Rory had another chore to do. This one he figured he had a less than fifty-fifty chance with, but it would be the easiest way to get done what he needed to accomplish. He was headed back to Briston. He wanted to talk to the chief of police.
First, though, he needed to touch base with his aunt. Something had been bothering him, and he needed a chance to talk to her alone. When he returned to the motel, the boys were in the pool, and Maud was in her room. Perfect.
She let him in when he knocked, and he was able to ask her what he wanted to know. “When we were in the kitchen yesterday when Levi came in, he spoke to you, threatened you I think, and you turned pale and trembled. Please, will you tell me why?”
She stared at him a moment, and he was afraid she wouldn’t speak, or that she would lie to him, but he saw some defiance enter her eyes. Something that looked like pride or perhaps stubbornness. But he saw that she’d made a decision.
“He’s always threatened me and beat me. Beat me if I wasn’t obedient enough, and threatened me with how much worse it would be if I ever told anyone what he did. But the last time he hit me, just recently, when he left the bruise you saw? I know you noticed it. But that was when he said that he was tired of dealing with me and my disobedience, and next time he wouldn’t just hit me; he said he’d kill me. He told me he’d done it before and he’d have no problem doing it again. I knew he meant it.”
“And by letting me in the house, that was disobeying him?”
She nodded. “And when I turned pale? He whispered to me that when he was done with you and you were dead, he’d come back in the house and I’d be next.”
Rory just shook his head. “Okay, thanks. That makes what I need to do easier.”
« »
Rory drove farther into Briston and parked in one of the slots marked for visitors in front of the police department. The building contained the town hall and the fire department as well as the police department. That was at the back of the building, an addition that had been slapped on when the town had decided to have its own police department rather than being covered by the county sheriff. It was a small building that contained the police department and a two-cell jail.
Rory walked into a small antechamber with a counter cutting the room in half. A woman was at a desk behind the counter. She was speaking into a microphone, and from what she was saying it was obvious that she was talking to someone on patrol. She was a receptionist/dispatcher, Rory figured. Small town, small staffing.
She finished with the microphone and looked up at him.
“Hi. I’d like to speak to the chief if that’s possible.”
“What about?”
“It’s a private matter.”
She scowled at him. “I have to tell him what it’s about or he won’t take the meeting.”
Rory matched her scowl while inwardly enjoying himself. “Oh, he’ll talk to me, and if you don’t let me in and he finds out what I wanted to talk to him about when it’s too late for him to be involved, this department may well be hiring a new dispatcher. All police departments need dispatchers who know that formalities must be stretched to match the occasion, uh, well, occasionally. What I want to see him about is private and urgent, and it’s in the best interests of the department to allow access to the chief. What, he’s too busy stopping a crime wave in this city to talk to someone?”
She glared at him, then pressed a button on her intercom, and when a male voice responded, said, “There’s a man out here who won’t say his business but wants to talk to you. Want me to shoo him off?”
“No, send him in. I’m tired of reading five-year-old files.”
Rory was taken through the door behind the receptionist into a short hallway. There were three doors, one on each side of the hall and one at the end. That door had the word ‘Lockups’ written on it.
The receptionist knocked on the door to the left, frowned at him again, and left. Rory heard, “Come on in,” and entered the chief’s office.
It was as unimpressive as an office could be. There was a metal desk that showed years of use, three file cabinets, also old, a linoleum floor with much of the original pattern worn off, painted cinder-block walls with no posters, nothing at all decorative, and two straight-backed wooden chairs in front of the desk. The room was a square, about ten feet on each side, with the furniture, such as it was, crowded into the available space. Harsh fluorescent lighting glared from the ceiling.
The man behind the desk rose when Rory entered. He smiled and stuck out his hand. “Hi. I’m Chaney Rodgers. Chief here. Have a chair and tell me what’s going on?”
Rory shook his hand and gave him a quick appraisal. The man looked to be in his early forties, but maybe slightly older. He looked fit and capable. His eyes showed confidence and suggested that perhaps he had more experience than one might expect in a small-town cop. He had short-cropped black hair and even features. The thing that caught Rory’s attention was the size of the man’s hands. They were larger than normal, and his biceps were filling the short sleeves of the light-blue uniform shirt he was wearing. He wasn’t wearing a tie.
