Chapter 12

A man named Billings came into Captain Williams' office on the second floor of the Municipal Building. He handed the captain several sheets of typewritten pages held together at a corner by a large staple.

"Cyrus Cartell," Billings said and sat down in the chair opposite the captain's desk, talking while the captain glanced over the pages. "He worked for the Citizen's Patrol in Macon, Georgia."

"What the hell is that?"

"Door-checker."

The captain shook his head. "Not quite. It's one of those semi-private 'security' organizations that crop up everywhere race relations get hot. He used to be with the regular police force as a matter-of-fact. But I guess he was too trigger-happy. Anyway they got rid of him quick after some kind of a stink ... kind of a sadist mess, I think."

"That's a rough town," the captain said.

"Yeah, but the captain, it seems, was a little too rough. Shot up a bunch of kids once-killed one of them. Accident, according to the report. But it seems the papers there never got along too well with Captain Cartell. Wrong politics. They raised a fuss. Wire service got hold of it and the thing kind of mushroomed and the old boy took the ax."

Captain Williams nodded as he read the details for himself.

"What was he doing in Phoenix?" the captain said finally.

"His ex-wife and daughter live here. They've got a trailer home out in Mesa." Billings consulted his notebook. "Sun Valley Trailer Court. It's near the General Electric plant out there.

"It seems she quit the old boy the same time the department did. Copped a mental-cruelty plea. Under the circumstances she didn't have any trouble getting free of him and she got custody of the girl. They've been out here ever since."

"This ex-wife of his-" the captain said, trying to organize a maze of ideas that suddenly crowded his mind.

"Rose Cartell, nee and now Bianca."

"What sort of woman is she?"

"Pretty hot dish, I guess, if you can believe everything those gals at the General Electric plant have to say. Of course, you know how women talk about women-especially women on the job. I guess she had quite a string of 'em. She's no spring chicken, but it seems she hasn't been letting any grass grow under her trailer."

Billings grinned at his witticism.

"I'm not interested in guesses," the captain said impatiently.

"These things take time, Mike," Billings said, shrugging. "We're working on it."

"Good. And while you're working on that, I also want some dope on a guy named Mike Alvarez. Or Miguel, or whatever it is. His little story will start in Chicago, I think."

"The kid that married the daughter?"

The captain nodded. It was his special nod of finality rather than a response to the question and Billings knew the interview was over. He closed his notebook and left the office.

Captain Williams picked up the fingerprint report and read it again. There were plenty of prints all over the room. The dead man's, Bernie's and some yet to be identified. But it was the rifle that bothered the captain. It bothered him because there were no prints on it. He wasn't quite sure why, but he had expected their absence.

"I wiped them off," Bernie had said.

"Why?"

"Well-at first I was going to run away. Then, afterwards, I changed my mind. I decided to take my punishment."

Nonsense! The captain pushed the report aside. To kill a man is possible-to confess is possible-but to refuse even a chance of a lesser charge ... especially when such a man as this was involved. It formulated another crime.

It was like a dying man refusing help. A dying man, the captain thought, and again he recalled the look on Bernie's face as he sat in one of the detention rooms on the basement floor of the police station. A strange look of satisfaction, as though he had some secret or some plan already set into motion.

Captain Williams left his office, heading across the street to the police station. At the bottom of a wide stairway that led to the detention room he talked with a uniformed guard, then entered one of the small rooms. Bernie was sitting on one of the benches that -lined the walls. His eyes were closed, but he was awake, and he looked up when the captain came in.

"Feel better?"

Bernie nodded.

"I've made arrangements for a psychiatrist to look in on you this afternoon," the captain said. "I'm thinking of having you moved to a hospital."

Bernie nodded.

"You don't object?"

Bernie shrugged.

"If it was me, I'd scream like hell," the captain said.

"I just don't care," Bernie said. "Not any more."

"I want to know what the hell happened in that motel room!"

"I confessed, didn't I?"

"It's not that easy," the captain said. "If I believed everything everybody told me, I'd still be writing tickets for parking violations."

"But I did it!"

"And on the way out of that cabin you said you didn't do anything."

"That was-something else."

"Like what?"

"None of your business!" Bernie said hotly. "I said I killed him and that's it."

"I don't believe you," the captain said just as hotly. "My job is to find out the truth. If not from you, then from someone else. I'm very good at my job ... and when I do find out, I'll come back here and tell you."

"I told you the truth," Bernie said, suddenly agitated.

"You haven't told me anything."

"I took the gun...."

"Whose gun?"

"It was Mike's. I'd bought it for him for his birthday. I drove out to that motel and I shot him."

"Why?"

"Because he was bugging me."

"How was he bugging you?"

"I don't...."

Bernie started to speak, then paused. For a moment he stared at Captain Williams as though weighing the man. Then he made a decision and suddenly he was talking.

"He was a nut," Bernie said, beginning to lose control. "A lewd, vicious nut. He was trying to turn her against him by suggesting there was something going on between me and Mike!"

"Who?"

"Sarah. Why do you think he came down here? He was trying to break them up. They'd faked the papers, you know. But now she's pregnant, and he's madder than hell. He was going to get me in trouble if I didn't take that kid away from her. Don't you see? He was trying to say-"

"Take it easy," the captain said, breaking into Bernie's words, which had grown to shouts. The captain moved to Bernie, put a hand on his trembling shoulder. "Just keep it cool," he said. "Just relax."

"I won't relax!" Bernie looked at the captain and his eyes blazed. He frowned at the hand on his shoulder.

"Just relax," someone said, and then he said, "I'm coming. Hey, lookee here! Man, oh man!"

