The Good Cop (23 page)

Later, Hardesty,
my mind-voice said gently.
Later.
I knew instinctively that the only way I was going to be able to keep my word to the police not to go rushing off on my own was to concentrate fully on the situation at hand.

“Thanks, Tony,” I said, clearing my throat. “And thanks for being there for us.”

“Always.”

I hung up the phone and went looking for the phone book, to call
Rainbow Flag
and the other gay papers when the door buzzer rang.

Jeezus! Enough already!
I had no idea who it could be, but automatically hit the lobby door buzzer and went back to looking for the phone book. Finding it, I started thumbing through to the “R”s when I heard a knock.

I opened it to find Phil…and Jonathan!

“What…?” I started to say, but Phil was hugging me, and then Jonathan.

“I tried to call you,” Jonathan said, “but your line was busy, so I called Phil, and he came and got me.” I knew Bob and Mario hadn't had the phones installed yet, so that meant Jonathan had to have left the house to call. Under other conditions I'd have been angry with him for putting himself at risk, however remote, but…

Phil shrugged. “I was getting ready to come over here anyway,” he said, “but Jonathan was calling from a pay phone just to ask if I'd heard from you, and when he said he was going to walk over because he didn't have enough money for the bus, I figured….”

Friends. Remember?

“Well, I'm glad to see you. Both of you.”

Jonathan smiled, then apparently thought a smile wasn't appropriate, and cut it off like a knife.

“Tim called just before I left and I told him where I'd be. He said he'd call as soon as he could—as soon as he knew anything.”

“Can I make you some coffee, Dick?” Jonathan asked. “Did you have any breakfast? I can make you something.”

I realized I hadn't even had a cup of coffee yet. “I made a pot when I got up, but never got around to drinking it. You want to go get some for us? Cups are in the cupboard right over the coffeemaker.”

“Do you want anything to eat?”

I shook my head. “I'm not hungry, but thanks.”

He started to smile again, thought better of it, and went quickly into the kitchen.

I still had the phone book in my hand, and went back to looking through the “R”s, when Phil stepped over and took it out of my hand.

“Let's sit down for a minute,” he said, gently. “You don't have to call anyone right this instant.”

Jonathan brought two cups of coffee into the living room and handed one to me, then to Phil. Having done so, he looked a little at a loss as to what to do next.

“Aren't you going to have any?” I asked, and his face brightened—though again he was obviously trying hard not to seem unaware of the somber atmosphere. “Sure. Thanks.” He was gone a minute, then reappeared, standing in the doorway, again not sure of what to do.

“Come sit down,” I said, and he came and sat on the couch, but at the opposite end, as though he didn't think I'd want him too close to me.

Though I knew Jonathan wasn't really aware of everything that was happening, or why, I tried not to leave him out as I told Phil everything. The call, the meeting with the chief, Offermann, and Richman, the urgency of getting the community leaders together.

“The main thing we have to get across, is that the community can't just react until we know the facts, and we have to give the chief and the others time to find out what really happened. We can't just assume it was another cop who killed Tom…even though that's where I'd place my bets right now. He'd been getting death threats….”

The phone rang again.

“Do you want me to answer it?” Jonathan asked, but I shook my head and got up to answer it.

“Hardesty.”

“Dick, it's Tim. I've got some really bad news.”

What could possibly be worse than Tom's being dead?
I wondered. “Yeah?” I said, steeling myself for whatever it was.

“We got the bullet that…that killed him. It's from a .38.” I felt a tidal wave of anger sweep over me. While a .38 was a common weapon, it was also the standard-issue duty weapon of the police department.

When I didn't say anything, Tim added. “One bullet. To the left temple. Death was instantaneous. From the position and angle of the wound, he was probably looking straight ahead. There were no powder burns, which means the killer was at least five feet away—probably in a car pulled up beside him at the stoplight. He might very well not even known it was coming.” There was another long pause, and then: “I'm sorry, Dick. I really am.”