Rory had expected an old man, sixtyish probably, certainly well over fifty. If he was a drinking buddy of Levi Edwards, he should have been older than this. And perhaps he’d have had a beer belly himself.
Rory decided to change course. He’d been expecting to talk to a friend of Levi’s and have a confrontational conversation. Now, fairly certain this was a different man, he needed to test the waters. “This is somewhat difficult, and I’d like to know where you stand on something. I was told that you were close to some of the older guys in town, some of the drinking buddies that are regulars at one of the taverns in town. Yet you don’t look that way to me. Can you talk about that?”
“Who told you that?”
“Well, we may get to that, but on appearance, I think I was told wrong. I doubt it was true. Yet I did hear it from a source who’d probably heard it from someone else. It really doesn’t matter who told me. What matters is if it’s true.”
The chief didn’t respond. He gave Rory an evaluating look, then said, “You didn’t tell me your name or why you want to know what you’re asking or even why you’re here. I’d like to see some ID.”
Rory nodded and dug out his wallet, then handed the chief his drivers license. “I’m known here as Roy Thornton; I changed my name legally to Rory Spencer a few years ago; you see that name on my license. I grew up in Landale. Parents still live there. Why I want to know about you—we’ll get to that. My question certainly wasn’t very invasive. Do you drink with some buddies, older guys, most every night, or not?”
“You a reporter?”
“No. I’m just someone who’s trying to get the lay of the land here. I’m from Los Angeles and just visiting. Most likely be gone tomorrow.”
Rodgers studied Rory a bit longer, then said, “If I tell you what you want to know, will you tell me more about why you want to know it?”
“Yes, probably, if you say what I’m hoping you will. If you don’t, I’ll just thank you and leave. No harm, no foul.” Rory smiled, trying to look as easygoing and nonthreatening as he could. “The thing is, I know you have a problem in this town, one you’re probably aware of, one that’s got to be difficult for you to address. I might be of service to you.”
The chief took more time for assessment, then handed Rory back his license before he answered. “This is quite odd, Mr. Spencer. Unprecedented, actually. But I don’t see how it can hurt to play your game as it now stands. Okay. I’m new here. I was hired to replace the old chief who had a heart attack a month ago; he had to retire. My background is with the Chicago PD. That can be a hard beat, it became too political for me, and I was happy to get away from it.
“I saw a lot of things no one should see, and I witnessed politics interfering with decisions that were made, crossing the line between right and wrong. A cop dealing with that can easily become jaded, and I didn’t want that to happen.
“When I saw this opening come up online, I applied, and here I am. As for being drinking buddies with people here, I’m not. I don’t drink much in any case. I’m still learning who the people in this town are and haven’t yet visited any of the taverns here. I’ll do that after settling in a bit longer, just to get the lay of the land.”
Rory nodded. “I thought maybe you were new. The description I had of the established chief of police had me expecting to meet an older man. I was told that he was the drinking buddy of quite a number of older men in this town. You don’t fit that description, which was given me by a middle school student. Kids that age often relay things they’ve heard but not seen. The student might very well not be aware that a new police chief was hired, either. But, okay, I’ll ask you another question. Are you aware of KKK activity in the town?”
A pause, a hard look in the eyes, then, “Yes.”
“And what’s your feeling about it?”
“None of your business. Now it’s your turn.” Rodgers’ tone of voice had hardened significantly.
It was Rory’s turn to pause. This had to be done delicately.
“What I want to say . . . well, I have to be careful. I’m on your side, I think. I’m pretty sure. Not the KKK’s. But, yeah, let me tell you a few things. I’m here only for a short time, as I said. I’m here to rescue a kid who’s talking about suicide because of how he’s been treated; he sees no way to escape more of the same in the future. He’s gay. And he’s about given up.
