Chiefs

by Stuart Woods

  In the late thirties and during the war years, though, the files seemed to have been kept more erratically, and there were fewer notes. Thomas must have been getting tired of the work by then, Sonny thought. The last of the folders was one marked “missing persons.” Sonny took a long swig of his Coca-Cola and opened it.

  There were a dozen circulars put out by the state police, beginning in the late twenties and continuing into the war years. They were arranged more or less chronologically, as if they had been simply added to the file as they had come in, the more recent ones on top. Each sheet had a photograph, usually a family snapshot or a portrait by a two-dollar photographer, or, where there was no photograph, simply a detailed description. The missing persons, he noted, were all male and white. Nearly all of them were very young. As Sonny flipped through them, he noticed that the further down the stack he got the more attention seemed to have been paid to the circular. While the more recent ones on top were without notations, the older ones had comments and underlinings, mostly related to where the subject had last been seen. Greenville, Woodbury, and Waverly Hall had all been underlined on various sheets, and there were notations: “check jungles” or “seen hitchiking.” Sonny viewed the lack of comments on the later circulars as typical of Thomas’s waning interest in his job as the years wore on. There were no reports included of any of the subjects’ having been located.

  Clearly, though, Thomas had been interested in these missing young men, at least at first. He had obviously checked the hobo jungles and asked some questions, maybe showed the photographs around. Sonny picked up a pencil and started through the more recent circulars, underlining as Thomas had. When he had finished he found a road map and a grease pencil and started marking the towns where the subjects had last been reported. Five of the twelve had last been seen some distance away—Macon, Carrollton, places fifty or more miles from Delano. He removed them from the stack and did not mark them on the map. The remaining seven were represented by marks that formed an uneven circle. At the center of the circle, roughly, was Delano.

  He read the seven circulars again. Five of them contained the supposed direction of travel of the subjects. In each case those last seen north of Delano had been traveling south; those seen south of the town had been traveling north. The likely route for each of them led through Delano.

  Sonny picked up the phone and called a fellow he knew at the state patrol in Atlanta. “Hey, Tank, this is Sonny Butts.”

  “Hey, Sonny. Congratulations. Hear you got Chief.”

  “Thanks, yeah. Nothing anybody couldn’t do with good looks and hard work.”

  “Shit.”

  “Listen, Tank, I need you to look up something for me in the missing-persons files. Would it be pretty easy to find some old stuff?”

  “We got ‘em indexed by name and date of disappearance up through last month. You got that information?”

  “Yeah.” Sonny read him the names and dates. “How long you reckon?”

  “Well, I finished my dinner. I’ll do it now and call you back in a few minutes. Anything special you want to know about them?”

  “Just whether they ever turned up.”

  “Call you back.”

  He read through the five circulars again. All the subjects were between sixteen and twenty-one years old. All were under five feet nine inches tall and slight. Four of the circulars displayed photographs. There was a sameness about them, Sonny thought, an innocence. He got up and went to his old roll-top desk in the station room and took the bundle of Chief Lee’s old files from the bottom drawer. Back in the office he untied the string and fished through the folders until he found the photographs of the corpse. He chose the one that looked most lifelike, nearly as if the boy were sleeping. He placed it on the desk next to the four circular photographs. A shudder ran through him.

  The phone rang. “Sonny? Tank. All your boys are still open files. Never found. Course, that don’t mean a lot. They could all be in South America. Just means we never got no results from the circulars, and the families never reported them found. You got something on these cases?”

  Sonny thought for a minute before answering. “Naw, Tank, I ain’t got nothing. They just turned up in a file in Chief Thomas’s desk, and I wanted to know whether to throw ‘em away or not. I ‘preciate you looking ‘em up for me.”

  “Yeah, sure. Course, we don’t usually hear much on these missing-persons things ‘less it happens within a week or two of the disappearance. I guess you can throw ‘em away. No use cluttering up your files.”

  “Yeah, Tank, I’ll do that. Stop by here and see me some time. I’ll get you drunk and laid.”

