Part 7 (1/2)
aSo, you go to Berkeley for a rest. Do you go there regularly?a There was no answer to this, only patient silence, as if Sawyer had heard nothing and was waiting for Hawkin to ask him the next question.
aDo you have a regular schedule?a Silence.
aYou spend time in San Francisco, too, donat you? In Golden Gate Park? With the homeless? Why wonat you answer me?a aNot every question deserves an answer,a he replied repressively. It was one of the few times Kate had heard him repeat himself.
aSo you think you can choose what questions you answer and which you wonat. Mr. Sawyer, you have been arrested for the murder of a man in Golden Gate Park. At the moment, the charge is murder in the first degree. That means we believe it was premeditated, that you planned to kill him and did so. If you are convicted of that crime, you will go to prison for a long time. You will grow old in prison, and you will very probably die there, in a room considerably smaller and less comfortable than this one. Do you understand that?a He did not wait for an answer other than the one in Sawyeras eyes.
aOne of the purposes of this interview is to determine whether a lesser charge may be justified. Second-degree murder, even manslaughter, and you might sleep under the trees again before you die. Do you understand what I am saying, Mr. Sawyer? I think you do.
aNow, I donat know if you planned on killing the man known as John or not. I canat know that until you tell me what happened. And you canat tell me until you drop this little game of yours, because the answers arenat in William Shakespeare or the Bible,- theyare in your head. Letas get rid of these word gamesa”now, before they get you in real trouble. Just talk in simple English, and tell me what happened.a There was no doubt that Hawkinas speech had made an impression on the man, though whether it was the threat or the appeal was not clear. He had sat up straight, his hands grasping his knees, now his eyes closed, he raised his face to the overhead light, and his right hand came up to curl into the hollow of his neck, as if grasping his nonexistent staff. For three or four long, silent minutes he stayed like that, struggling with some unknowable dilemma. When he moved, his hand came up to rub across his eyes and down to pinch his lower lip, then dropped back onto his lap. He opened his eyes first on Kate, then on Hawkin. His expression was apologetic, but without the faintest degree of fear or uncertainty.
aTruth,a he began, ais the cry of all, but the game of the few. There is nothing to prevent you from telling the truth, if you do it with a smile.a He gave them the smile and sat forward on the edge of his chair to gather their attention to him, as if his next words would not have done solely themselves. aDread death. Dry death. Immortal death. Death on his pale horse.a He paused and held out the long, thin fingers of his right hand. aWill all great Neptuneas ocean wash this blood clean from my hand? No. Your brotheras blood is crying to me from the ground. And the Lord set a mark upon Cain. A fugitive and a vagabond shall you be on the earth.a He paused to let them think about this, his eyes going from one face to the other. He drew back his hand and commented in a quiet voice that made the thought parenthetical but intensely personal: aDeath is not the worst. Rather, to wish for death in vain, and not to gain it.a After a moment, he sat forward again and held out his left hand, cupped slightly as if to guide in another strand of thought. Putting a definite stress on the misplaced names, he said, aThen David made a covenant with Jonathan, because he loved him as he loved his own soul. And David stripped himself of the robe that was upon him, and gave it to Jonathan. And then he shall go out to the altar which is before the Lord and make atonement for it. He shall go no more to his house. He shall bear all their iniquities with him into a solitary land. I have been a stranger in a strange land. And the ravens brought him bread and flesh in the morning, and bread and flesh in the evening, and he drank of the brook. I met a fool in the forest, a motley fool. A learned fool is more foolish than an ignorant one. Let a fool be made serviceable according to his folly.a He stopped, saw that he had lost them, and pursed his lips in thought. Then, with an air of returning to kindergarten basics, he began again. aThe wisdom of this world is folly with G.o.d. If anyone among you thinks that he is wise now, let him become a fool so he may become wise. To the present hour we hunger and thirst, we are poorly clothed and buffeted and homeless. We have become, and are now, as the refuse of the world, the offscouring of all things. We are fools for Christas sake.a aSo youare saying you do this as some kind of religious exercise?a Hawkin asked bluntly. Kate couldnat decide if he was acting stupid to draw Sawyer out or because he was irritated.