“My plan is to take him back to Los Angeles with me. It’s, well, it’s only a plan right now because I’m not sure he’ll agree to go as it’ll mean leaving his mother. I’ll need to convince him that leaving here is better than being dead. But it’ll be his choice whether he comes with me or not.”
The chief remained silent. Rory sighed. “That’s half the problem I’m facing. The other half is his mother. I can’t take her. She doesn’t want to go. This is where she grew up, where her life is, where her extended family lives, and she doesn’t want to move. She wants me to take her son away, not because she doesn’t love him but because she does. Life’s hard at times, but you’re from Chicago. You understand that. Some decisions we make are onerous.”
He stopped and looked at Rodgers. Rodgers tipped his head slightly and remained quiet. The look on his face remained impassive.
Rory let his eyes meet Rodgers’ for a moment; Rodgers stared back, his gaze just as hard and just as uninformative. Rory sighed again and continued.
“I’m very concerned that if the kid’s mother tries to leave her husband, divorce or not, he’ll not accept that. He’s a bad man. An abuser and from what I’ve been told, much more. He’s KKK, either near or at the top of the local branch. I think if his wife leaves him, he won’t accept that. There’ll be repercussions. He’s already guilty of abusing her and their son. It’s happened often. They couldn’t do anything about that because this guy was buddies with the old police chief. Now there’s a new chief here, but his hands are tied because he can’t do anything until the man beats her up again, and this man may not stop at that. He might kill her—I’ve heard that threat has been made—and if he makes the body disappear, the police department would still be unable to do anything to him, and she’d be dead.
“That’s the situation. Something has to be done, and I’ll be leaving soon, probably tomorrow. So, I’m looking at options. A solution, if you will. While this seems like it’s a police matter, I can also see that the police have their hands tied behind their back.”
He stopped and remained stone-faced, and when the chief met his silence with silence of his own, Rory said, “Your turn again.”
The chief just sat still, not moving at all, staring at Rory. Then he stood up and turned so his back was to Rory, turned back to face him again after a few moments, and then sat down. “It sounds to me very much like you’re talking about doing something that could be illegal, something like taking the law into your own hands. Some sort of vigilante operation. And you’re here to see if I’d condone such an action, overlook it. I won’t.”
“You’re obviously a smart man,” Rory said. “Smart enough to leave a job where politics kept you from doing the right thing. Also smart enough so you can foresee the effect of a KKK figure, high in the ranks here, maybe at the top, being, uh, toppled. Let’s, for discussion sake, call him the top dog. Imagine the top dog being cut down. Imagine how that could cripple the chapter here. Imagine how much easier that might make your job. A weak and leaderless KKK chapter would be much easier to deal with than a strong one.
Rodgers opened his mouth to respond, but Rory rushed on. “This top dog—removing him would result in your learning who he was. It would have to. Knowing that, you’d soon be in a position to know who his friends were: those drinking buddies and bar patrons. Knowing them, you’d have an inside track on shutting the KKK down in your town once any of them stepped an inch over the line. Without a top man, there’d be a period of disarray in that group. You start leaning on individuals, they’d see the writing on the wall. The whole thing might just fall apart. No more KKK here. What a great deal for you!
“Considering all that, I thought you might be interested in taking a less intransigent position with me, even though you don’t know me. However, I can see that there’s no way you could let me know how you feel about that.”
He stopped and smiled. The chief, not returning the smile, said, “So we’re at an impasse. It was nice talking to you, Rory.”
Rory stayed in his seat and took another moment to look at the chief. Then he said, his voice softer, “Chicago, huh? I’ve heard that it’s as political a town as any in this country. What that means is that sometimes justice gets overrun by the realities of politicians. You’ve probably seen someone walk who deserved a long time in the can because he had dirt on someone. Politics. Burned you ass, huh? Enough so you changed jobs.”
Rodgers remained silent.
Rory nodded. “Okay, you obviously felt strongly about that. Then maybe you can leave the moral high ground for a second and think about this. I’m, well, we’re facing a situation where someone is likely to be killed if something isn’t done. An innocent. As I said, the threat was made. If you play this by the book, the guy will act, you’ll arrest him, but he’ll certainly get out on bail. What’ll happen then? I’ll tell you what—he’ll do what he’s done before. He’ll run. He’s already done that once; he’s gotten away with murder. He’ll see no reason not to run again. There’s nothing to keep him here.”