“I know, Tim. Thanks. Did you want to talk to Phil?”

“No, that's okay. I've got to get back to work. I'll talk to him later.”

*

The day flew by. I was on the phone constantly. I remembered that at the first meeting, we'd asked everyone who attended to sign in with their names and phone numbers. I had the list at the office, and Phil volunteered to go down and get it for me. I gave him the keys, told him where I
thought
the list was; I gave him about ten alternative places to look if it wasn't, and he left.

I called Lieutenant Richman to tell him of the time and location of the meeting and he assured me that Chief Black would be there.

If I'd been in much of a state to do any pondering or speculating about things other than the immediate situation with Tom and the fuse that would definitely be lit if word got out that he had been killed with the same kind of gun used by just about every policeman in the city, I might have given a bit more time to wonder exactly why Jonathan was here. But I didn't: I just accepted it and, on some not-too-deeply hidden level, appreciated it. He didn't talk my arm off: He was very quiet, actually. I got the feeling that he simply wanted to be with me, and that was very sweet of him.

When Phil returned with the list, I called everyone on it I'd not already called. Several of them had already spoken to either Bob, or Mark Graser, or Glen O'Banyon. All expressed a great deal of sorrow over Tom's death and apprehension over what it might result in. There was a great deal of anger, too. Even without knowing about the weapon that had killed Tom, many automatically assumed he had been killed by a homophobic fellow officer.

Phil had picked up copies of all the papers, which, if not headlining the killing, ran the story on the front page. The two more journalistically responsible papers merely reported the facts—what few were known—mentioning Tom's having been at the head of his academy class, his having saved his fellow officer trapped in the burning squad car, and having come to the rescue of a number of “citizens” being attacked by gang members, and the fact that the police were pursuing the probability that the killing was a gang retaliation. All respectful, all dignified.

But, ah, the
Journal-Sentinel
: Somehow they had managed to get a close-up photo of Tom's car, looking in the driver's side open door, and showing the hood partially through the wall and smashed display window of Reef Dwellers. The banner headline shouted: “Gay Cop Shot Dead!” While the accompanying article was almost totally devoid of fact, it was of course dripping with innuendo, including making a point of mentioning that the killing had occurred in “the gay area of town” where “gay bars abound.” It of course did not mention that so did gay bookstores and gay clothing stores and gay record shops and gay restaurants and…

You're preaching to the choir,
Hardesty, my mind said.

*

We…Phil, Tim, Jonathan and I…arrived at the M.C.C. at 6:30 and already there were several cars in the church's parking lot. I'd thought of taking Jonathan back to Bob and Mario's, but he wanted to come and I figured ‘what the hell, he's as safe here as anywhere.' I could tell he wanted to run next door to Haven House to say hello to some of his former housemates and, after asking if I was sure I didn't mind, he went. I was sure that with Chief Black expected, not even Cochran's boys would dare make a move on Jonathan, even if they knew he was there.

While none of us had intended for the straight media to be there, a van from Channel 6 pulled up in front of the church, and I was sure representatives from at least one of the newspapers were there, too. Everything had happened so fast we had no way of really knowing who was supposed to be there and who was not. There had been something like sixty-two people at our first meeting. I expected we'd have quite a few more for this one. But I certainly was not prepared for the crowd that had already gathered by six forty-five.

We'd moved around to the front of the church to see who was arriving. Earlier, Lee Taylor of the Gay Business League had agreed to open the meeting, and he and Glen O'Banyon had suggested I introduce Chief Black. I didn't think that was a good idea at all, and suggested that Lee Taylor introduce Lieutenant Richman, whom I was pretty sure would be accompanying the chief: Richman could introduce the chief.

At ten 'til seven, I checked with Bob and Mark Graser and Glen O'Banyon and together we went through the crowd outside, looking for those we knew had been specifically invited and urging them to go into the church and find a seat while they still could.

