what I am saying, Mr. Sawyer? I think you do.
“Now, I don’t know if you planned on killing the man known as John or not. I can’t know that until you tell me what happened. And you can’t tell me until you drop this little game of yours, because the answers aren’t in William Shakespeare or the Bible,- they’re in your head. Let’s get rid of these word games—now, before they get you in real trouble. Just talk in simple English, and tell me what happened.”
There was no doubt that Hawkin’s speech had made an impression on the man, though whether it was the threat or the appeal was not clear. He had sat up straight, his hands grasping his knees, now his eyes closed, he raised his face to the overhead light, and his right hand came up to curl into the hollow of his neck, as if grasping his nonexistent staff. For three or four long, silent minutes he stayed like that, struggling with some unknowable dilemma. When he moved, his hand came up to rub across his eyes and down to pinch his lower lip, then dropped back onto his lap. He opened his eyes first on Kate, then on Hawkin. His expression was apologetic, but without the faintest degree of fear or uncertainty.
“Truth,” he began, “is the cry of all, but the game of the few. There is nothing to prevent you from telling the truth, if you do it with a smile.” He gave them the smile and sat forward on the edge of his chair to gather their attention to him, as if his next words would not have done solely themselves. “Dread death. Dry death. Immortal death. Death on his pale horse.” He paused and held out the long, thin fingers of his right hand. “Will all great Neptune’s ocean wash this blood clean from my hand? No. Your brother’s blood is crying to me from the ground. And the Lord set a mark upon Cain. A fugitive and a vagabond shall you be on the earth.” He paused to let them think about this, his eyes going from one face to the other. He drew back his hand and commented in a quiet voice that made the thought parenthetical but intensely personal: “Death is not the worst. Rather, to wish for death in vain, and not to gain it.” After a moment, he sat forward again and held out his left hand, cupped slightly as if to guide in another strand of thought. Putting a definite stress on the misplaced names, he said, “Then David made a covenant with Jonathan, because he loved him as he loved his own soul. And David stripped himself of the robe that was upon him, and gave it to Jonathan. And then he shall go out to the altar which is before the Lord and make atonement for it. He shall go no more to his house. He shall bear all their iniquities with him into a solitary land. I have been a stranger in a strange land. And the ravens brought him bread and flesh in the morning, and bread and flesh in the evening, and he drank of the brook. I met a fool in the forest, a motley fool. A learned fool is more foolish than an ignorant one. Let a fool be made serviceable according to his folly.” He stopped, saw that he had lost them, and pursed his lips in thought. Then, with an air of returning to kindergarten basics, he began again. “The wisdom of this world is folly with God. If anyone among you thinks that he is wise now, let him become a fool so he may become wise. To the present hour we hunger and thirst, we are poorly clothed and buffeted and homeless. We have become, and are now, as the refuse of the world, the offscouring of all things. We are fools for Christ’s sake.”
“So you’re saying you do this as some kind of religious exercise?” Hawkin asked bluntly. Kate couldn’t decide if he was acting stupid to draw Sawyer out or because he was irritated.
“I count religion but a childish toy, and hold there is no sin but ignorance.”
“Then I guess I must be burning in sin,” snapped Hawkin, “because I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”
Sawyer sat back again with his fingers across his stomach and eyed Hawkin for some time, his head to one side, before making the stern pronouncement, “A living dog is better than a dead lion.” Kate glanced at him sharply and saw a sparkle of mischief in the back of his eyes. He looked sideways at her and lowered one eyelid a fraction. Hawkin did not see the gesture, but he was staring at the man with suspicion.
“What does that mean?” he demanded.
“He who blesses his neighbor in a loud voice, rising early in the morning, will be counted as cursing.”
“Look, Mr. Sawyer—”
“Do not speak in the hearing of a fool, for he will despise the wisdom of your words.”
“Mr. Sawyer—”
“He who walks with wise men becomes wise, but the companion of fools will come to harm.”
Hawkin stood up abruptly, his face dark. “All right, take him back to the cells—” he began, but he was drowned out by Sawyer’s sudden loud stream of words.
“A whip for the horse, a bridle for the donkey, and a rod for the back of fools,” he asserted. “Like a thorn that goes into the hand of a drunkard, is a proverb in the mouth of fools. Like snow in summer or rain at the harvest, honor is not fit for a fool. A man without—”
The door closed behind Al Hawkin, and Sawyer, on his feet now, stood tensely for a moment, then relaxed and smiled at Kate as if the two of them had just shared a clever joke. “A man without self-control,” he said slyly, “is like a city broken into and left with no walls.” He sat down again.
Kate did not smile back at him. “Why do you antagonize people? Al Hawkins a good man. Why make an enemy of him?”
Sawyer shrugged. “The way of a fool is right in his own eyes. A fool speaks his whole mind.”
“That’s exactly what we’re trying to get you to do, David. Your whole mind, not just the games.”
“It is a happy talent to know how to play.”
She leaned forward, her arms flat on the table. “Do you really take death so lightly?”
“Remember, we all must die.”
“And you honestly think that justifies murder? You?” she said pointedly. “Think that?”
The ghostly presence of Kyle Roberts visited the room, and on the other side stood his innocent victims: Kate saw in the worn face across the table that Sawyer felt them there. He finally broke her gaze, and his throat worked before he answered.
“What greater pain could mortals have than this: to see their children dead before their eyes?”
“You know, I’d have thought that would make you more willing to help us, not less.” He did not answer. “All we want is for you to talk to us. No games, just talk.” Still nothing; but she had not expected a response. Time to end it. “You’re tired, David. Think about it for a while, see if you don’t change your mind. We’ll continue this discussion later.”
Kate stood up, went to the door, and looked on as the guard prepared to take Sawyer back to his cell. The prisoner paused in the doorway, with the guard’s hand on his elbow, and looked down at Kate.
“I well believe thou wilt not utter what thou dost not know. And so far will I trust thee, gentle Kate.” He turned and allowed himself to be led away. She went back into the interrogation room and turned off the tape recorder, then took out the tape and carried it downstairs, where she slid it into the other machine that stood on Hawkins desk and waited while he ran the tape back a short way and listened. Erasmus ranted, the door slammed, Kate’s voice reproved their suspect, he answered her. When the tape clicked, Hawkin switched the machine off.
“Well done. That’s just what I had in mind. We’ll let him stew today. I’ll lead another session tomorrow morning, and then you can take over. Stop by and hold his hand for a few minutes before you go home today, okay?” If you say so.
“I want him softened up. The DA’ll have him sent off for psychiatric evaluation the first part of the week. If we keep him longer than that and then they decide he really is nuts, we’re risking a harassment charge.”
“Is it really necessary, the evaluation?”
“For Christ sake, Martinelli, the DA couldn’t possibly take it to trial without. You heard him in there. He was raving. It may be an act, but after forty-eight hours in custody, it isn’t likely to be drugs or booze.”
“I don’t know, Al. He makes a weird kind of sense.”
“I mean it. I think I’ll make a copy of that tape, if you don’t mind.”
“Studying it for secret meanings?”
“I thought I might have it translated.”
¦
TWENTY-ONE
¦
On Sunday afternoon, Kate assembled her team of translators. They met at the house on Russian Hill to avoid the problem of transporting Lee’s wheelchair up and down stairs. At two o’clock, Kate left the house and