The chief was shaking his head even before Rory was through talking. “I can’t stop a suggested crime from being committed. I can investigate and make an arrest after the crime’s been done. But what are we talking about here? Are you planning to commit a crime to prevent what’s a hypothetical event that may just be your imagination? And you want me to overlook it? Hear this loud and clear: I won’t do that.”
“It would be good if you’d think about this for a moment. We have a problem, and ignoring it till someone is dead is an awfully impotent way to do your job. I’m offering a solution to what is a real situation: stopping a man from killing his wife. I can see why I can’t ask you to sign a blank check about that. But let’s consider this a bit further.
“What if what I do is legal? As far as I know, self-defense is legal. The only problem I see with that is proving it was self- defense, not just taking my word for it. Self-defense with an honest witness to support the claim should result in no arrest, shouldn’t it?”
When the chief didn’t respond, Rory said, “This will all be legal and aboveboard.”
“This might be the strangest conversation I’ve ever been part of,” the chief said.
“Strange situation, too. But I’m coming from a standpoint of saving a life. And at that same time, I’d be doing you a favor.”
The chief ignored the favor part. “If what you’re planning is all legal and aboveboard, then why are you talking to me?”
“I thought I’d be talking to the old chief. A friend of the possible murderer. I simply changed tack when I found you here.” He grinned.
“Who is this honest witness you plan to supply?”
“I was thinking you’d be a good choice.”:
“You want me there? I could be, I guess, then arrest you after the fact. Yeah, that sounds workable.”
Rory grinned. “You don’t give an inch, do you? But isn’t self-defense still legal, still effective in a court of law?”
“It’s an excellent defense. Proven, supported self-defense often ends without an arrest being made. With witnesses and all to back it up, of course. Unimpeachable, I’d say.” The chief’s voice wasn’t as hard and intimidating now. It wasn’t yet like two old friends just shooting the breeze, but the slight tinge of hostility, of suspicion, was gone.
Rory nodded. “And cops make excellent witnesses. Plus, with this top dog going down, an ongoing problem in your town would evaporate, a problem that would be very difficult for one man to fix against an entrenched foe. And to sweeten the pot, your man claiming self-defense, your nameless, unknown man, will be gone pretty much immediately thereafter, and you’ll never see him again.”
The chief nodded without commitment, and as Rory started to rise, he was waved back into his chair. Rodgers thought for a moment, then asked, “I guess if someone were considering this sort of thing, he’d have to be careful not to make it seem like there was any forethought in his actions as that might bring premeditation into the situation, right?”
Rory smiled. “He would have to be very careful about that, although spur-of-the-moment situations that lead to what we may or may not be talking about here would seem to preclude having a policeman wherever this was to take place available as a witness to the self-defense actions. The policeman would have to just be walking by, matter of chance, that sort of thing.”
The chief nodded again, and then, as this was all Rory’s plan, he waited for Rory to continue. Rory did. “I don’t see that as a problem. I think an anonymous phone call to your cellphone telling you it looks like a fight may be about to start, well, that might be reason enough for you to do what a policeman is duty-bound to do: show up to prevent a fight when warned one is imminent. Such a phone call might do the trick.
“But, actually, the cop wouldn’t even need to mention the phone call. If asked how he happened to be there, he could say he was making a random check of the neighborhood, something a new cop in town would see as his duty. He happened to be passing, heard a commotion and thought to check it out.”
Rodgers stood up again. He didn’t smile but did put out his hand. “Nice of you to drop by. And I’d suggest you be very, very careful, doing what we didn’t discuss here. I’ve heard they have a new chief in this town, and he’s something of a hard ass.”
Rory shook his hand, then asked, “Do you have a business card yet? You know, one with your cellphone number on it? In case I ever have a reason to get in touch with you?”
Rodgers handed him a card, and said, “It may be wise to lose that somewhere when you leave. Like torn up and thrown in a trash can in some other town.”