"Take your hand off me, you son-of-a-bitch!" He reached out and, with a cry, pushed the captain's hand from his shoulder. "Don't touch me!" His breathing was harsh, and suddenly he jumped up, swinging at the captain. "Don't you touch me, you son-of-a-bitch!"

The captain dodged Bernie's fists. He struggled to pin Bernie's arms down, but Bernie proved surprisingly strong. The yelling alerted the uniformed guard outside the door, and in a moment he was in and behind Bernie, pinning him. Bernie's screaming increased and he fought desperately to free himself.

"Give me back my car-keys," he yelled. And then the words gave way to noises that reverberated through the small room, piercing, insane, and his head thrashed from side to side.

Suddenly the captain slapped Bernie across the face.

The screaming stopped and Bernie stared at the captain blankly for a moment. Then his head dropped and he began sobbing quietly. The captain signaled the man to release Bernie and the man obeyed, leaving the room again.

When they were alone, the captain sat down on one of the benches. He took out his cigarettes and lit two of them, then moved to Bernie and handed him one. Bernie accepted it. He took a deep drag, forced out the last sob, wiped the tears away with the back of his hand.

"I'm sorry," Bernie said at last.

"Is it that bad?" the captain said.

"I guess so," Bernie said wearily....

"I've had doubts. I've always had doubts myself. I guess everybody does. But mine stay with me and they pile up. Ever since I was little-especially when I was little. Sometimes I think I'm still little-inside."

Now that Bernie was talking, he talked incessantly. And the captain listened. Outside the sun had reached the top of the building and was already moving down the other side, causing little shadows like black fingers on the window ledge. They seemed to grow as the captain watched them, slowly spreading over the wall, reaching for the ground.

"It's just doubt, you see, and I could live with it. As long as I have doubts I can live with them. I can live with myself. But what if I lose them? What if someone turns on a light and takes the doubt away? How can I live then?

"That's what that man was doing to me. Don't you see what he was doing to me? He hired this guy, you know, to get me drunk and then he says things happened! I don't know what happened. But he says I did things and I don't know. Even now I don't know. I don't know anything for sure."

Bernie leaned forward, drawing a hand across his face.

"Let's talk about Mike," the captain said, realizing Bernie was beginning to lose control again. "He seems like a hell of a nice kid."

"Yeah."

"How did you meet him?"

"Does it matter?"

"Not especially. I just thought you might want to tell me about it."

"He was just there. I was lonesome and he was there, I guess. I met him in an alley behind a bar. I was heading for my car and he was removing the hub-caps from it. It was as simple as that. It was either turn him in or take him in-or be taken in...."

Bernie laughed and turned away from the captain. "Anyway, he kept hanging around and I kind of got used to him. Then, when I decided to come out here, he wanted to come along.

His mother said it was okay, so I brought him with me. For the summer, I supposed."

"His mother agreed?"

"Oh, sure. She was glad to have him off her back. He was what they call a juvenile delinquent. He stole things-and sold things-and no one ever told him right from wrong. Even I didn't get around to that."

"Was there anything between you?"

"Well, of course," Bernie said sharply. "It was like father and son. No, it was more than that. It was more deliberate. His own father was too busy getting drunk and making more babies to worry about Mike. So I just took over. Hell, I didn't have anything else to worry about."

"Was there anything between you?" the captain said again.

"I already told you."

"I'm talking about sex."

"Well, how can you divorce sex from anything," Bernie said. He scowled and got up, moving to the opposite wall, facing it. "We weren't having any relations if that's what you mean!"

"Tell me about the guy who got you drunk," the captain said. "Where did you meet him."

"At the Post Bar. That's near where I work. I don't remember much except I was talking to him and he kept buying me drinks."

"Do you remember his name?"

"Just 'Jack'," Bernie said.

"Do you remember what he looked like?"

Bernie shook his head. "I never saw him too clearly. But he was a big guy. He was from Texas, you know. But I never really saw his face. It was always so dark. I just remember he was big. And I remember his eyes. They had a fierce look, as though he hated me. Even when he laughed he had that look." Bernie winced, remembering. "I didn't know what it was at the time."

"Tell me about Sarah," the captain said. "Had Mike been going with her long?"

"How do I know," Bernie said crisply. Suddenly he was agitated. "Why don't you ask him? I was working-he was living it up. How did I know what was going on? All of a sudden he drops this bomb ... getting married! So what do I do? I play hurt and bow out. 'Don't tell me-tell your mother!' "

Bernie shrugged futilely, recovering from his outburst. "I don't know her at all. Or Mike either for that matter. I guess I didn't give them a chance to know me. I hurt them pretty bad, I guess."

Bernie moved back to the bench and sat down wearily.

"When I heard her old man was coming out here to break them up, I was glad. Then he started saying things to Mike and Rose and Sarah and it made me sick because I realized I'd been thinking the same things. I realized we were a-like. He was saying them, but I was thinking them!" Bernie covered his face with his hands. "I even thought-he might kill Mike. My God...?"

"Take it easy," the captain said and it was a command.

"My God!" Bernie said. "How ugly can a person be!"

"I said that's enough!"

"I'm all right." Bernie drew his hands away. His face was calm. Suddenly he grinned. "You know, it's a funny thing."

"What's funny?" said Captain Williams.

"I had a dream once. One of those over-and-over dreams. I was running up a hill. It was all green like one of those full-page cigarette ads in a magazine. At the top, I felt free and apart from the whole world. And I kept getting lighter and lighter. I didn't know why. Then I looked back and it was all red. And I realized the reason I was getting lighter was because I was-bleeding."

Bernie looked at the captain as though seeing him for the first time. "Isn't that funny?" Bernie said and he laughed.