heard a hail in a familiar voice. Captain Zucker came toward him.
“I heard about it. So it goes to a jury now.”
Gray nodded. “At least that’ll give some more time for investigation. I think this case needs it. It smells a little, Harry.”
“I can’t smell it. This is the best way. Don’t you trust the Public Defender?”
“Of course I do. But I still think the case is incomplete. I can’t hand the Public Defender the kind of evidence he could accept yet. But—”
“Sure, I know,” Zucker said. “Motive. Personality. Emotion. There’s a limit to what you can do with psychoanalysis, Mike.”
“There’s a limit to what you can do with police work. But the two approaches can dovetail. I’m not through yet.”
“Look, Mike, just lay off, will you? Drop the whole thing. As a favor to me?”
Gray stared at him. “What’s this? Are you crazy? Just yesterday you were strong-arming me into the case.”
“Just yesterday the pressure wasn’t on from up top,” Zucker told him frankly. “After that newspaper piece about you and Udall, the brass decided to take action. That’s why the hearing was moved ahead. And look at what happened to you last night. We’ve kept it out of the papers—so far. But any more publicity and there’ll be hell to pay. Right now people are phoning in about rat packs every time they see kids playing baseball in the street. You’ve done your job, Mike. Now just lay off and forget it.”
Gray said angrily, “I told you when I took this on I’d have to follow through if I thought it was necessary. Well, I think it’s necessary.”
Zucker flushed. “I’ve got my orders, Mike. No more publicity. I can make it official if I have to. Right now I’m just asking. Lay off.”
“After last night?” Gray demanded. “You know what the man said—if I didn’t keep the case in juvenile he’d send some more callers. What am I supposed to do, be a sitting duck?”
“The man on the beat will be watching out for you,” Zucker said. “Your door’s okay now, and nobody can get in your windows. We checked. We’re working on it.”
“So am I,” Gray said flatly. “I’m going to talk to Eddie’s mother. I’d like to see that teacher of his he had the trouble with. And I want to talk with the Reiners. After that, if I don’t turn up anything solid, I’ll quit. But not until then.”
Zucker grimaced. “Oh, hell, Mike, go ahead if you’re so set on it. But for God’s sake, play it safe. Whatever you do from here on in, I don’t know anything about it. And no more publicity.”
Gray said quickly, “That’s fine, Harry. I’ll get in touch with you.” He turned and walked rapidly toward his car, moving as fast as he could for fear Zucker might change his mind.
The early dusk was falling as Gray walked down a hall that smelled immemorially of chalk dust and children. A light burned behind the glass panel of a classroom door with the all-inclusive word SCIENCE lettered across it. Gray hesitated briefly, wondering if he ought to knock. The old uncertainty of childhood was back around him with the unforgettable smell of the school building.
This is part of what it’s like to be a child, he told himself. This constant wondering what the correct thing is to do, even in the simplest circumstances. Their world at best is so full of uncertainties, violent humiliations, violent triumphs. If only, he thought, they wouldn’t make it so hard to sympathize with them…He remembered Eddie.
He turned the doorknob and pushed the door open a little.
“Mr. Quentin?” he said.
A voice told him to come in.
Quentin had a thin, handsome face and narrow, stooped shoulders. An untidy heap of examination papers spilled across his desk, and he scrawled a large red D on the paper in front of him as he looked up.
Gray introduced himself. Quentin didn’t get up or offer his hand. He only nodded. “You phoned about Eddie Udall,” he said. “Well, sit down.” He waved at a scuffed chair.
Gray gazed at him consideringly. He had no specific questions to ask. Intangibles were what he was hunting. Intangibles and some nagging question that had been floating in his mind ever since his first talk with Eddie. He couldn’t pin it down, but it was there. He connected it somehow with Quentin. Maybe if he just talked at random, the memory would clear itself up.
“I’d like to hear what your impression is of Eddie as a student,” he said to Quentin.
The teacher said, “It’s too late for anything like that now, Mr. Gray. The thing’s happened.”
Gray stared at him. It took several seconds for him to realize what Quentin meant. Then he said,
“Yes, Ann Avery’s dead. It’s too late to do anything about that. But Eddie Udall’s still alive and he needs help. Even if he’s guilty, he’s got to have help if he’s ever going to be anything but a burden to society. And if he isn’t guilty—”
“Do you doubt it?” Quentin asked.
