Аврам Дэвидсон - Ellery Queen’s Double Dozen

“In a way,” McDermott conceded. “Yes, in a quiet sort of way he was a hero, I suppose. But... I’m afraid he won’t get an Inspector’s funeral, son. Not even a Captain’s. Oh, it’ll very likely be a big one because he had a lot of friends...”

“But all the cops won’t march?”

“No.”

Jason Palmer rubbed one eye with his knuckles and thus smeared some foreign substance on his cheek.

“I wanna see the Chief of Police,” he said.

“But you can’t, Jason. He’s home and he’s sick. He can’t see anyone. Now — about school...”

“Okay, okay, I’m not playing hookey. I’ll just be a little late, that’s all.”

“You run along now. I like your ideas, Jason. They’re very kind and unselfish. I wish I could help you.”

“You think Officer Cameron oughta have a Captain’s funeral, sir?”

“Indeed I do.”

“Should I ask the principal of my school? He’s... well, kind of a stinker, I guess, but if I asked him...”

“You have the right to ask anyone, Jason. But if you don’t get back to school, there’ll be all sorts of trouble.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

“That’s all right. I’m glad you dropped in.”

The boy walked out carefully, but broke into a run as soon as he reached the street.

“Just like a taxpayer,” McDermott said to himself. “Only he knows what he wants.”

The telephone started a short, busy spurt and it was after two o’clock when the principal of Jason’s school called on the phone.

“Captain McDermott,” he said, “this is Principal Harris of the—”

“I know, Mr. Harris,” McDermott interrupted. “You couldn’t possibly be calling about anyone except a boy named Jason Palmer.”

“He came into my office with the most fantastic idea—”

“What did you actually think of it, Mr. Harris?”

“Impractical, juvenile... but interesting. No one but a child could possibly have thought of it. He told me you said it was all right for him to ask me — and that you approve of the idea.”

“I do — but it can’t be done,” McDermott said.

“Cameron wasn’t a — well, a spectacular sort of policeman, was he?”

“Not spectacular in any way except his devotion to duty. No, he didn’t rate any medals and he won’t get a hero’s funeral, but I’ve seen worse cops.”

“I told Jason the faculty would send a floral tribute. He was not impressed.”

“No, he wouldn’t be. But that’s all there’ll be to it, Mr. Harris. Only one small boy has been disillusioned, and he’ll get over it.”

“Yes, I suppose so. Thank you, Captain.”

McDermott hung up and attended to the booking of a drunk carried in on a stretcher. He knew him. He thought he knew all the drunks on earth. After that there were bail bonds to arrange, pedigrees to be taken, reports to be read, beat assignments to be made.

At three the phone rang and Chief Bradley was on the wire, speaking with the croak he always developed when he had a bad cold.

“There’s some kid here says you sent him. Mac, what’s it all about? He talks of Cameron’s funeral, but he doesn’t make much sense to me and anyway I feel so lousy...”

“I know the boy,” McDermott said. “He was here. I told him you couldn’t see anyone, but he’s quite a persistent tyke. I’ll explain the whole thing when you feel better.”

“Well, he’s camped on my front porch. Kid like him belongs in school. Send a car for him. He walked all the way from the center of town. Imagine that? I used to walk it every night on my beat, but I couldn’t do it now.”

“I’ll send a car,” McDermott said. “I’ll personally take him home and read a mild riot act to him. Tell him to sit tight.”

“I couldn’t pry him off my porch with a crowbar. Send a car right away, before I find myself listening to him and then I’ll be in trouble.”

McDermott rang for a driver and sent him to the Chief’s house with orders to bring the boy back. It would be around four by the time they returned. McDermott decided he’d better put a firm end to Jason’s “idea.”

He had changed to civilian clothes by the time the car brought Jason in. McDermott clambered into the back. Jason sat up front with the driver, somewhat nervously but quite defiantly. He wasn’t beaten.

“Hi, Jason,” McDermott said. “You were wrong in going to see the Chief.”

“Yes, sir. You told me not to, but I went anyhow. My mom says I’m as stubborn as my dad who’s in the Navy and I guess she’s right.”

“I’m going to take you home now and have a little talk with your mother. Do you mind?”

“No, sir. I been trying to make her understand too, but she don’t seem to neither. Nobody does... well, maybe you do. I think you do, but nobody else.”

“I think I do too. In fact, the more I think about Officer Cameron, the more I think you’re right, but... well, I think further than you, Jason, and I see how impossible it is.”

“Why should it be, that’s what I’d like to know. Gosh... if a guy has to kill somebody and get killed himself to be a hero, I sure don’t want to be no hero.”

McDermott said, “Do you get the drift of this, Brophy?”

The driver shook his head. “No, Captain, I don’t figure it.”

“Keep your ears open and you’ll get an education when Jason is around!”

“Yeah,” Brophy said, “I got two boys of my own. You ain’t telling me something I don’t know. But this kid seems a little deeper somehow.”

The police car pulled up before a neat two-story, one-family house on a street where it was one of a row of two dozen others just like it. The police car drew all the kids in the neighborhood.

Jason got out of the car and walked rather proudly, with McDermott towering over him. His mother opened the door and some of Jason’s assurance left him.

“Is he in trouble?” she asked, eying the official car and the uniformed driver.

“No, ma’am,” McDermott said. “I’m Captain McDermott. Jason came to have a little talk about his pal, Officer Cameron. I think your son is a remarkable boy, Mrs. Palmer. That’s why I brought him home myself — to tell you so.”

“Do you really think so, Captain? I try very hard to keep Jason from doing anything wrong — his father’s away so much...”

“Let me tell you something, Mrs. Palmer. Jason has ideas that are much wiser than lots of people I know. He believes Officer Cameron was a hero, and he thinks Cameron deserves the send-off of a hero. I agree with him. It’s impossible and maybe even a little — well, absurd. But I agree with your son and I’m very happy he thought enough of his idea to follow it through.”

“Thank you,” she said. She was a rather attractive woman, this mother of Jason. The lad had her eyes and he had the cut of her jaw too. McDermott was glad he didn’t have to argue any point with this woman — not concerning her son, anyway.

“Well, so long, Jason,” McDermott said. “And good luck.”

“Thank you.” Jason suddenly came to life — came out of the lethargy he’d fallen into when his prospects had seemed to dwindle.

Later, McDermott told himself he should have known. To wish good luck to a boy with only one idea on his mind is tantamount to encouraging him to go ahead with it.

The Captain got the phone call around ten thirty the next morning. He was busy — police court had adjourned for the day and all the bookkeeping from that procedure had to be done: two prisoners, each with a mittimus, to be sent to jail; bonds to return; possessions to be given back to those who’d been locked up overnight.

McDermott didn’t like being disturbed with all this routine work on his hands and he usually let Sergeant Anders handle other details. But a call from the Mayor’s office wasn’t a detail.