“Mrs. Dalton,” the man said, “I’m the Deputy Coroner and it is with considerable anxiety that I ask you these questions. But it is necessary for me to trouble you in order to establish the identity of the deceased….”
“Yes, sir,” Mrs. Dalton whispered.
Carefully, the coroner lifted from the table at his side a tiny piece of blackened metal; he turned, fronted Mrs. Dalton, then paused. The room was so quiet that Bigger could hear the coroner’s footsteps on the wooden floor as he walked to Mrs. Dalton’s chair. Tenderly, he caught her hand in his and said,
“I’m placing in your hand a metal object which the police retrieved from the ashes of the furnace in the basement of your home. Mrs. Dalton, I want you to feel this metal carefully and tell me if you remember ever having felt it before.”
Bigger wanted to turn his eyes away, but he could not. He watched Mrs. Dalton’s face; he saw the hand tremble that held the blackened bit of metal. Bigger jerked his head round. A woman began to sob without restraint. A wave of murmurs rose through the room. The coroner took a quick step back to the table and rapped sharply with his knuckles. The room was instantly quiet, save for the sobbing woman. Bigger looked back to Mrs. Dalton. Both of her hands were now fumbling nervously with the piece of metal; then her shoulders shook. She was crying.
“Do you recognize it?”
“Y-y-yes….”
“What is it?”
“A-a-an earring….”
“When did you first come in contact with it?”
Mrs. Dalton composed her face, and, with tears on her cheeks, answered,
“When I was a girl, years ago….”
“Do you remember precisely when?”
“Thirty-five years ago.”
“You once owned it?”
“Yes; it was one of a pair.”
“Yes, Mrs. Dalton. No doubt the other earring was destroyed in the fire. This one dropped through the grates into the bin under the furnace. Now, Mrs. Dalton, how long did you own this pair of earrings?”
“For thirty-three years.”
“How did they come into your possession?”
“Well, my mother gave them to me when I was of age. My grandmother gave them to my mother when she was of age, and I in turn gave them to my daughter when she was of age….”
“What do you mean, of age?”
“At eighteen.”
“And when did you give them to your daughter?”
“About five years ago.”
“She wore them all the time?”
“Yes.”
“Are you positive that this is one of the same earrings?”
“Yes. There can be no mistake. They were a family heirloom. There are no two others like them. My grandmother had them designed and made to order.”
“Mrs. Dalton, when were you last in the company of the deceased?”
“Last Saturday night, or I should say, early Sunday morning.”
“At what time?”
“It was nearly two o’clock, I think.”
“Where was she?”
“In her room, in bed.”
“Were you in the habit of seeing, I mean, in the habit of meeting your daughter at such an hour?”
“No. I knew that she’d planned to go to Detroit Sunday morning. When I heard her come in I wanted to find out why she’d stayed out so late….”
“Did you speak with her?”
“No. I called her several times, but she did not answer.”
“Did you touch her?”
“Yes; slightly.”
“But she did not speak to you?”
“Well, I heard some mumbling….”
“Do you know who it was?”
“No.”
“Mrs. Dalton, could your daughter by any means, in your judgment, have been dead then, and you not have known or suspected it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you know if your daughter was alive when you spoke to her?”
“I don’t know. I assumed she was.”
“Was there anyone else in the room at the time?”
“I don’t know. But I felt strange there.”
“Strange? What do you mean, strange?”
“I—I don’t know. I wasn’t satisfied, for some reason. It seemed to me that there was something I should have done, or said. But I kept saying to myself, ‘She’s asleep; that’s all.’ ”
“If you felt so dissatisfied, why did you leave the room without trying to awaken her?”
Mrs. Dalton paused before answering; her thin mouth was wide open and her face tilted far to one side.
“I smelt alcohol in the room,” she whispered.
“Yes?”
“I thought Mary was intoxicated.”
“Had you ever encountered your daughter intoxicated before?”
“Yes; and that was why I thought she was intoxicated then. It was the same odor.”
“Mrs. Dalton, if someone had possessed your daughter sexually while she lay on that bed, could you in any way have detected it?”
The room buzzed. The coroner rapped for order.
“I don’t know,” she whispered.
“Just a few more questions, please, Mrs. Dalton. What aroused your suspicions that something had befallen your daughter?”
“When I went to her room the next morning I felt her bed and found that she had not slept in it. Next I felt in her clothes rack and found that she had not taken the new clothes she had bought.”
“Mrs. Dalton, you and your husband have given large sums of money to Negro educational institutions, haven’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Could you tell us roughly how much?”
“Over five million dollars.”
“You bear no ill will toward the Negro people?”
“No; none whatever.”
“Mrs. Dalton, please, tell us what was the last thing you did when you stood above your daughter’s bed that Sunday morning?”
“I—I….” She paused, lowered her head and dabbed at her eyes. “I knelt at the bedside and prayed….” she said, her words coming in a sharp breath of despair.
“That is all. Thank you, Mrs. Dalton.”
The room heaved a sigh. Bigger saw the woman lead Mrs. Dalton back to her seat. Many eyes in the room were fastened upon Bigger now, cold grey and blue eyes, eyes whose tense hate was worse than a shout or a curse. To get rid of that concentrated gaze, he stopped looking, even though his eyes remained open.
The coroner turned to the men sitting in rows to his right and said,
“You gentlemen, the jurors, are any of you acquainted with the deceased or are any of you members of the family?”