  “You know it, buddy.” They hung up.

  Sonny discovered that he was sweating, more than could be accounted for by the heat. He had something here, he was sure of it. Trouble was, it was all so cold. If it was new and fresh, that would be different, he might turn up something. He would be patient for a while. If what he thought had been going on was really happening, all he had to do was wait. Wait and watch. Keep an eye on the old son of a bitch. He would do that.

  14

  BILLY LEE and the Reverend Brooks Peters called on Hugh Holmes at home the evening after the funeral of Chief Melvin Thomas. Holmes settled them in his study and offered them some iced tea. The presence of the preacher precluded the offering of anything else.

  There was some small talk, and then Billy came to the point. “Mr. Holmes, it looks like we might have a problem with Sonny Butts.”

  Holmes showed no surprise. “You mean about the beatings?”

  “Yessir.”

  “Well, so far I haven’t heard anything that couldn’t be construed as the reasonable actions of a police officer to protect himself.”

  “We think there’s more to it than that.”

  “I didn’t say I believed what I heard. I wouldn’t be surprised if there was a lot more to it.”

  “Didn’t the rumors come up at the council meeting on Monday, when Sonny was confirmed as Chief?”

  “They came up. Matter of fact, I brought them up. I suggested that we leave things as they were, with Sonny as acting Chief, until we had an opportunity to look for a more experienced man. There was no sympathy for that view at all. In fact, a number of voices spoke up for more hard handling by the police. They reckoned it would keep crime down in Braytown.”

  Brooks Peters spoke up. “There was another incident last Saturday night.”

  “Billy mentioned it to me on the phone Sunday, when I called to tell him about Melvin Thomas.”

  “Did that come up at the council meeting?”

  “It got mentioned, but I take it that nobody is willing to make a complaint, and there weren’t any witnesses—not any that would testify against Sonny, anyway. That’s the trouble with something like this. There’s nobody on the spot to determine whether Sonny and Charley Ward are exceeding the proper limits of their duty, nobody except the victim, anyway.”

  “But something has got to be done about this, Mr. Holmes,” Peters said, with some passion. “There’s enough resentment of white people in the Negro community without something as blatant as this going on.”

  Holmes nodded. “I agree with you. Something’s got to be done, and if you’ll suggest a course of action with a reasonable chance of success, I’ll follow it. But I can’t go down to the council and bring charges against the Chief of police based on nothing more than rumors or, at best, the testimony of a colored man who got arrested for drunkenness and doesn’t like the way he was treated.”

  “Mr. Holmes is right,” said Billy. “We’ve got to have a case that will hold up in court before we can get the council to act on replacing Sonny. The city doesn’t have any established procedures for dealing with a situation like this—no specific regulations, and no committee or review board to handle an administrative charge, the way a big city might have.” He thought for a minute. “Mr. Holmes, is there some informal means we might use to bring pressure on the council, or directly
on Sonny?”

  Holmes shook his head. “Not unless you could bring public opinion to bear, and I tell you public opinion isn’t going be on your side until there’s a lot of less-disputable evidence than you have now. Sonny’s riding high right now. He’s organized the way the police department works, he’s personally brought in a lot of money in traffic tickets, and he looks just like the model of what a police officer should be, and that counts for a lot with public opinion. No, sir, I think you’re batting your head against a brick wall right now.”

  Billy and Brooks were both quiet. Peters rattled the ice cubes in his glass impatiently. “We’ve just got to think of something,” he said.

  Billy took a deep breath and spoke. “Maybe it’s the colored community that’s got to do something.”

  Holmes looked up. “How do you mean?”

  “I don’t know, exactly, but I think I’ll have a word with Marshall Parker about this. They’ve got that colored veteran’s group that meets regularly. Maybe they can come up with something.”

  Holmes looked alarmed. “You’re not suggesting they try to fight fire with fire.”

  “Oh, no, sir. The last thing we need is a Negro Klan. I think the suggestion of what to do ought to come from them. If they could gather enough evidence against Sonny would you present it to the council?”

