Hocus

about when we had lunch the other day.”

I tried to heed his warnings but still felt nervous as we sat down to dinner. Early attention and talk, fortunately, was focused on Greg Bradshaw’s knee surgery. By the time I had calmed myself enough to look up from the first course, I realized Cassidy had somehow taken control of the conversation. He seemed to set some silent ground rule: no one would discuss Frank’s captivity or, by extension, the Ryan-Neukirk murders. He did not announce this; he merely started several discussions that were obviously not about our great concern. Everyone picked up on this cue, probably certain that he was doing this to keep Frank’s mother or wife calm during a meal he called — despite Pete’s constant corrections — our “Eye-talian supper.” I think he was getting back at Pete for harassing Cecilia, since Rachel seemed to be suppressing a laugh every time he said it.

Once Cassidy got the ball rolling in the direction he wanted it to go, he spent most of his time listening to the three older cops argue with one another over who told the true version of whichever war story was under discussion.

The stories began to have similar themes. If they were about Gus, they were wild-man exploits: Gus diving and tackling an armed suspect in an alley after his own gun had jammed; Gus climbing a water tower (while drunk) because he saw a pretty girl on it, only to discover it was a long-haired young man who was contemplating suicide — managing to talk the young man out of it; Gus hearing other cops call him “What’s-your-twenty-Matthews” — a reference to the dispatchers’ frequent efforts to locate him. These were the stories about Gus: often heroic, more often foolish.

It was clear that Gus thought nothing of bucking authority, had put in some drinking years, had paid a price for both by never managing to hold on to a promotion for long. But he seemed untroubled by that fact, and whenever Bear or Cookie alluded to it, he smiled and said, “What the hell? I enjoyed my work. It was a good ride. I never had your finesse, is all. You two were a couple of sneaks.”

He was right; while tales were told in which Bear and Cookie were heroes, these almost always involved outwitting criminals rather than Gus’s brute force or action. Within the department, both were pranksters. Bear’s pranks were on a relatively small scale. They were similar to those he played on Frank as a rookie — putting a penny in a patrol car hubcap to make a maddening rattle, putting shoe polish on the rim of a motorcycle cop’s goggles.

Cookie’s pranks involved more strategy. One summer the sound of church bells was broadcast over all the department radios. Bells ringing at midnight, twelve long tolls. When it was heard every night for three nights in a row, the infuriated chief put detectives on the task of discovering the culprit. They compared bell sounds to recordings of the midnight broadcasts. The bells had a distinctive sound, and their most likely source was a certain church. The minister gave permission for police to search it. Nothing was found. Undeterred, the chief ordered the building surrounded and watched. As on previous nights, bells marked midnight and were heard over the radios, although clearly not being transmitted by anyone present.

“Because,” Bear said, “Cookie is a dozen miles away, parked up on a hill, with a little cassette deck in his car playing a tape of those bells!”

Cassidy also told a few anecdotes from his own law enforcement career, with the same flair for humorous storytelling he had demonstrated during our drive to Bakersfield. They took to him, accepted him as one of their own. That, I began to see, was the point.

Now, as the dinner guests were seated around Bea’s living room, Cassidy gave me a smile that was undoubtedly seen as a gesture of reassurance by the others, but that I knew to be a warning.

Get ready.

He stayed on his feet, leaned against the mantel. “Irene, were these old farts this decrepit when you were working here?”

They smiled good-naturedly. “Come here, Tex,” Gus joked, “and I’ll show you what decrepit can do.”

This was met with cheers by Bea and the other two.

“Well, Cassidy,” I said, “not decrepit, but they were a little gray headed.” I looked pointedly at his hair. “You know how that can be.”

He smiled at their laughter and ran a hand over his hair. “Well, some men just look more handsome in gray hair, right, fellas?”

“That’s right, that’s right,” Bear said. “Looks distinguished. Remember, Cookie, when old Brian went Grecian Formula on us?”

This brought on more laughter, while Bea turned red with embarrassment. “Greg Bradshaw,” she muttered. “Honestly! The things you are liable to say.”

I sat stunned, quickly reminding myself that Brian Harriman’s hair color was only one reason to believe in him. Cecilia caught my eye, smiled at me. It was enough to calm me down again.

Cassidy, meanwhile, reached over and picked up the photo of Frank and his dad. “By golly, I just might try some of that hair-coloring stuff. Looks damned natural to me.”

“He wasn’t using it then,” Cookie said.

“Yep, Cookie’s right,” Gus said. “Having Frank on the force is what turned poor ol’ Brian gray.”

“It is not!” Bea protested. “He was very proud of Frank.”

“Oh, of course! Of course he was,” Bear soothed, shooting Gus a dirty look. “Hell, everyone knows that. We’re all proud of him. Frank is a damned fine cop. He’s never given anyone any reason not to be proud of him.”

The room fell silent.

“As far as I’m concerned,” I said, trying to steer the conversation back on course, “Frank isn’t going to be any less handsome when he turns gray. How old was Brian when his hair changed?”

“It wasn’t long after Frank joined the department,” Bea said, then added pointedly, “But it wasn’t because he was worried about Frank.” Gus didn’t see her glance or seem to notice her tone of voice. He was bent forward, elbows on widespread knees, hands clasped, looking down at the floor. His facial expressions were hidden.

“Aw, Bea,” Bear said, suddenly caught between loyalties, “nobody is knocking Brian. It was just something funny, that’s all. Brian laughed about it himself. He only used it for a little while, until we gave him so much grief over it, he figured it was easier to be gray. Truth is, he looked fine either way. Right, Cookie?”