“No problem. Nice talking to you, too. I doubt very much we’ll meet again.”
« »
Rory drove through the town, locating all the bars. There were several, and when he was back at the motel, he knew where they all were. He asked Maud where her husband drank.
“He goes where his buddies go. Old Town Tavern. It’s on Sycamore Street.”
“Yeah, I know where it is. Thanks. Now, I talked to your sister and she’s happy to have you live with her in Landale. Eager, in fact. I’ve talked to my father, and he’s okay with you living there, and he’ll be paying you a monthly fee to report to me on his behavior. He won’t be happy, but he’ll pay. How much would you like to get?”
She looked at him like he’d just come down from Mars. “I don’t know. I’ve never had money. Levi only gave me what was needed for the house.”
“Okay, we’ll start with $2,000 a month. If that’s not enough, we’ll hike it up. But that seems reasonable. I think I’ll get my mother $2,500, but she may have other ideas. The man is loaded. He won’t even feel the expense. His income is well over a hundred grand a year.”
Maud looked unhappy for a moment, then forced a smile. “I guess you’re done here, then. Are you leaving tomorrow?”
“I hope to. I’ve still got things to do, though. I have to make sure Levi doesn’t bother you any longer; he stepped over the line when he said he’d kill you. Oh, and I still have to talk to Trace. Maybe he won’t want to leave if I can guarantee him his dad won’t be a problem any longer.”
Maud nodded. “I spent some time talking to him yesterday. He’s very worried about leaving me, but I think it’s more about me being alone than it is about him. He hates Briston, hates the school and a lot of the people here. Hates that everyone assumes he’s gay. Maybe he is, but that shouldn’t mean he gets bullied.
“He’s going out into the unknown, going with you, but the unknown is better than the known he hates. He wants to go with you.”
“Okay, I’ll still have to hear him say that, but assuming that’s true, about all that’s left for me here is to talk to Levi. I’ll do that tonight. For the rest of the afternoon, I need to show Wyatt around Landale. He wants to see where I grew up. You can come with us if you want. Maybe visit your sister while I show the boys around.”
That’s what they did. Maud and Rory’s mother had a reunion of sorts. They hadn’t seen each other in years. Neither of their husbands had approved, and in Maud’s case, her husband’s disapproval was painful.
Much to Rory’s surprise, Trace had never been to Landale, though it was only a 20-minute drive from Briston.
He showed the boys the schools he’d attended and told them of some of his memories. He left out the ones that were in the book—all but one.
That was the site of the last thing he planned to show them: Madison Street Hill, which in the book had been called McMaster’s Hill. He parked at the bottom, then told the boys to get out. Morris got out, too.
“I ran up this hill every day. Hated it at first, even though I was beating Bobby. That didn’t last long, but while it did, it was the only thing I liked about the hill. When I played football, though, and when I went through basic training, I sure appreciated it. I thought we should celebrate my memories of it by running it. I ran it at your age, even younger. So, let’s go.”
He started jogging. The two boys looked at each other. “I don’t run,” murmured Trace.
“I don’t either,” Cary said, “but I want to be like Rory—oh, yeah, his name is only Roy when we’re here—so badly, and if this hill is part of who he is, I’ve got to at least make an attempt. I’ll bet he didn’t get all the way up the first time he tried it, and I won’t either. Come on, run with me.”
He took off at a medium jog. Trace watched him go, then followed.
They both stopped jogging about halfway up. The hill was one mile long, and they both were gasping for breath. Rory was jogging back down and stopped when he came to them. They were having difficulty getting enough air into them, and Trace was holding his side. Cary had a big grin on his face.
“If I lived here, I’d conquer this thing,” he said.
“If I could, you can. It’s as simple as that.” Rory patted his back. “I was no more special than you are. You can do what you set your mind to. You too, Trace. You too.”
Back in the car, he turned to Trace. “I know your mother has spoken to you about coming to L.A. with us. She told me that you want to. I need to hear it from you. Is that what you want?”
Trace didn’t answer. He simply nodded, then dropped his head.