  “Of course, but it’s got to be strong and completely above board. Don’t you let those boys go thinking of some way to try to trap Sonny into something. That would backfire right in their faces.”

  Brooks Peters stood up. “Well, that sounds like a good idea to me, Billy. You talk to Marshall, and then let’s get together again and talk about this. Mr. Holmes, thank you for the iced tea. I’ll see you in church Sunday.”

  Holmes shook hands with the preacher. “Well, I hope we can get something done about this, Brooks, and I’ll help any way I can.” He turned to Billy. “Can you stay for a few minutes? I’ve got some bank business to talk to you about.”

  They said their good-byes, and Holmes went immediately to his concealed liquor cabinet. “Can I force some whiskey on you?”

  “You sure can. Bourbon and a little water.”

  Holmes mixed the drinks and made himself comfortable again. “Billy, we’ve got problems.”

  “At the bank?”

  “No, I mean politics problems.” He pushed an ice cube around his drink with a finger. “I don’t know if you ought to get involved with Marshall and his colored veterans any more right now.”

  “I haven’t been involved with them at all. Oh, I know most of them, but the thing with Marshall and his moonshine problem was the only thing I’ve been involved in.”

  “I know, but you get your car fixed out there, too, and—”

  “Now, wait a minute. You get your car fixed out there, too, and we both do it because Marshall does good work, isn’t that right?”

  “Of course, and I’m not suggesting you ought to start going to Mickey Shelton. I just think you ought to leave things as they lie until after the primary. There’s only three weeks to go, you know.”

  “What have you been hearing? You must have heard something to worry you.”

  “I have. This whole relationship with Marshall is getting blown all out of proportion, and it’s hurting us. There’s some question in my mind of whether we could carry Talbot County right now, and Harris County isn’t looking too good, either. I think you’re all right in Delano and Manchester and Greenville, but if the smaller communities and the farmers in Talbot and Harris go the other way, this thing could get too close to call.”

  “What do you think I ought to do?”

  “Well, first of all I think you ought to make a big effort over the next three weeks to get out into Talbot and Harris and shake some hands and answer some questions.”

  Billy winced. “Boy, I thought I’d covered that every which way.”

  “You have, but you’re going to have to do it again.”

  Billy sighed. “All right, I’ll get out there starting tomorrow morning.”

  “Secondly, I think you ought to stay out of this thing with Sonny Butts and stay away from Marshall and his veterans until after the primary.”

  “That bothers me,” Billy said. “I think something ought to be done about Sonny, and Marshall’s people have been working to get more colored voters registered in Braytown, and I think I owe them whatever help I can give them.”

  Holmes leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. Billy recognized the stance as one that the banker adopted when he wanted to drive a point home. “Billy, I’m not suggesting for a moment that you should betray the trust of Marshall and those boys. All I’m saying is that you should wait until after the primary, at least, and probably until after the general election, before you get any further involved there.”

  “But I’m not all that involved. I—”

  “It isn’t a question of how involved you are. It’s a question of how involved you are perceived to be. There is no point in going out and creating opposition for yourself where there was none before. If you want to help the colored community you can do it a lot better if you are elected. How can you help them if you lose?”

  “I’ve already told Brooks I’d talk to Marshall.”

  “And you should. But Brooks is kind of a hothead, and you shouldn’t let him push you into something at the wrong time. Timing counts for a lot in politics, and if you want to get things done you have to pay attention to it. Believe me.”

  Billy rubbed the back of his neck for a minute, and gulped down the rest of his drink. “All right,” he said.

  “And just let the Sonny Butts thing lie for a few weeks. Maybe we’ll get lucky, and he’ll make a mistake. Give him enough rope—you know.”

  Billy nodded.

  The next morning, driving to his office, Billy passed Marshall Parker’s garage just as Marshall was opening up. The black man waved at him and signaled for him to stop. Billy waved and drove past. By the time he reached his office, he was nearly sick with shame for having done so. He telephoned the garage.

