The Good Cop (22 page)

Did Richman tell me all this when he called? Or did I learn it afterwards? I honestly don't know. All I did know was that Richman told me Tom was dead.

How do you react to something like that?

I remember somehow getting dressed and running…literally running…to Tom and Lisa's apartment. Lisa was standing on the curb in the front of the building in a robe and pajamas. She looked at me as I ran up to her.

“I'm waiting for Carol,” she said, in a little-girl voice. Her eyes searched my face. “Did you know they killed Tom?” she asked calmly, and when I nodded, her face became a shattered mirror, and she fell into my arms and we both stood on the curb and held each other and cried.

*

When Carol arrived a minute or two later, I guess it was—she just pulled up in front of the fire hydrant about ten feet away and ran over to us—we went into the building and up to the apartment. The phone was ringing, and Carol went to answer it. I heard her say “No, it's not. She can't talk right now…. What? Oh, yes. Just a minute.” She held the receiver out to me: “It's for you,” she said. I didn't ask who it was, or wonder who knew I was there, or how they knew. I didn't care, but I made sure Lisa was sitting down before I went over to take the phone from Carol, who immediately went over to her.

“Hello?” I heard myself say.

“Mr. Hardesty, this is Captain Offermann. I tried calling your apartment, but Lieutenant Richman told me if you were not home, this is where you would probably be. I know it's very late, but can you come down to my office immediately, please? We have to talk.”

“I…sure. I'll be there in twenty minutes.”

The phone just touched the cradle when it rang again, and I picked it up. I recognized the voice immediately.

“Hello, Mr. Brady,” I said. “This is Dick Hardesty. I…I'm so terribly sorry about Tom.”

“Thank you, Dick,” he said, his voice calm but obviously stressed. “Is Lisa there?”

“Yes, sir. Carol is with her.”

“Would you ask her if I could come over?”

I covered the mouthpiece with one hand and relayed the elder Brady's request. Lisa nodded ‘yes' then resumed her sobbing.

“Of course,” I said and then, not knowing what else to say and afraid that if I tried to say anything else I might not be able to hold it together, I just hung up.

*

Pretend,
I told myself on the way to the City Annex.
Just pretend this is a story, and you're reading about a character in it. It's not real. None of it's real.

But it was, and I knew it.

Still, by the time I arrived at the Annex, I had pulled myself together. I
was
pretty good at playing games, and I could play this one. All the streets at that time of night were marked “No Parking Between 2–6 a.m. for Street Cleaning” so I pulled into the alley beside the Annex where the police cars were lined up, and pulled into an empty space. If they wanted to tow me, let 'em.

The lobby of the Annex was pretty quiet, and when I told the guard sitting at the desk by the elevators where I was going, he just nodded and waved me past.

All the offices on Offermann's floor were dark, except one: Offermann's. There was no one in the small reception area, so I went right to Offermann's door and knocked.

“Come,” Offermann's voice said, and I turned the knob and went in.

Offermann was behind his desk. In a chair to his right was Lieutenant Richman, and in a chair to his left a man I recognized from photographs: Kensington Black, Chief of Police.

Captain Offermann made the introduction, and the chief rose from his chair to shake my hand. Neither Offermann and I nor Richman and I exchanged handshakes. There was no need to.

Chief Black motioned me to the remaining chair, and I took it as he sat back down himself.

“Tom Brady was a fine man, and a fine police officer. Any officer's death is a tragic loss to the department. To me, Officer Brady's death is that and more. I've known Tom for a good number of years and have nothing but admiration for him.” He looked at me closely to be sure I was following him. I was. “I want you to understand that the recent rumors of his sexual orientation in no way detract from my admiration.” I nodded but remained silent.

“Just before you arrived I spoke with Lisa and John Brady to express my personal condolences and those of the entire department. I understand that you and Tom were…close…and had been so since college. Both Captain Offermann and Lieutenant Richman have told me of your role in hastening the retirement of Chief Rourke, and of their dealings with you in the past.”

That's very kind of you, Chief,
I thought,
but Tom's still dead.

I glanced at Lieutenant Richman…Mark…who, as always, was looking directly at me.

“There will, of course, be an immediate and full investigation into Officer Brady's death, conducted by Captain Offermann's division. We are operating on the most logical assumption that the shooting was gang related, in retaliation for Officer Brady's killing of two of their members. But we are deeply concerned by the inevitability of rumors sweeping through the gay community that he could have been killed by someone in this department. This is completely unthinkable but hardly unexpected. I realize part of the fault lies with the department—I'm fully aware of what Tom had been going through for the past few weeks, and I am deeply sorry that he was made the pawn in our current inner-departmental difficulties. They were not of his making, as I am sure you are well aware. I feel in some way responsible because his relationship to me merely complicated the circumstances of the original shooting incident.”

Yeah?
my mind asked as I listened to him through some sort of fog.
If you were ‘fully aware' of what he was going through, why the hell didn't you do something to stop it? And do you think for one minute that the fact of wearing a police uniform automatically removes anybody from suspicion?

Though he had no way of knowing what was going on in my mind, he might have read something in my expression even as he continued talking.

“But if…and I emphasize
if
…some link were to be found between his death and
anyone
in this department, I assure you the responsible party or parties will feel the full weight of the law. There will be no cover-up.”

“I appreciate that, Chief. But I'm a little unclear as to exactly why I'm here.”

The chief, Offermann, and Richman exchanged glances as if to see who was going to give the reason. Finally, it was the chief who spoke.

“Whether the rumors of Officer Brady's sexual orientation are true or not, the indisputable fact is that as a result of the shooting incident and the fact that he was in a gay bar with you just prior to it, the gay community apparently considers him one of their own. I am correct in saying this, am I not?” He looked directly at me, and I nodded. He returned the nod.