aI count religion but a childish toy, and hold there is no sin but ignorance.a aThen I guess I must be burning in sin,a snapped Hawkin, abecause I donat know what the h.e.l.l youare talking about.a Sawyer sat back again with his fingers across his stomach and eyed Hawkin for some time, his head to one side, before making the stern p.r.o.nouncement, aA living dog is better than a dead lion.a Kate glanced at him sharply and saw a sparkle of mischief in the back of his eyes. He looked sideways at her and lowered one eyelid a fraction. Hawkin did not see the gesture, but he was staring at the man with suspicion.
aWhat does that mean?a he demanded.
aHe who blesses his neighbor in a loud voice, rising early in the morning, will be counted as cursing.a aLook, Mr. Sawyera”a aDo not speak in the hearing of a fool, for he will despise the wisdom of your words.a aMr. Sawyera”a aHe who walks with wise men becomes wise, but the companion of fools will come to harm.a Hawkin stood up abruptly, his face dark. aAll right, take him back to the cellsa”a he began, but he was drowned out by Sawyeras sudden loud stream of words.
aA whip for the horse, a bridle for the donkey, and a rod for the back of fools,a he a.s.serted. aLike a thorn that goes into the hand of a drunkard, is a proverb in the mouth of fools. Like snow in summer or rain at the harvest, honor is not fit for a fool. A man withouta”a The door closed behind Al Hawkin, and Sawyer, on his feet now, stood tensely for a moment, then relaxed and smiled at Kate as if the two of them had just shared a clever joke. aA man without self-control,a he said slyly, ais like a city broken into and left with no walls.a He sat down again.
Kate did not smile back at him. aWhy do you antagonize people? Al Hawkins a good man. Why make an enemy of him?a Sawyer shrugged. aThe way of a fool is right in his own eyes. A fool speaks his whole mind.a aThatas exactly what weare trying to get you to do, David. Your whole mind, not just the games.a aIt is a happy talent to know how to play.a She leaned forward, her arms flat on the table. aDo you really take death so lightly?a aRemember, we all must die.a aAnd you honestly think that justifies murder? You?a she said pointedly. aThink that?a The ghostly presence of Kyle Roberts visited the room, and on the other side stood his innocent victims: Kate saw in the worn face across the table that Sawyer felt them there. He finally broke her gaze, and his throat worked before he answered.
aWhat greater pain could mortals have than this: to see their children dead before their eyes?a aYou know, Iad have thought that would make you more willing to help us, not less.a He did not answer. aAll we want is for you to talk to us. No games, just talk.a Still nothing; but she had not expected a response. Time to end it. aYouare tired, David. Think about it for a while, see if you donat change your mind. Weall continue this discussion later.a Kate stood up, went to the door, and looked on as the guard prepared to take Sawyer back to his cell. The prisoner paused in the doorway, with the guardas hand on his elbow, and looked down at Kate.
aI well believe thou wilt not utter what thou dost not know. And so far will I trust thee, gentle Kate.a He turned and allowed himself to be led away. She went back into the interrogation room and turned off the tape recorder, then took out the tape and carried it downstairs, where she slid it into the other machine that stood on Hawkins desk and waited while he ran the tape back a short way and listened. Erasmus ranted, the door slammed, Kateas voice reproved their suspect, he answered her. When the tape clicked, Hawkin switched the machine off.
aWell done. Thatas just what I had in mind. Weall let him stew today. Iall lead another session tomorrow morning, and then you can take over. Stop by and hold his hand for a few minutes before you go home today, okay?a If you say so.
aI want him softened up. The DAall have him sent off for psychiatric evaluation the first part of the week. If we keep him longer than that and then they decide he really is nuts, weare risking a hara.s.sment charge.a aIs it really necessary, the evaluation?a aFor Christ sake, Martinelli, the DA couldnat possibly take it to trial without. You heard him in there. He was raving. It may be an act, but after forty-eight hours in custody, it isnat likely to be drugs or booze.a aI donat know, Al. He makes a weird kind of sense.a aWeirdas the word for it.a aI mean it. I think Iall make a copy of that tape, if you donat mind.a aStudying it for secret meanings?a aI thought I might have it translated.a
TWENTY-ONE.
But after all, this man was a man.
On Sunday afternoon, Kate a.s.sembled her team of translators. They met at the house on Russian Hill to avoid the problem of transporting Leeas wheelchair up and down stairs. At two oaclock, Kate left the house and drove across a rain-lashed San Francisco to fetch Professor Whitlaw, and when they returned, they found Dean Gardner already ensconced in front of the fire in the living room.
