John Ball - Johnny Get Your Gun

“Dempsey tried to convince me that Johnny had fired twice at young Orthcutt and so did one of his friends, but the other witnesses denied the second shot or were unsure. But it no longer mattered, Johnny had no way of reloading his gun and that fact in itself will convict Dempsey. Somewhere en route to the hospital, probably on a detour made for the purpose, Dempsey shot Willie Orthcutt in the abdomen, using his own gun. The bullet did not lodge in the boy’s body and no ballistic tests were possible. I realize now that I should have taken Dempsey in that night for a paraffin test to determine if he had recently fired a gun, but I had at that time only a strong suspicion to go on and I was anxious to keep it to myself.”

Outside the sounds of life going on seemed to be gaining in intensity. There were the noises of people and of voices, of cars and trucks passing by, and the subdued drone of a private plane overhead. Mrs. Orthcutt dabbed at the corners of her eyes with a small white handkerchief. She looked up and in a tone which betrayed her deep emotion spoke only one word. “Why?”

Virgil locked his fingers together, pressed them tightly, and seemed to gather himself together. “I want you to know,” he said, “that this is almost as hard for me to put into words as it is for you to hear. Dempsey’s motive was perhaps the worst thing of all; it occurred to me quite early, but I found it hard to believe. Later on, when I was having some difficulty with a militant individual, he made a grandstand play of a type which partially confirmed it. His hasty long trip to Anaheim to be in on what might well have been the finish of Johnny McGuire made my impression stronger still.

“I should not say this publicly, but you are entitled to know: we have a confession. Following his arrest Dempsey knew that he was finished. He was carefully informed of all of his constitutional rights and told that he would have to stand trial as an adult, but he did not seem to care. He gave us the whole story and there is no longer any need for conjecture.

“Your son Willie, by all accounts including Dempsey’s own, was an outstanding and talented boy. Dempsey stated that ‘he had it all.’ Willie was a handsome boy, he had definite musical gifts, and he was a natural leader.”

Bob Nakamura appeared quietly in the door of the office and caught the captain’s attention. He nodded toward the window. Lindholm turned halfway around in his chair, rose to his feet, and looked down at the street. Then he nodded silently to Nakamura, who disappeared. This bit of activity concluded he sat down again and turned back toward Tibbs, inviting him to continue.

“Willie’s popularity was growing very rapidly, particularly as he was passing from boyhood into young manhood. Dempsey, more than any other thing, valued his status as the big man in his neighborhood among the Negro teenagers. He remarked on this several times in my presence, he even assured me that if I needed any help, he could supply it. He did, as it worked out, prove to be very valuable at one point, but his real purpose was to attract attention to himself and, of course, to divert any possible suspicions I might have. He had had quite a start in the hospital corridor and he wanted very much to be on safe ground, something which was, of course, impossible for him.

“He knew, however, as he has admitted, that his own endowments did not approach Willie’s. Every report I have had on the dead boy stressed his potential: he was reported to be good-looking, smart, a talented musician, articulate, and destined for real success. This came to me on several occasions. Now compare this with Dempsey’s own capabilities. His speech reveals that he was a poor student in school; he was, in fact, an early dropout. He can hardly be described as handsome and his prospects, even before the shooting, were very limited. Yet he stressed the fact to me several times that he was the ‘big man’ in his neighborhood. He did that in my office in the presence of the girl Luella.

“I would have had to be practically blind not to have noticed that with Willie alive, Dempsey’s position of leadership was being severely threatened. In another year or two he would have no chance whatever against Willie Orthcutt-car or no car. He knew it, and it was a prospect he could not endure. That same motivation has, unfortunately, caused a great many political assassinations, perhaps even more than are recorded in history.

“Another factor, which I’m sure intensified Dempsey’s desire to get rid of Willie at any cost, was Luella, the girl whom I referred to a moment ago. She is a very attractive teen-ager, who was described to me, before I met her, as more or less Charles Dempsey’s girl, but my informant added that she also accepted dates with other members of Dempsey’s clique. When I met this young lady it was immediately obvious that her mental and educational levels were superior to Dempsey’s. Her speech very clearly revealed that. I also had an indication that Willie Orthcutt was interested in her. I don’t attempt to forecast love affairs, but it was patently obvious that within a short time Dempsey’s shortcomings as opposed to Willie’s rising capabilities would become very obvious to Luella. Being a better educated girl herself, it was inevitable.

“Dempsey swears, and I tend to believe him on this point, that he never intended to do what he did, but when the opportunity was almost literally thrust upon him, with a once-in-a-lifetime chance to have someone else take the blame, his jealousy drove him to it. With Willie Orthcutt out of the way his position of leadership would be once more firm, and Luella would not be tempted away by someone better than himself. That motivation, incidentally, has also appeared before. He was unable to resist the temptation when he had the means at hand, his own unregistered, loaded gun, in his car.”

Slowly Willie’s father got to his feet and helped his wife out of her chair. “I think we best go,” he said to the captain. “Thank you for asking us.” Then he turned to Mike McGuire. “You must feel better in your mind now.”

When he heard those words, Mike felt perspiration on his forehead; he remembered acutely that whatever else had happened, Johnny had shot this man’s son-and with a gun he himself had virtually placed into his hands. As the captain picked up his phone, Mike steeled himself and held out his hand to the man his boy had wronged. Gravely the two men shook.

Unconsciously Mike wiped his palm on the side of his trouser leg after making his gesture, but it apparently passed unnoticed. The captain spoke and hung up; seconds later a uniformed officer arrived to escort the parents of the murdered boy home. “Use my car,” the captain directed. “Take them out the rear way, it will be shorter and easier for them.”

The policeman nodded his understanding. “Yes, sir, if they don’t mind using the back door.”

When the Orthcutts had gone Ralph Hotchkiss stood up. “In a way,” he said to the captain and to Tibbs, “this whole series of events is at least partly our responsibility, and I’m very aware of it. I can assure you that nothing like it will ever happen again, at least not where Billy is concerned. We’re going to go now and get Johnny a new radio.” He turned toward Mike. “We’ll be over later this afternoon to deliver it if you’ll be home.”

Mike nodded silently, not knowing what to say. For the first time in his adult life he felt the inadequacy of his own powers of speech. Silently he shook hands with Hotchkiss and watched the father and son as they left the office. Then he turned to the captain. “Thanks for what you did for us,” he said stiffly. He reached into his pocket, extracted his hand-gun, and laid it on the desk. “Here, you can have it,” he said. “I don’t want the damn thing any more.”