“This is completely understandable, especially considering the long-standing tensions between this department and the gay community up to the point of Chief Rourke's departure. The emergence of the gay community
as
a community and as an economic and political force to be reckoned with has never been fully accepted by many in the department even today. But if indeed ten percent of the population is homosexual, in a city this size that is a very substantial number of citizens who have every right to demand more respect than they have received from us.

“That Officer Brady's sexual orientation should ever have been a problem at all speaks volumes for how far we still have to go before things can be made right.”

He paused again, and looked at me thoughtfully.

“Our point here is that we have a potentially explosive situation we are, quite frankly, ill-equipped to handle. If the gay community should choose to overlook the obvious probability of a gang retaliation and concentrate its suspicion—as I strongly fear will be the case given the distrust with which the community views the force—that Officer Brady was killed by a member or members of this department because of his alleged homosexuality, things could get completely out of control.” I nodded, knowing that what he said was not only true, but an understatement.

“And the fact of the matter is, like it or not, you are our most direct link to the gay community.”

And…?
my mind prompted.

“We need time,” the chief continued. “Time to conduct our investigation. We need the gay community to bear with us, to stay calm. Gay Pride is one week away. We do not want another Stonewall here, though this has the potential to be much worse than Stonewall. Tens of thousands of angry citizens gathered in one place at one time…well, you can see the danger. You were able to get the community leaders together to keep a lid on the rumors after the shooting. We need you to do it again.”

“You know who the leaders are,” I said. “You could contact them yourselves. Glen O'Banyon, for example….”

“Mr. O'Banyon,” Offermann said, “is well known to be a powerful influence in the gay community, but his position as one of the city's leading attorneys puts him on a tightrope. He must maintain at least the illusion of some degree of distance. For us to go directly to him would be to place him in some professional jeopardy, and we could not ask him to do that.”

Richman stepped into the discussion for the first time. “Plus the fact that under the current situation, our own objectivity in the matter would be questioned. We feel someone within the gay community has to pull this together. We'll do everything we can to help, but…”

They were right, of course.

I turned to Chief Black. “Would you be personally willing to talk to the leaders, if I can get them together again? I realize the pressures you are under from within the department.”

Chief Black nodded. “Of course I would. Tom Brady's death, and its implications for the entire city is far more important than my concerns over inner-departmental bickering. Get them together, and soon, and I'll be there if they want me. But we've got to act immediately before things get out of control.”

I looked from one to the other in turn. They were all looking directly at me.

“I'll do my best.” Then, after another long pause, I asked: “Is there anything else right now?”

Richman looked at me. “One more thing.”

I turned to him, but said nothing.

“Just as we have to ask the gay community to restrain itself, we have to ask the same of you. It's only natural for you to feel obligated to try to find who killed him on your own. But you're much too close to this one. Please, give us a chance to do our job first. Just give us time, okay?”

I found myself nodding. “Okay.” I knew they were right, but didn't know if I could do it. “Can I go now?”

In unison, they all nodded without speaking. I got up from my chair, still quite sure all of this wasn't really happening. The others stood, too, and I went around and shook each of their hands, part of my mind idly observing how odd, but how deeply ingrained, these little rituals of civilization really were.

*

I think I slept some when I got home, but I'm not sure. It certainly didn't feel like it when I got up at seven and stumbled into the kitchen to make coffee, pausing only to turn the TV on to the morning local news. Tom's (“A decorated police officer's”) death was of course the lead story. I didn't want to hear it, but left it on. The phone rang as I pressed the “On” button on the coffeemaker.

“Hardesty.” I was aware that my head felt like it was full of lead bars.

“Dick, it's Bob. We just heard the news.” There was a pause, then: “What can we say? Is there anything we can do?”

“As a matter of fact,” I began….

*

Bob agreed to call Bar Guild president Mark Graser and some of the other bar owners who had attended the first meeting. We agreed on the urgency of getting everyone together immediately: that evening, if possible. We arbitrarily picked seven p.m. as a time, and the M.C.C. for a place unless we notified them otherwise. It was presumptive of me to assume the church would be available, but I suspected that, under the circumstances, there wasn't likely to be much of a problem. I told him I'd probably be home all day, and to get back to me when he could.

I didn't even hang up the phone, just pushed the disconnect button and lifted it again, dialing the M.C.C. and, when I got the machine, asked for Tony Mason to call me as soon as he got the message. I then immediately dialed Haven House, in case he might be there. He was.

“Good morning, Dick,” he said when I identified myself. “What can I do for you this morning?” Obviously, he had not yet heard the news. I quickly filled him in and then said:

“Can we use the church tonight for a meeting? At seven o'clock? I know it's short notice, but time is a vital factor here. We'll probably need the whole church—the upstairs, I mean.”

“Of course,” he said. “Of course. We have a couple activities scheduled for this evening, but I'm sure we can either move them downstairs or reschedule them. I suspect this news is going to hit the whole community pretty hard. I hope it doesn't overreact.”

“That's exactly why we're calling the meeting. And I hope you'll be there to say a few words. We're going to need all the help we can get.”

“I'll be glad to do whatever I can, of course. I'll undoubtedly be hearing from members of the congregation during the day, and I'll do my best to urge them to spread the word to remain calm.” There was a slight pause and I was about to say goodbye when he said: “I know you and Officer Brady were good friends, Dick, and I'm so sorry for your loss. Please relay my condolences to his wife.”

From the time I'd left Lisa and Carol early in the morning, I'd been so busy that my own feelings had been shoved into a corner. But when Tony said that, I felt a tightening in my throat.