Andy wanted to see what was up and Bessie said, “You go down there with Grandpa while I shop. Yes, yes, I won't forget to get clams for bait. Don't you forget to buy a paper.”
We stopped at the one stationery-tobacco-newspaper store, where I bought the Times and the moon-faced woman behind the counter gave me a silly grin as she said, “You're new to End Harbor. Now I know the summer has really started.”
“Has it? Do you carry the Morning Telegraph?”
“Oh, my, I never even heard of it. A new paper?”
“It's a racing sheet.”
“We wouldn't carry that,” she said, clamping her fat lips together.
The week was growing worse every minute. I couldn't even dope the nags.
Outside, Andy headed for the crowd and I said, “You go along, I'll sit in the car and read the paper.”
“Come on, Grandpa, don't be such an old crab,” he said, pulling on my arm. I was too mad to even swat his tear.
The crowd was around an old Buick, the front battered in, all doors open. The entire motor was shoved back, the steering wheel almost touching the seat Andy asked if this was the doctor's car and somebody whispered, “Yes. It hit a tree and he was thrown out.”
A young cop in a fancy light blue uniform, red bow tie and red shoulder patch, black leather belt and puttees, was leaning against the fender of the car, obviously enjoying his self-importance. He looked like a store cop. His cap was carefully crushed down the center, as if he was a plane jockey.
Andy met some kid he knew and when they took a few steps forward to get a better look at the wreck, the cop actually screamed, “Hey! Get back there!”
The kids jumped with fright. Andy said, “My Grandpop is a cop, too, a New York City policeman!”
People turned to glance at me. I felt like a fool. The boy-cop, feeling he had to prove his authority, walked over to the kids, barked, “I told you to keep back.” He pushed them—Andy nearly fell.
I said, “Take it slow, buster, the kids aren't doing anything.”
“Okay, oldtimer, you keep out of this.”
Andy looked up at me, to see what I would do... and that's how the whole mess really started.
I couldn't let this badge-happy jerk talk me down in front of Andy. I strolled over to the wreck, casually examined the front doors. Buster yelled, “What the hell you doing?” and grabbed my arm.
Pulling my arm away so hard he stumbled, I said, “Keep your mitts off me.” As I took out my wallet, flashed my tin, I heard the crowd whispering.
“You haven't any authority here,” junior said, his voice not sure.
“Haven't I? You don't know your law—I'm a peace officer anywheres in the state of New York.” I only intended going through the motions of looking at the wreck and let it go at that, but the boy-cop spoiled things by pointing to the building, telling me, “You'd best go in and see Chief Roberts.”
Everybody was watching me and I had to follow through. It still would have been a snap to get out of, if Andy had remained outside, like I told him. Instead, the dumb kid followed me into the building, which was older than the NYC precinct houses—which are older than God. In the lobby there was another bronze marker, something about the British shelling the spot in 1777. I was ready to turn and walk out, when Andy suddenly opened a door marked POLICE CHIEF, yelled, “Here it is, Grandpa!”
It was a small office and the man behind the desk was sporting the same musical comedy uniform, and a big gold badge. End Harbor had the youngest police force in the world: Chief Roberts looked like a heavyweight boxer, with a collar-ad face. He was doing some paperwork, snapped, “I'm busy.”
With the kid in the room with me, I couldn't back out, so I flashed my badge, said in a small voice, “Matt Lund, New York City Police. Thought I... eh... might give you a hand.”
“Chief Art Roberts,” he said, holding up a big paw for me to shake. “A hand with what?”
“With the Doctor Barnes case,” Andy cut in. I put a hand on the boy's shoulder; to keep him still.
For a second Roberts looked as if he were being kidded, then he said, “We're used to accidents here and can....”
I couldn't just stand there like a dummy. I asked, “Accident? Is that for true, or just for public gossip?”
He tried to hold himself in, but he jumped a little. He waved a big hand at me, said, “Plain as the nose on your face: The doctor skidded into a tree, was thrown clear of the car. Medical Examiner isn't sure if death was a result of the fall or came from being run over.”
“Chief, my nose is plainer that that. I don't like sticking it in anybody else's business, I'm here on vacation...” I nodded down at Andy, hoping Roberts would understand why I had to make the play.
He merely growled, “What are you trying to say, pop?”
Maybe it was the “pop” that did it. “That it couldn't have been an accident. Look at the steering wheel, it would have pinned the driver against the seat.”
“Maybe yes and maybe no. No witnesses. Also possible he was thrown out of the car on impact, before the wheel was pushed back. I think it was an accident.”
I should have let it go at that, but Andy said, “My grandpa is a peace officer, too,” although I squeezed his shoulder hard.
“You don't say,” Roberts said, his voice loaded with sarcasm. “I'm busy, so if you'll....”
“Look, I'm not trying to tell you your business, but if you'll come outside I'll show you something that says it couldn't have been an accident.”
He stood up, and Lord, the tight uniform showed off his fine build; like Maxie Baer in his prime. “Now, listen, Mr. —”
“Lund.”
“Lund, ain't you pushing your badge kind of far? One of our best citizens is killed in a routine accident and you start calling it something else.”
“Aren't you interested in how your best citizen: was killed?”
He stuck his cap on—at a practiced cocky angle, said —as if talking to an idiot, “Okay, I'll look to make you happy.”
“I merely want to have you explain one thing, then it's all yours. I'm going fishing.”
We went out and the boy-cop whined, “Chief, I tried to tell him....”
The Chief waved him silent, then the son-of-a-bitch tried to showboat me. He said, loudly, “Pay attention, Wally, a big-time cop from the big city is about to show us yokels how to operate.”
“I didn't say that, or that I....”
“You got me out of my office, Lund, now either put up or shut up.”