On her trip out, Kate had stopped to photocopy the transcripts of the first two interviews, both the abortive one from Friday morning and the longer but even less productive Sat.u.r.day session. The one from Sunday morning had not yet been transcribed, but she had the tapes from all three.
Coffee and tea and the preliminary rituals were dispensed and then Kate handed out Fridayas interview. The rain on the windows sounded loud as Lee, the dean, and the professor all dove into the pages with the quick concentration of people who live by the written word, all three with pencil in hand. Kate followed more slowly behind them. She had two pages yet to go when the two academics and then Lee began to discuss what they had read, but since she knew how the story ended, she allowed her stapled sheaf to fall shut.
aI should make a couple of comments about what youave read. First, Inspector Hawkinas abrasiveness was more or less deliberate, and certainly he played it up when Sawyer responded to it. In the first two sessions, the idea was to make me look like a paragon of understanding,- for some reason Erasmusa”Sawyera”had already responded to me, and there was a degree of rapport before his arrest.a aGood heavens,a said the professor. aDo you mean to tell me that isnat just an invention of the television police dramas? There is even a name for the technique, isnat there?a aGood cop, bad cop,a suggested the dean.
aThatas right.a aWe use it a lot,a answered Kate, athough itas not as simple as it sounds. Perpetratorsa”the accuseda”are human beings, and most of them want to be told that theyare not really all that bad. Sympathy is a much more effective tool, whether youare in an interrogation or in a street confrontation, than swagger and threat. All we did was exaggerate an existing situation to emphasize the contrast and make me appear, frankly, on his side.a aAnd was David taken in by this little play, Inspector?a aProfessor Whitlaw, your friend David is a tired, confused seventy-two-year-old man who has been living in a carefully constructed dream for the last ten years. I think he is partially aware that he is being gently manipulated, and I think he is allowing it.
aI want to be up front about this. What Iam looking for is a way of making David Sawyer talk. I could tell you itas for his own good, I could even tell you I want to help acquit him of the charges because I donat think heas guilty, but Iam not going to bulls.h.i.+t you. I donat know if he did it or not. I think he would be capable of hitting out in a moment of great anger,- I think most people are. I do not believe it was premeditated, and, in fact, I think the charge will be reduced next week.
aSo. What Iam saying is this: Yes, Iam a cop, and yes, it is my job to compile evidence against your friend. There may be things you donat want to tell me, and there are sure to be things Iam not going to tell you. Are those ground rules acceptable?a Professor Whitlaw looked determined and nodded, Dean Gardner looked devious and reached for the Sat.u.r.day transcript, and Leea”Lee was looking at Kate as if shead never seen her before.
aHey,a said Kate with a shrug. aItas what I do.a Lee let out a surprised cough of laughter and shook her head. Kate handed her the transcript.
Kate did not bother to read along, as the session was clear enough in her memory. Instead, she went into the kitchen to make another pot of coffee and put on the kettle for Professor Whitlawas tea, and as she stood and waited, her eyes went out of focus and she thought about what she had just told them.
A great deal of any police officeras time is spent on the thin line that divides right from wrong. Representatives of Good, cops spend most of their life in the company of Bad, if not Evil, and often find more to talk about with the people they arrest than with their own neighbors. In a fair world, ends do not justify means,- to a cop, they have to.
She had gone to see Erasmus on Friday before she left, as Hawkin had asked. She found him sitting on the bunk in his cell, his eyes closed and his lips moving in a murmur of prayer or recitation. His head came around at the sound of her approach and he watched her come in, his eyes neither welcoming nor antagonistic, simply waiting. She sat down on the bunk next to him.
ah.e.l.lo, Erasmus. David. Are you comfortable?a She laughed at the sweep of his eyes. aYeah, I know, stupid question. What I meant was, can I bring you anything?a aO, thou fairest among women!a he said in wan humor.
aI donat know about that. Something to eat tomorrow? Jail food isnat the greatest.a aThe bread of adversity and the water of affliction.a aI hope itas not quite that bad.a aThe abundance of the rich will not suffer him to sleep,a he said in a gentle refusal of her offer.
aI wasnat offering rich abundance, but I might stretch to a cheese sandwich and some fruit.a His eyes lighted up at the last word, though he did not say anything.
aNothing else?a He hesitated, then said, aI had rather than forty s.h.i.+llings I had my Book of Songs and Sonnets here.a aYour books? From your backpack. Yes, Iall have them brought to you. Writing materials? Another blanket?a He smiled a refusal, then his right hand came up and nestled into his neck, his index finger stroking his beard. He c.o.c.ked his eyebrow at her. aThy rod and thy staff, they comfort me,a he suggested.
aUrn, your staff? Iam sorry, I donat think I could get that approved.a Even if I could get the laboratory to hurry up with it, she thought.