Jonathan made his way to me and I told him to go inside with Tim and Mario to save seats for Bob and Phil and me. As I was saying a few words to Charles Conrad of
Rainbow Flag
, I was surprised to see Jared coming toward me. As Charles climbed the stairs into the church, I turned to a very sober-faced Jared. We exchanged a handshake and a bear-hug.

“I'm sorry, Dick,” he said. He didn't have to say anything more. Looking around at the still-growing crowd, he shook his head: “It looks like we're really in for it, doesn't it?”

I nodded. “I'm afraid so,” I said, and suggested he go inside and find a seat with the rest of the gang, then quickly sought out Glen O'Banyon, who was talking with a woman I recognized as the organizer of the Gay Pride parade. I motioned to him and he came over immediately.

“I don't know if we can do this, but I suggest we post a couple people at the doors. There's a TV crew out there, and I saw a couple still cameras, I think, indicating the papers are here. I think we should keep the cameras out, at least. This is going to be enough of a circus without having people worry that their pictures are going to be splashed across the papers and TV screens.”

“You're right. Let me go find Reverend Mason. It's his church, and he has the authority to keep the cameras out.”

By five minutes to seven, the church was completely full, and there were probably twenty to fifty others standing in the doorway and on the stairs. Tony had, indeed, stood in the doorway and refused entry to cameras and the TV crew, which did not make them overly happy. Two other people with cameras were spotted among those in the church, and they were asked to either leave the cameras in the church office or to leave. Both gave their cameras to the Reverend with only minimal objections.

At exactly seven o'clock, Reverend Mason went to the pulpit, and I moved to the side door to one side of the altar and went out, circling around the church, to wait for Chief Black's arrival. We had all agreed it would be less disruptive if he could come in through the side, rather than having to walk, like a brideless father, all the way down the aisle to the pulpit.

Fortunately or unfortunately, I was still in too much a state of semi-numbness to be nervous, though I realized that, as Jared had said, this was rapidly turning into something a lot bigger than any of us had anticipated.

At two minutes after seven, two squad cars pulled up in front of the church. The TV crew and one or two still cameramen from the newspapers, who had had nothing much to do in the past several minutes, scrambled toward the squad cars, from which Chief Black, Captain Offermann, and Lieutenant Richman emerged. Chief Black's driver remained in the car. The last thing in the world that I wanted was to see myself on the evening news or in the papers. Richman spotted me, and I turned and walked back around the church to the side door as they followed, saying as little as possible to the insistent reporters.

We gathered just inside the door, on the steps leading to the stage and the altar. Lee Taylor noticed us out of the corner of his eye, and wrapped up his remarks, which from the little I heard and the details given me later, centered on the necessity, if the gay community expected to be accepted into the mainstream, of proving that it could act and react responsibly; that to do otherwise would only prove to our enemies that we were not deserving of inclusion.

“Before we hear from the chief,” Lee said, “I have to emphasize that he is here out of concern for the community's reaction over the death of Officer Brady. This is not the time for a town meeting or a press conference. The chief will not be taking questions. Tom Brady has been dead less than twenty-four hours; so while we all have many questions, there simply has been too little time to find answers. We have got to keep that in mind, and give the chief the time he needs to find those answers.”

He then introduced Lieutenant Mark Richman, and Richman, Offermann and Chief Black moved up onto the stage and crossed it to the podium in total silence. I remained on the steps until they had completely crossed the stage, then went through the small door at the foot of the stage that led to the auditorium. Fortunately, Jonathan, Bob, and the rest were seated in the first two rows, on my side of the room. Jonathan saw me and quickly scooted aside making room for me to sit, which I did. Richman stepped to the podium, introduced himself as being in the department's Administrative Division, among whose duties was outreach to the various minorities in the city. He acknowledged the department's long history of discrimination against the gay community, pointed briefly to several steps that had been taken to rectify it, and promised continued and intensified steps in that direction.