Gray rubbed his eyes. “I wish I knew. I wish I could make up my mind one way or the other. What I’m trying to do now is just that, I think.”
Quentin nodded. “I know what you mean.” He pushed the papers on his desk away from him with a hand that shook a little. “I’ve had a rough time since the—the killing. Hard to handle my classes…This has upset me. It’s so—brutal.”
“Aren’t all murders?”
Quentin drew his thin shoulders together as if he felt cold. “It’s the violence,” he said. “In this whole school, this neighborhood. I try—we all try to do what we can. But it’s like trying to handle wild animals. There’s a—a violence in them. I don’t know what to call it. Under the surface—this killing rage. We’re not out of the jungle yet. The whole world’s too close to the jungle. I don’t know what’s going to happen. Right now the struggle doesn’t seem worth it.” He let his shoulders sag.
“Was Eddie like that?” Gray asked quietly. “One of the wild animals?”
Quentin said, “I don’t want to talk about this. Can’t you ask somebody else?”
Gray thought, “Why do you react so strongly to this, I wonder? Eddie was only one of hundreds of kids you’ve taught. What does the death of Ann Avery mean to you?”
Aloud he only said, “I’m going to talk to other people, too, of course. But you know Eddie from a different angle. He liked his class work with you, didn’t he?”
“Sometimes I thought so. Other times—” Quentin shook his head unhappily. “What kind of new generation is growing up in the world, anyhow? They don’t act rational. They hardly act human. Civilization’s been handed along from father to son for five or six thousand years, and now all of a sudden we get a generation that won’t accept it. Sometimes I think they’d be better off living in caves.” He laughed suddenly and shortly. “I’m exaggerating—I guess.”
“About Eddie,” Gray reminded him. “He tells me he had some trouble in the lab not long ago. Is that true?”
“He smashed some equipment, yes.”
“Do a lot of damage?”
“Depends on what you call a lot. He was working on an experiment after class. He couldn’t make it come out right. So he suddenly just smashed the retort and the tubing. Glass all over the table. I should have reported it, I guess, but I tried to give the kid a break.”
Gray said, interested, “That’s the only damage he ever did?”
“Isn’t it enough?”
In Gray’s mind three or four little matching facts seemed to click over like tumblers in a lock. He shut his eyes for a moment and said, “Wait, let me think.”
This was the thing he’d been reaching for. This trivial, boasting lie Eddie had told. And the way Eddie had looked as he claimed he had completely wrecked the lab. The floating question that had slid so naggingly out of sight every time Gray reached to grasp it suddenly submitted to being touched. He knew now what the idea had been.
He saw Eddie’s incongruously clear skin flushing red as he boasted of wrecking Quentin’s lab. It flushed again when he had said—what? Something about the Reiners. He’d been asked if he liked the Reiners, and he’d said indifferently, “Just fair.” But it wasn’t true. He did like the Reiners. He liked them very much. They were the closest thing to real parents he’d ever had. Out of his mind’s deep trouble he had had to reject them. But it wasn’t true that he had no feeling toward them.
Eddie blushes when he tells a lie, Gray thought. Does that mean anything? He blushed when he lied about Quentin and the Reiners.
But when he denied stabbing Ann Avery, he didn’t blush. When he claimed the sapphire ring, he didn’t blush.
Gray opened his eyes and sighed. It might not mean a thing. He felt disappointed. He had hoped this elusive idea, so hard to pin down and interpret, would be more important when he finally caught it.
“Why do you think he smashed the retort?” he asked Quentin. “Any good reason?”
“He has a temper,” Quentin said. “I think he’s been trying to keep it under control. And he’s been doing very well in physics. Maybe that was it—he wants so much to get into some kind of engineering work. He works hard and he’s a bright enough kid. But it’s hard for him to take setbacks. The kind of life he’s led, I suppose that’s natural. To him every setback might seem like the end of everything. I don’t know.” He made a helpless gesture.
“The setback he got in the Avery apartment,” he said in a harsh voice, “might have been just one more he couldn’t face without smashing everything within reach.”
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