“We just know,” said another. “I’m Ernie Allen.” Partisanship radiated from his whole thin body. “Ole Matlin doesn’t want anybody on his ole property.”
“Sure.” “He doesn’t want anybody on his ole property.” “It was ole Matlin.”
“It was. It was,” said Freddy Titus.
“Freddy,” said the housekeeper in blue, “now, you better be still. I’ll tell your Dad,” It was a meaningless fumble for control. The boy didn’t even hear it.
Judge Kittinger tried, patiently. “You can’t accuse without cause, Freddy.”
“Bones didn’t hurt his ole property. Bones wouldn’t hurt anything. Ole Matlin did it.”
“You lying little devil!”
“He’s a liar!”
The cop gave Freddy another shake. “You kids found him, eh?”
“We were up at Bourchard’s and were going down to the Titus house.”
“And he was dead,” said Freddy.
“I know nothing about it,” said Matlin icily. “Nothing at all.”
The cop, standing between, said wearily, “Any of you people see what coulda happened?”
“I was sitting in my backyard,” said the man in shorts. “I’m Daugherty, next door, up Hannibal Street. Didn’t see a thing.”
The small woman in a print dress spoke up. “I am Mrs. Page. I live across on the corner, Officer. I believe I did see a strange man go into Mr. Matlin’s driveway this morning.”
“When was this, Ma’am?”
“About eleven o’clock. He was poorly dressed. He walked up the drive and around the garage.”
“Didn’t go to the house?”
“No. He was only there a minute. I believe he was carrying something. He was rather furtive. And very poorly dressed, almost like a tramp.”
There was a certain relaxing, among the elders. “Ah, the tramp,” said Mike Russell. “The good old reliable tramp. Are you sure, Mrs. Page? It’s very unlikely....”
But she bristled. “Do you think I am lying?”
Russell’s lips parted, but he felt the Judge’s hand on his arm. “This is my guest, Mr. Russell... Freddy.” The Judge’s voice was gentle. “Let him go, Officer. I’m sure he understands, now. Mr. Matlin was not even at home, Freddy. It’s possible that this... er... stranger... Or it may have been an accident...”
“Wasn’t a tramp. Wasn’t an accident.”
“You can’t know that, boy,” said the judge, somewhat sharply. Freddy said nothing. As the officer slowly released his grasp, the boy took a free step, backwards, and the other boys surged to surround him. There stood the enemy, the monster who killed and lied, and the grown-ups with their reasonable doubts were on the monster’s side. But the boys knew what Freddy knew. They stood together.
“Somebody,” murmured the Judge’s guest, “somebody’s got to help the boy.” And the Judge sighed.
The cops went up Hannibal Street, towards Matlin’s back lot, with Mr. Daugherty. Matlin lingered at the corner talking to Mrs. Page. In the front window of Matlin’s house the curtain fell across the glass.
Mike Russell sidled up to the housekeeper. “Any uncles or aunts here in town? A grandmother?”
“No,” she said, shortly.
“Brothers or sisters, Mrs....?”
“Miz Somers. No, he’s the only one. Only reason they didn’t take him along was it’s the last week of school and he didn’t want to miss.”
Mike Russell’s brown eyes suggested the soft texture of velvet, and they were deeply distressed. She slid away from their appeal. “He’ll just have to take it, I guess, like everybody else,” Mrs. Somers said. “These things happen.”
He was listening intently. “Don’t you care for dogs?”
“I don’t mind a dog,” she said. She arched her neck. She was going to call to the boy.
“Wait. Tell me, does the family go to church? Is there a pastor or a priest who knows the boy?”
“They don’t go, far as I ever saw.” She looked at him as if he were an eccentric.
“Then school. He has a teacher. What grade?”
“Sixth grade,” she said. “Miss Dana. Oh, he’ll be O.K.” Her voice grew loud, to reach the boy and hint to him. “He’s a big boy.”
Russell said, desperately, “Is there no way to telephone his parents?”
“They’re on the road. They’ll be in some time tomorrow. That’s all I know.” She was annoyed. “I’ll take care of him. That’s why I’m here.” She raised her voice and this time it was arch and seductive. “Freddy, better come wash your face. I know where there’s some chocolate cookies.” The velvet left the young man’s eyes. Hard as buttons, they gazed for a moment at the woman. Then he whipped around and left her. He walked over to where the kids had drifted, near the little dead creature on the grass. He said softly, “Bones had his own doctor, Freddy? Tell me his name?” The boy’s eyes flickered. “We must know what it was that he took. A doctor can tell. I think his own doctor would be best, don’t you?”
The boy nodded, mumbled a name, an address. That Russell mastered the name and the numbers, asking for no repetition, was a sign of his concern. Besides, it was this young man’s quality — that he listened. “May I take him, Freddy? I have a car. We ought to have a blanket,” he added softly, “a soft, clean blanket.”
“I got one, Freddy...” “My mother’d let me...”
“I can get one,” Freddy said brusquely. They wheeled, almost in formation.
Mrs. Somers frowned. “You must let them take a blanket,” Russell warned her, and his eyes were cold.
“I will explain to Mrs. Titus,” said the Judge quickly.
“Quite a fuss,” she said, and tossed her head and crossed the road.
Russell gave the Judge a quick nervous grin. He walked to the returning cops. “You’ll want to run tests, I suppose? Can the dog’s own vet do it?”
“Certainly. Humane officer will have to be in charge. But that’s what the vet’ll want.”
“I’ll take the dog, then. Any traces up there?”
“Not a thing.”
“Will you explain to the boy that you are investigating?”
“Well, you know how these things go.” The cop’s feet shuffled. “Humane officer does what he can. Probably, Monday, after we identify the poison, he’ll check the drug stores. Usually, if it is a cranky neighbor, he has already put in a complaint about the dog. This Matlin says he never did. The humane officer will get on it, Monday. He’s out of town today. The devil of these cases, we can’t prove a thing, usually. You get an idea who it was, maybe you can scare him. It’s a misdemeanor, all right. Never heard of a conviction, myself.”
“But will you explain to the boy...?” Russell stopped, chewed his lip, and the Judge sighed.
“Yeah, it’s tough on a kid,” the cop said.
When the Judge’s guest came back, it was nearly five o’clock. He said, “I came to say goodbye, sir, and to thank you for the...” But his mind wasn’t on the sentence and he lost it and looked up.
The Judge’s eyes were affectionate. “Worried?”
“Judge, sir,” the young man said, “must they feed him? Where, sir, in this classy neighborhood is there an understanding woman’s heart? I herded them to that Mrs. Allen. But she winced, sir, and she diverted them. She didn’t want to deal with tragedy, didn’t want to think about it. She offered cakes and cokes and games.”
“But my dear boy...”
“What do they teach the kids these days, Judge? To turn away? Put something in your stomach. Take a drink. Play a game. Don’t weep for your dead. Just skip it, think about something else.”
“I’m afraid the boy’s alone,” the Judge said gently, “but it’s only for the night.” His voice was melodious. “Can’t be sheltered from grief when it comes. None of us can.”