Then Judge Shinn pounded on his door.
“Johnny, get up!”
“What’s happening?”
“Someone was posted out beyond Comfort, near the Petunxit police barracks. Just phoned a warning in. The state police are on their way over. Damn Barnwell!”
Johnny threw on his clothes and scuttled downstairs.
They were all congregated now — every man, woman, and child of the village except the Scott invalids and the hermit of Holy Hill. The women and children huddled on the steps of the church. The men and older boys were deployed in a loose arc formation before them, covering the approach to the church and the drive on its east side where the cellar windows were. Judge Shinn and Mr. Sheare were talking earnestly to Hubert Hemus and Burney Hackett. Ferriss Adams paced nearby, nibbling his fingernails.
Johnny got across to the north corner just as two state police cars and a private car came up Shinn Road from the direction of Comfort at a leisurely gait. They slowed down at the intersection and fanned out a little; then they stopped. Both police cars were full; the passenger car held one man.
The driver of the passenger car, a big stout man in a blue-striped seersucker suit and a new straw hat, got slowly out and stood in the road. He took off his hat and wiped his half-bald head with a big blue polka-dot handkerchief. Large halfmoons of sweat darkened his jacket below the armpits. He kept glancing from the silent crowd before the church to one of the police cars.
Finally a uniformed man joined him. He was sandy-haired, with a red hard face. He wore the insignia of a captain of state police. A gun was holstered at his hip; the flap of the holster was buttoned.
The other police remained in the cars.
The police captain and the stout civilian walked slowly toward the church in the bright sunshine.
Johnny remained where he was. He leaned against the horse trough. But only for a moment. Curiosity made him move again. He crossed over the curve of path that separated the north corner from the church lawn. He stopped near the Sheares.
The troopers had their heads out the car windows, watching in silence.
The police officer and the civilian went up the church walk side by side, very slowly now. They stopped altogether about ten feet from the line of armed men.
“Mornin’, Judge Shinn. Mornin’, folks,” said the stout man. “Heard the terrible news, thought I’d stop by with Captain Frisbee to see what we could do.”
“This is Sheriff Mothless of Cudbury County,” said the Judge. “Constable Burney Hackett, Hubert Hemus, Merton Isbel, Peter Berry, Orville Pangman... Glad to see you, Captain Frisbee. Shake hands with my neighbors.”
The policeman and the sheriff hesitated. Then they came forward and shook hands all around.
“And this is Mr. Ferriss Adams, Fanny Adams’s grand-nephew,” said the Judge. “I think you know the sheriff, Feriss...
The Cudbury lawyer shook the fat hand silently.
“Can’t tell you what a shock it’s been, Mr. Adams,” said Sheriff Mothless, wiping his head again. “Never had the pleasure of meetin’ that grand old lady, but we’ve always been mighty proud of her in this county, mighty proud. Great credit to her town, state, and country. Famous artist, they say. Captain Frisbee and me just stopped down Comfort way at Cy Moody’s parlors and took a real good look at her. Ter’ble. Brutal. I tell you, it like to made my blood boil. Man who’d commit a murder like that don’t deserve any more mercy than a mad yellow dog. And by goshamighty, I’m goin’ to see he gets what’s comin’ to him! And damn quick! Right, Captain Frisbee?”
“No need for you folks to fret any more about him,” said the state policeman. “We’ll take him right off your hands.”
He stopped expectantly.
Nobody moved.
Sheriff Mothless wiped his forehead once more. “Hear you got him locked up in the church cellar,” he said. “Fine work, neighbors! Leaves us nothin’ to do but go on down there, yank him out, and shoot him straight over to the county jail. Easiest manhunt I ever heard of. Hey, Captain?”
“I sure appreciate the help,” said Captain Frisbee. “Well.” He glanced over his shoulder at the police cars, but Sheriff Mothless nudged him, and the policeman turned back.
“Well, it’s gettin’ on,” the sheriff said, glancing at his wrist-watch. “I expect you folks’ll be wantin’ to get into church. So if you’ll all kindly step to one side while Captain Frisbee’s men haul that skunk up out o’ there...”
The sheriff’s heavy voice dribbled off. Not a man or woman had stirred.
Captain Frisbee glanced over his shoulder again, a little impatiently.
“Just a moment, please!” Judge Shinn nudged Ferriss Adams forward.
The Cudbury lawyer faced the villagers with respectful friendliness, as if they were a jury. “Neighbors,” he said, “you all know me. I’ve been coming into Shinn Corners on and off for forty years, since the days when my Aunt Fanny jiggled me on her knee. So I don’t have to tell you there’s nobody in this town wants to see this Kowalczyk, or whatever his name is, pay the penalty for his crime quicker than I do. I’m asking you good folks to hand him over to these officers of the law so they can throw him into one of those escape-proof cells we’ve got in that fine modern county jail in Cudbury. Step aside and let this officer do his duty.”
From the crowd of women in the church doorway came the voice of Rebecca Hemus, a shrill challenge. “So a Cudbury jury can let him go, the way they let that Joe Gonzoli go when he murdered my brother-in-law Laban?”
“But that was a case of self-defense,” protested Adams.
Hubert Hemus said, “He ain’t gettin’ out of our jurisdiction, Mr. Adams, and that’s that.”
Judge Shinn touched Adams’s arm. The lawyer stepped back, shrugging.
“That’s fine talk from the First Selectman,” said the Judge. “For twenty years and more, Hube Hemus, Shinn Corners has looked to you for counsel and leadership. How do you expect your children — all these children — to grow up respecting law and order when you set such a poor example?”
Hemus shifted his rifle suddenly and spat. “Seems to me you got it wrong, Judge,” he said in a mild voice. “It’s law and order we’re upholdin’. Aunt Fanny Adams was one of us — born here, growed up here, married here, buried her husband Girshom and her children here, did all that paintin’ that made her famous here, and she died here. We’re a community. We take care of our own. Our law enforcement officer arrested Aunt Fanny’s murderer, a coroner’s jury of our electors brought in a findin’, and we aim to follow right through as our just due. We don’t need no outside help, didn’t ask for none, don’t want none. That’s all there is to it, Judge. Now I’m goin’ to ask you, Sheriff, and you, Captain Frisbee, to kindly get on out of Shinn Corners and take your men with you. We got to go to church service.”
“Do you talk about church, Hube Hemus?” cried Samuel Sheare. “Where’s your humility? Have you no shame, carryin’ a gun on the Lord’s day, incitin’ your neighbors to do the same — yes, even to the steps of the house of the Lord’s congregation? And defyin’ the mandate of the law, in the persons of these men who are only doin’ their sworn duty? You’re the instigator and ringleader, Hubert Hemus. Come back to your senses. Talk your neighbors into comin’ back to theirs!”
Hube Hemus said gently, “We had a town meetin’ last night, Mr. Sheare. You were there. You know this matter was voted on in the manner prescribed by town regulations, and minutes were duly taken of the proceedin’s. You know nobody had to talk nobody into nothin’. You know there wasn’t a single nay vote on the motion exceptin’ yours and Mrs. Sheare’s.”
The minister looked over his congregation, at those whose dead he had buried, whose sick he had comforted, whose troubled he had given faith — at the brides and the grooms, the mothers and the fathers, at the children he had received into his church. And everywhere he looked, the familiar faces were rock, implacable.