accusation, and he said, “Short-handed, that’s the trouble.” He winced as if he’d bit into a lemon.
“I can believe it,” Hubbard said sympathetically, but still he was watching Clumly narrowly, as if with disgust. “I understand you finally caught one of those housebreakers. That true?”
“Well, not a housebreaker exactly.” Clumly looked down, evading the chilly eyes. “Thief, yes. One of the pros. If we can prove it.” Instantly he wished he could pull his last words back.
“You can’t prove it, you think?”
Clumly shrugged. “They tie your hands,” he said feebly. “You get what you can on the man and you take it into court—” He concentrated. Someone was whispering behind him. He mopped his brow and pushed the handkerchief back in his pocket. “We’re going through a period of transition,” he said very seriously, as if addressing a visitor at the jail, or making one of those service club speeches Mayor Mullen kept getting him into. “Twenty years ago everything was different. Times are changing. Everybody moving around these days, that’s part of it. Too many strange faces. It used to be when a crime was committed in a town like Batavia … person-to-person operation in the old days. It takes a lot more policemen now, a lot of high-price machinery, a lab no town like this can afford, and even then a lot of times you can’t nail ’em. Old-fashioned rules for admitting evidence. And then the politicians get into it, with their talk about the Productive Time Factor and Public Relations, not to mention the relatives they want to give jobs … and yet all the citizens, the newspapers expect …”
Hubbard patted his shoulder. “Well, we know we’re in good hands with you, Chief. Excuse me.” He turned to say hello to the man behind him. The other brother had vanished. Clumly backed away. Albert Hubbard’s widow was standing alone by the casket, and Clumly went to her cautiously. As he touched her elbow he realized he’d forgotten her name.
“I was sorry to hear,” Clumly said. “He looks very natural.” He considered. “I guess we all go sometime,” he said.
The veiled face turned toward him. He couldn’t see her features behind the black netting, couldn’t know for sure that it was Mrs. Hubbard and not some dangerous stranger. He felt like a man being spied on through a mirror.
“The flowers are beautiful,” he said. “He looks very natural.”
After a long time the old woman said, “Yes.” He felt violent relief. The organ music started, and Clumly looked down at the corpse. The mouth was sealed forever with mortician’s paint.
“He’ll be missed,” Chief Clumly said. He began to weep, and Mrs. Hubbard took his hand.
It wasn’t until after the prayer at the cemetery that he saw Ben Hodge again. He and Vanessa were standing by the fieldstone gateposts, listening from there. The gravel cemetery drive would have been hard going for Vanessa, with those bad knees. When Clumly went up to them, Hodge said, “You still got my boys down there?”
“Slater boys? The Indians? They’re there all right. We been expecting you to come down and post bail for ’em.”
“Not me. I’ve done all I can for those boys. You can ship ’em away to Elmira, it’s the only course left.” He smiled unhappily.
“Blooey!” Vanessa said. “We quit.”
“Listen here,” Hodge said. He tapped Clumly’s chest gently, as if absent-mindedly, the way his father the Congressman used to tap a neighbor’s chest when he wanted his vote. “Those boys have had homes. Good homes. I don’t mean just ours, which may or may not be what you’d call good. They got forty dollars a month spending money when they were at our place, and for dang little work, too. And the place they were before, over there in Byron, that woman had the patience of a saint. You wonder what gets into them.”
“You heard what the younger one said to the social worker,” Vanessa said. “She asked him what he
“I can believe it,” Hubbard said sympathetically, but still he was watching Clumly narrowly, as if with disgust. “I understand you finally caught one of those housebreakers. That true?”
“Well, not a housebreaker exactly.” Clumly looked down, evading the chilly eyes. “Thief, yes. One of the pros. If we can prove it.” Instantly he wished he could pull his last words back.
“You can’t prove it, you think?”
Clumly shrugged. “They tie your hands,” he said feebly. “You get what you can on the man and you take it into court—” He concentrated. Someone was whispering behind him. He mopped his brow and pushed the handkerchief back in his pocket. “We’re going through a period of transition,” he said very seriously, as if addressing a visitor at the jail, or making one of those service club speeches Mayor Mullen kept getting him into. “Twenty years ago everything was different. Times are changing. Everybody moving around these days, that’s part of it. Too many strange faces. It used to be when a crime was committed in a town like Batavia … person-to-person operation in the old days. It takes a lot more policemen now, a lot of high-price machinery, a lab no town like this can afford, and even then a lot of times you can’t nail ’em. Old-fashioned rules for admitting evidence. And then the politicians get into it, with their talk about the Productive Time Factor and Public Relations, not to mention the relatives they want to give jobs … and yet all the citizens, the newspapers expect …”
Hubbard patted his shoulder. “Well, we know we’re in good hands with you, Chief. Excuse me.” He turned to say hello to the man behind him. The other brother had vanished. Clumly backed away. Albert Hubbard’s widow was standing alone by the casket, and Clumly went to her cautiously. As he touched her elbow he realized he’d forgotten her name.
“I was sorry to hear,” Clumly said. “He looks very natural.” He considered. “I guess we all go sometime,” he said.
The veiled face turned toward him. He couldn’t see her features behind the black netting, couldn’t know for sure that it was Mrs. Hubbard and not some dangerous stranger. He felt like a man being spied on through a mirror.
“The flowers are beautiful,” he said. “He looks very natural.”
After a long time the old woman said, “Yes.” He felt violent relief. The organ music started, and Clumly looked down at the corpse. The mouth was sealed forever with mortician’s paint.
“He’ll be missed,” Chief Clumly said. He began to weep, and Mrs. Hubbard took his hand.
It wasn’t until after the prayer at the cemetery that he saw Ben Hodge again. He and Vanessa were standing by the fieldstone gateposts, listening from there. The gravel cemetery drive would have been hard going for Vanessa, with those bad knees. When Clumly went up to them, Hodge said, “You still got my boys down there?”
“Slater boys? The Indians? They’re there all right. We been expecting you to come down and post bail for ’em.”
“Not me. I’ve done all I can for those boys. You can ship ’em away to Elmira, it’s the only course left.” He smiled unhappily.
“Blooey!” Vanessa said. “We quit.”
“Listen here,” Hodge said. He tapped Clumly’s chest gently, as if absent-mindedly, the way his father the Congressman used to tap a neighbor’s chest when he wanted his vote. “Those boys have had homes. Good homes. I don’t mean just ours, which may or may not be what you’d call good. They got forty dollars a month spending money when they were at our place, and for dang little work, too. And the place they were before, over there in Byron, that woman had the patience of a saint. You wonder what gets into them.”
“You heard what the younger one said to the social worker,” Vanessa said. “She asked him what he
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