Росс Томас - The Fools in Town Are on Our Side

It was the longest answer he had given yet and when he finished they voted to give him the job. The mayor swore him in and the city clerk held the Bible. When Necessary said the final “so help me God” there was a ripple of applause and then the mayor asked him to say a few words.

Necessary stood at the end of the table near Robineaux and looked down its length to the man who sat several feet removed in space, if not in power, from its far end. He stared at Ramsey Lynch. Necessary cleared his throat, acknowledged the mayor and the distinguished guests, and still staring straight at Lynch delivered a close version of what Carol Thackerty had written for him: “I really appreciate your confidence and trust. While I’m police chief, I’ll be police chief in fact, as well as in name. I’m beholden to none and I’ll never become so. I promise you only this: an efficient, honest, police force dedicated to the preservation of law and order and the maintenance of justice. I’ll bow neither to influence nor pressure from any source regardless of its office or power. I’d now like to perform my first official act and announce the appointment of a special investigator who will also serve as assistant to the chief of police. He is a man of talent, dedication, experience, and total honesty. He happens to be in the room now and I wish to introduce him. Mr. Lucifer Dye.” The television cameras panned until they found me and I stood up, a little awkwardly, I hoped, and let them all look at me. There were a few smiles of greeting and encouragement from those who didn’t know any better. I nodded, sat back down, and glanced at Lynch. He was staring at me and it was difficult to read the expression on his face, but there was nothing that said, “best of luck in your new job.”

The mayor asked for a motion to adjourn, got it along with a second, and all of the councilmen crowded around Necessary to congratulate him. The ranking police officials gathered at one side of the room, talking among themselves and shooting glances at Necessary. None of them seemed quite sure what to do or where to go.

Phetwick turned to me and said, “Congratulations, Mr. Dye.”

“Thank you.”

“A most interesting maneuver,” he said. “I must say that I look forward to the events of the next few weeks with what only can be described as keen anticipation.”

I told him that I hoped he wouldn’t be disappointed. We both left the tier of seats and moved toward the small crowd that was still formed around Necessary. A young policeman hurried into the council room, looked around as if he wanted to tell someone something important, but couldn’t decide who it should be. He finally settled on the mayor and whispered into his ear. The mayor popped his eyes and gaped his mouth at the news. He then shook his head and looked more indecisive than usual. He burrowed into the crowd, got Necessary by the arm, and drew him to one side. I moved over to where they stood, but Lynch beat me there. He didn’t miss much.

“Terrible news, Mr. Necessary — I mean Chief. This is just terrible news.” He drew the uniformed policeman into the small circle. “Now tell him just what you told me,” the mayor said.

“It’s Chief Loambaugh,” the young man said as if that explained everything. He waited until someone asked what about Chief Loambaugh and I got the feeling that the young man would never make sergeant.

“He shot them,” the young man said.

“Who?” Necessary said.

“His two kids.”

“Dead?”

“Yessir.”

“When?”

“His wife too.”

“When?” Necessary said again.

“About thirty minutes ago or an hour ago. Around then.”

Necessary sighed and then smiled at the young man. “Just tell it,” he said in a curiously reassuring voice. “Just start where you want to and tell it.”

The young man took a deep breath. “He shot his two kids and his wife and they’re all dead and he is too because he shot himself three times in the—” He stopped while he searched his mind for a word. “In the groin.”

“Jesus!” Lynch said and turned to Necessary. “Could he do that?” he demanded. “Could he shoot himself three times?”

Necessary kept on with his role in the play. “Who’re you, mister?”

Mayor Robineaux rushed in as the reporters began crowding around, sensing something had happened, something that needed telling. “I don’t think you two’ve ever met,” the mayor said. “Mr. Lynch here is one of our... our—” He stumbled in his search for a word or phrase that would describe Lynch. He finally settled on, “our civic leaders.”

Necessary nodded to show the mayor that he understood what a civic leader was. “Well, that’s fine,” he said and turned to leave.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Lynch said and put a large, fat hand on Necessary’s shoulder. Swankerton’s new chief of police stopped quite still and then turned, not with the hand, but away from it, so that Lynch either had to remove it or trot around in a circle after Necessary. He dropped the hand.

“What question?” Necessary said after he had turned fully around.

“I think it sounds fishy. Shooting himself three times.”

“You think it might not be suicide, huh?” Necessary said and examined Lynch as if for the first time. He took in the tentlike suit and the ill-fitting white shirt and the stained tie and the big round face that wore its best smile, the one that didn’t show too many teeth. Necessary studied it all with his blue and brown eyes and nodded slightly, as if confirming some long-held suspicion.

“That’s right,” Lynch said, returning the stare. “I think that maybe it might not be suicide.”

Necessary cocked his head slightly to one side and nodded again, as if he were giving Lynch’s comment a great deal of serious thought. Finally he said, “And what makes you believe I give a goddamn what you think, mister?”

He said it loudly enough so that the reporters could make a note of it, turned and walked rapidly from the City Council chamber, still coming down hard on his heels, as the newly appointed assistant to the chief of police hurried after him.

Carol slept while I dressed, quickly as always, but more quietly than usual. I could dress quietly now because my clothing was hung neatly on hangers or the backs of chairs and I no longer had to make a muttering search for an odd sock or the missing tie. The neatly hung clothes indicated the stage that we had reached by the first week in October. We no longer left them on the floor in what Carol called rumpled piles of passion. Instead we undressed in stages, taking our time, talking and perhaps drinking a final Scotch and water, comfortable in our knowledge that passion would arrive on schedule, or perhaps a few minutes early, but that there was no hurry. In fact we enjoyed each other’s company and I’m still not sure which of us was more surprised at the discovery.

I was buttoning my button-down collar when Carol rolled over in the bed, opened her eyes, gazed at the ceiling, and said, “If I go out that door, Vincent, I’m never coming back. Never.”

“There was a woman here to see you this afternoon, Countess,” I said. “An old woman. She said that she was... your mother.”

“That medical degree doesn’t give you the right to play God, Doctor,” she said and then yawned as prettily as anyone can. “Okay, I’m awake. Where’s the coffee?”

“Roger should be knocking on the door any minute, which will make him only twenty minutes late.”

“He’s improving,” she said.

The knock came three minutes later and I opened the door for Roger, the defeated room waiter. He smiled grumpily, if that can be done, and said, “Right on time this morning, huh, Mr. Dye?”