‘Policeman?’ Ben asked.
‘Oh, yeah,’ the watchman said. ‘He had a little toy badge and a little toy pistol. Claimed he’s been deputized.’
‘We found the badge,’ Ben said. ‘The pistol, though – you said it was a toy.’
‘Yeah, a toy,’ the watchman said, ‘like a little cap pistol.’ The watchman smiled sadly. ‘He used to run around shooting it at things. Tin cans and such like that. You know, like a kid. Sometimes he’d stick it right up to his own head and shoot it off. “I’m dead,” he’d say. “I’m dead.” Then he’d fall right over on the ground.’ He glanced back toward the empty drain and shook his head ruefully. ‘We’re gonna miss that ole boy around the plant,’ he said. ‘An outfit always needs something funny hanging around.’
TWENTY-THREE
Fourth Avenue looked as if it had been hit by a gigantic thunder-storm as Ben drove Coggins back down toward Police Headquarters. Small oily streams flowed slowly down the gutters, pushing swirling clumps of debris along with them, and in the park across the street, long thin trenches had been dug into the earth and now rippled with pools of muddy water.
‘They can clean up all they want,’ Coggins said confidently, ‘but a demonstration leaves more behind than litter.’ His eyes shifted over toward the deserted park. Far in the distance a single fire engine winked bright red in the afternoon sunlight.
‘They can spray the streets forever,’ Coggins added. ‘They can try to make them nice and clean. But by the time it’s all over here, everybody in the world is going to know just how dirty Birmingham really is.’
Ben said nothing. He kept his eyes on the street ahead. A scattering of uniformed patrolmen was pulling down police barricades while a small contingent of the Highway Patrol watched lazily from a few yards away. One of their commanders stood in front of them, very tall and erect. His uniform was perfectly pressed, and his high black boots had been shined to a gleaming finish. He stepped out into the middle of the street, his eyes narrowing in concentration as Ben’s car approached.
Ben brought the car to a halt, and the commander stepped over to him.
‘This area is under heavy security right now,’ he said. He glanced at Coggins, then back at Ben. ‘Do you have some business being around here?’
‘I’m on my way to Police Headquarters,’ Ben told him. He took out his badge.
The commander glanced at the badge, but did not seem impressed. ‘What are you doing with this man here?’ he asked as he nodded toward Coggins. ‘Is he under arrest or something?’
‘No,’ Ben said. He glanced at the small black nameplate which had been pinned to the commander’s uniform: Halsey.
‘Well, we’ve had some trouble here today,’ the commander said, ‘and so we’re keeping a close eye on things.’
Ben nodded slowly. ‘Looks like it,’ he said. His eyes drifted to the right of Halsey’s body. He could see what looked to him like an unmarked police car, dark green and very dusty, with nearly treadless blackwall tires, parked at the edge of the park. Two men sat in the backseat, and as their faces moved in and out of the shadowy gray which engulfed the inside of the car, he could tell that one of them was Teddy Langley.
‘So my suggestion to you, Sergeant Wellman,’ the commander said, ‘is to get this man back to headquarters as soon as possible.’
‘Yeah,’ Ben said dully, his eyes still on the unmarked car.
Tod Langley suddenly emerged from behind one of the trees in the park, walked to the driver’s side of the dark-green car and got in.
‘It’s dangerous to be in this area right now,’ the commander concluded.
Ben did not answer. Instead he continued to watch as the car pulled out slowly and headed down the avenue. In the small square of light between the commander’s broad body and the end of Ben’s line of vision, Ben could see Teddy Langley’s eyes catch sight of him, then widen slightly as he peered at him through the dusty rear window of the car.
‘So be on your way,’ the commander said authoritatively as he stepped away from the car, ‘and be alert to what’s going on around you.’
‘Okay, thanks,’ Ben said as he pressed slowly down on the accelerator. In his rearview mirror, he could see the other car as it sped quickly up the still wet street. Its tires threw up a glistening fan of droplets which fell like a silver curtain through the bright air.
‘Well, I can’t say I’m exactly glad to be back,’ Coggins said as Ben closed the cell door.
‘You boys have a high old time, did you?’ McCorkindale asked with a laugh.
Ben continued to stare at Coggins. ‘I’ll let you know what I find out,’ he told him.
An odd, appreciative smile spread across Coggins’ face. ‘Thanks,’ he said. He wrapped his fingers around the bars of the cell. ‘And of course you’ll know where to find me.’
McCorkindale smiled slyly as he walked down the cellblock. ‘You two look like you’re getting real close,’ he said.
‘You’re going to be getting in some stuff from the Coroner’s Office,’ Ben told hiin. ‘Keep a real close eye on it.’
McCorkindale looked interested. ‘What kind of stuff?’
‘Evidence. From a homicide. A gun, at least. It’s being dusted now. The rest will be going to the lab. You probably won’t see that for weeks.’
At the end of the hall, McCorkindale dropped himself heavily into his swivel chair. ‘Well, I got your afternoon assignment,’ he said. ‘Captain Starnes gave it to me.’
‘What is it?’
‘Peace in the valley, Ben,’ McCorkindale said. ‘A real plum. You’re supposed to represent the department at Kelly Ryan’s funeral this afternoon.’ He tore a piece of paper from a steno pad and handed it to Ben. ‘He didn’t have no relatives. So they’re burying him fast. Here’s all the details.’
Ben glanced at the paper, then shoved it into his jacket pocket.
McCorkindale smiled happily. ‘I swear, Ben, you are getting the sweet treatment these days.’ He shook his head wonderingly. ‘Why, if it weren’t for me, I think you’d get all the cushy jobs.’
Ben smiled thinly, then stepped away.
‘One more thing,’ McCorkindale said quickly. ‘Captain wants to see you. He’s in his office.’
‘Okay,’ Ben said. He turned, then walked back down the corridor to Luther’s office.
Luther was hunched over his desk, his large hands wrapped around a ham and cheese sandwich.
‘Just grabbing a quick bite between crises,’ he said as Ben stepped into his office. He took a gulp of coffee, then wiped his mouth with the side of his hand. ‘Listen, I heard you got something on that little girl thing.’
‘Yeah.’
‘What is it?’
‘Well, we traced the ring we found on her to a colored man that used to live in one of those storm drains over at the rubber factory.’
‘Used to live?’
‘He’s dead,’ Ben said. ‘Shot.’
‘With what?’
‘A twenty-two.’
‘Same one used on the little girl?’ Luther asked.
‘Probably,’ Ben said. ‘We found the pistol in the storm drain. It was still in the guy’s hand. We’re checking to make sure it killed both of them.’
Luther nodded thoughtfully. ‘So it’s a murder-suicide, you think?’
‘Could be,’ Ben said. ‘People called this guy Bluto. He hung around a poolhall on Fourth Avenue. He was mentally retarded.’ He decided to keep his doubts about Bluto’s death to himself for the moment.
‘Good,’ Luther said. ‘Good job, Ben.’ He took another quick bite from the sandwich. ‘Well, I guess everything’s pretty much wrapped up, then.’
Ben nodded noncominittally. ‘We’re checking the guy’s blood to see if it matches the semen we found in the