  “Marshall? This is Billy Lee. I had already driven past your place this morning when it occurred to me you might have wanted to talk to me. I’m sorry, I had a lot on my mind.”

  “Yes, sir, I did want to speak to you for just a minute. We’re having a little get-together, our veterans and the wives early this Saturday evening. I was wondering if you could just come by and say a few words to us. It’s at the Galilee Church, out on the highway.”

  Billy was gripping the telephone so tightly that his knuckles were white. “Oh, my gosh, thank you Marshall, but I’m going to be somewhere down in the depths of Talbot County Saturday night. Mr. Holmes thinks I need to get down there and mend some fences. We’ve still got another three weeks for me to speak to them. I’ll call you next week.”

  “Yes, sir, that’ll be fine.” There was disappointment in his voice.

  When Billy hung up he felt worse than before he had called.

  15

  IN THE HEAT of Saturday afternoon, Sonny Butts stepped from the last rung of the ladder onto the hemp matting of the high-diving board at Pine Mountain pool. He looked idly around the handsome, bell-shaped, flagstone pool, built in the thirties by the Civilian Conservation Corps, and his gaze stopped at a blanket occupied by two girls. He had been watching them from a distance for an hour, as he lay in the sun and surreptitiously drank beer from a paper cup. Alcoholic beverages were prohibited in Franklin D. Roosevelt State Park.

  One girl was fairly tall and slender and had ample breasts. She wore her hair pulled back into a ponytail. The other was shorter and heavier and had cropped blonde hair and powdery, freckled skin. Boyish but nice, Sonny thought. He had noticed the sort of attention the two girls had been paying to each other, slowly rubbing oil on each other’s bodies, tickling, giggling. They made Sonny remember two girls in Belgium and what he thought must have been the wildest night of his life.

  When he was sure they were watching,
he walked to the end of the diving board and stopped, flexing his shoulder and leg muscles as if to loosen up. He took a couple of practice springs to test the board, then sauntered back and took up his position. He counted the steps, one, two, three, rose, and came down on the board. As he gained height he arched his body and fell backward into a perfect half gainer, his brown body and blonde hair flashing in the sunlight as he parted the water, making hardly a splash. For the next fifteen minutes he worked his way through a repertoire learned in many idle hours as a lifeguard, while the high school kids who had been using the board hung back and watched in awe. The girls were watching, too. They must be from Columbus, he thought. He’d never seen them before.

  On his way back to his blanket he passed close to the girls and stopped, feet apart, hands on hips. “Hi,” he said, careful to include them both. “I’ve got some cold beer over yonder. Why don’t you girls come over and help me drink it?”

  “Mmmmm,” said the tall girl. “Maybe in a few minutes.”

  “Sure,” said the shorter girl. She seemed to appreciate being included in the invitation.

  He went back to his blanket, stretched out in the sun, and waited, sipping his beer. He dozed for a few minutes, and when he woke they were gone. He sat up and looked around. The girls were walking toward the chain-link fence that separated the pool area from the woods beyond. He wondered where the hell they were going. The girls’ can was in the other direction, and the fence was eight feet tall. Then he saw the shorter girl step up to the fence and tug at it, revealing a gap. She held it for her friend, and as the taller girl stepped through, she looked toward Sonny and flashed him a smile. The two girls disappeared into the woods.

  Sonny grinned. He’d been around; he knew what they were up to. He waited five minutes, then gathered up the beer and started for the fence. In the woods he found a path and padded along it, taking care to be quiet. A quarter of a mile along he saw a pair of sunglasses lying next to the path. He bent over to pick them up, and as he straightened he saw the top of a stone chimney behind a little rise through the trees. The glasses belonged to the tall girl, he remembered. He left the main path and followed another, slightly overgrown, toward the chimney. As he came silently to the top of the rise he saw that the chimney belonged to a disused barbecue pit which sat in a small clearing with a couple of picnic tables. He sucked in his breath and held it.