Merriweather leaned forward in his chair. “Mr. Necessary, why did you leave police work?”
“To make money.”
“And have you?”
“Yes. I have.”
“May I ask how much your present salary is?”
“You can ask, but I won’t answer. I think that is privileged information and I have high respect for the privacy of the individual.”
“Could I safely say that your present salary is higher — much higher — than what you’d earn as Swankerton’s chief of police?”
“Yes.”
“I know I’m interested in the answer to my next question and I guess most of us are. What I’d like to know is if you’re making a real good living now, then why do you want to get back into something that doesn’t pay half or even a third as much?” Merriweather looked around the table at his fellow councilmen. A couple of them nodded. “Now that’s what I’d like to hear from you.”
Necessary didn’t hesitate. “Because I know police work, because I’m good at it, and because I like it. It’s my profession. I’m a cop, and without bragging, I think I’m a good one. I also think the salaries paid policemen are a disgrace and if I’m appointed Swankerton’s chief of police, then you’re going to get sick of seeing me right in this room arguing for higher pay for police and that means from the newest rookie right on up to the top, and the top includes the chief of police.” It was a small joke and it got a small laugh.
There were some more questions, perfunctory ones, which Necessary answered with short paragraphs or shorter sentences. When he thought a single word would do, it did. The last question came from Merriweather and I suspected that Lynch had told him to ask it.
“If you’re appointed chief, Mr. Necessary, what changes do you foresee under your administration?”
“None.”
“None?”
“That’s right. You asked what I foresee. I don’t foresee any changes. I don’t condemn or condone what’s gone before because I haven’t studied it. When I have made a thorough study of it and get to know the men, there’ll be some changes, but I’m not prepared to say right now what they’ll be. But there is one thing that’s got to be made clear. If I think changes are needed, administrative changes, then I’ll make them. I plan to run the Swankerton Police Department. If you don’t want me to run it the way I see fit, then you’d better find somebody else. I intend to run an honest, efficient department. Law-abiding citizens will like it. The only ones who won’t are the crooks and the thieves.”
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.”