He shrugged a bit wistfully. aNaked came I into the world, and naked shall I return. The Lord gives, and the Lord takes away. Blessed be the name of the Lord.a She hesitated and then risked a joke. aI donat think even Inspector Hawkin himself thinks heas G.o.d.a His smile was warmly appreciative, but somehow she got the uncomfortable feeling that shead given something away. She stood up, and he rose with her.
aIall see if I can get your books released tonight, and Iall see you in the morning. Good night.a He surprised her by putting up a finger to stop her, then bent down to look into her face. aBe strong, and of good courage,a he told her. aBe not afraid.a And when she could find no answer to that, he merely touched her shoulder and, sitting back down on the too-short bunk, said, aI will lay me down to sleep, and take my rest.a That last little episode was what she had had in mind when she said that David Sawyer was cooperating with his seduction. He knew what she was doing, and moreover he knew what it was doing to her.
No, she did not like cozying up to that old man in order to pry him loose from his secure rest,- she was honest enough with herself to admit that she felt dirty using his affection against him. Feeling dirty was, of course, an occupational hazard, and so far it had never kept her from doing her job.
But all in all, she would much rather play bad cop.
The readers in the living room were coming back to life and the coffee had finished dripping, so she moved back out to be hostess for a few minutes. When the cups were full and hot, she paused, the tape of the Sunday session in her hand.
aAl Hawkin was not there this morning. This was partly technique but mostly because he had other commitments.a (As if Al would allow previous commitments to stand in the way of an important interrogation session unless it was toward a greater goal, Kate thought to herself.) aI conducted the interviewa (stick with that less-loaded term) aand another sat ina” and only sat in. I donat think she said a word the whole time, except for saying h.e.l.lo when I introduced her to Erasmus. Sorrya”Sawyer.a aHis nom de folie does seem to fit him better than the workaday David Sawyer,a agreed Dean Gardner.
Kate slipped the ca.s.sette into the player and sat down with a cup of coffee. Her own voice came on, sounding stifled and foreign as it always did, with the formalities, then explaining to the prisoner Hawkinas absence and Officer Macauleyas presence. After that the interview began.
The recording, on more than one ca.s.sette, ran for nearly three hours, and there was even more silence on it than Kate remembered. Long stretches of silence. Many questions were unanswered, or perhaps unanswerable,- at other times, remarks were offered that seemed to have nothing to do with Kateas questionsa”even at the time, Kate had thought that the p.r.o.nouncements seemed plucked out of thin air. Hawkin, on the telephone afterward, had been greatly encouraged: There had been no antagonism, and he had interpreted Sawyeras mute periods as the first signs of stress, the lapse of confidence that would open him up. Kate was not sure of that. She had been in the room with Sawyer and she had witnessed no lack of confidence. If anything, he seemed to be reconciling himself to his surroundings. When he came into the room, he stood easily in himself, he submitted to the handcuff rituals without noticing them, and he was beginning to look with interest at his jailers and fellow prisoners. Last night, the guards had told Kate, he had sung to the other inmates and read from his book of poetry. It had been, she was informed, the calmest Sat.u.r.day night in a long time.
No, Kate did not think Erasmus was building up to a revelation,- she was afraid he might be settling down to a new home.
Had the tape recorder been voice-activated, the tape they were listening to might have run under two hours. As it was, by the time it ended, Kate was laying out plates and forks and the cold salads Jon had left for them. They helped themselves and carried their plates and gla.s.ses back to the sofas and the fireplace. Kate shoveled a few bites down and then opened her notebook.
aNow,a she began, athere are two reasons Iave asked you to help me with this. The first, as I mentioned, is that one of you might have an idea about how we can get David Sawyer to talk to me about the murdered man. The other is to help me decipher what heas already told us. It would take me years to track down the references and meanings you probably know instantly.a aI donat know about Professor Whitlaw,a began the dean.
aEve, please,a murmured the professor.