One of the men rose and said,
“No, sir.”
“Would there be any reason why you could not render a fair and impartial verdict in this?”
“No, sir.”
“Is there any objection to these men serving as jurors in this case?” the coroner asked of the entire room.
There was no answer.
“In the name of the coroner, I will ask the jurors to rise, pass by this table, and view the remains of the deceased, one Mary Dalton.”
In silence the six men rose and filed past the table, each looking at the pile of white bones. When they were seated again, the coroner called,
“We will now hear Mr. Jan Erlone!”
Jan rose, came forward briskly, and was asked to swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help him God. Bigger wondered if Jan would turn on him now. He wondered if he could really trust any white man, even this white man who had come and offered him his friendship. He leaned forward to hear. Jan was asked several times if he was a foreigner and Jan said no. The coroner walked close to Jan’s chair and leaned the upper part of his body forward and asked in a loud voice,
“Do you believe in social equality for Negroes?”
The room stirred.
“I believe all races are equal….” Jan b
egan.
“Answer yes or no, Mr. Erlone! You’re not on a soap box. Do you believe in social equality for Negroes?”
“Yes.”
“Are you a member of the Communist Party?”
“Yes.”
“In what condition was Miss Dalton when you left her last Sunday morning?”
“What do you mean?”
“Was she drunk?”
“I would not say she was drunk. She had had a few drinks.”
“What time did you leave her?”
“It was about one-thirty, I think.”
“Was she in the front seat of the car?”
“Yes; she was in the front seat.”
“Had she been in the front seat all along?”
“No.”
“Was she in the front seat when you left the café?”
“No.”
“Did you put her in the front seat when you left the car?”
“No; she said she wanted to sit up front.”
“You didn’t ask her to?”
“No.”
“When you left her, was she able to get out of the car alone?”
“I think so.”
“Had you had any relations with her while in the back seat that would have tended to make her, let us say, stunned, too weak to have gotten out alone?”
“No!”
“Is it not true, Mr. Erlone, that Miss Dalton was in no condition to protect herself and you lifted her into that front seat?”
“No! I didn’t lift her into the front seat!”
Jan’s voice sounded throughout the room. There was a quick buzzing of conversation.
“Why did you leave an unprotected white girl alone in a car with a drunken Negro?”
“I was not aware that Bigger was drunk and I did not consider Mary as being unprotected.”
“Had you at any time in the past left Miss Dalton alone in the company of Negroes?”
“No.”
“You had never used Miss Dalton as bait before, had you?”
Bigger was startled by a noise behind him. He turned his head; Max was on his feet.
“Mr. Coroner, I realize that this is not a trial. But the questions being asked now have no earthly relation to the cause and manner of the death of the deceased.”
“Mr. Max, we are allowing plenty of latitude here. The Grand Jury will determine whether the testimony offered here has any relation or not.”
“But questions of this sort inflame the public mind….”
“Now, listen, Mr. Max. No question asked in this room will inflame the public mind any more than has the death of Mary Dalton, and you know it. You have the right to question any of these witnesses, but I will not tolerate any publicity-seeking by your kind here!”
“But Mr. Erlone is not on trial here, Mr. Coroner!”
“He is suspected of being implicated in this murder! And we’re after the one who killed this girl and the reasons for it! If you think these questions have the wrong construction, you may question the witness when we’re through. But you cannot regulate the questions asked here!”
Max sat down. The room was quiet. The coroner paced to and fro a few seconds before he spoke again; his face was red and his lips were pressed tight.
“Mr. Erlone, didn’t you give that Negro material relating to the Communist Party?”
“Yes.”
“What was the nature of that material?”
“I gave him some pamphlets on the Negro question.”
“Material advocating the equality of whites and blacks?”
“It was material which explained….”
“Did that material contain a plea for ‘unity of whites and blacks’?”
“Why, yes.”
“Did you, in your agitation of that drunken Negro, tell him that it was all right for him to have sexual relations with white women?”
“No!”
“Did you advise Miss Dalton to have sexual relations with him?”
“No!”
“Did you shake hands with that Negro?”
“Yes.”
“Did you offer to shake hands with him?”
“Yes. It is what any decent person….”
“Confine yourself to answering the questions, please, Mr. Erlone. We want none of your Communist explanations here. Tell me, did you eat with that Negro?”
“Why, yes.”
“You invited, him to eat?”
“Yes.”
“Miss Dalton was at the table when you invited him to sit down?”
“Yes.”
“How many times have you eaten with Negroes before?”
“I don’t know. Many times.”
“You like Negroes?”
“I make no distinctions….”
“Do you like Negroes, Mr. Erlone?”
“I object!” Max shouted. “How on earth is that related to this case!”
“You cannot regulate these questions!” the coroner shouted. “I’ve told you that before! A woman has been foully murdered. This witness brought the deceased into contact with the last person who saw her alive. We have the right to determine what this witness’ attitude was toward that girl and that Negro!” The coroner turned back to Jan. “Now, Mr. Erlone, didn’t you ask that Negro to sit in the front seat of the car, between you and Miss Dalton?”
“No; he was already in the front seat.”
“But you didn’t ask him to get into the back seat, did you?”
“No.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“My God! The man is human! Why don’t you ask me…?”
“I’m asking these questions and you’re answering them. Now, tell me, Mr. Erlone, would you have invited that Negro to sleep with you?”
“I refuse to answer that question!”
“But you didn’t refuse that drunken Negro the right to sleep with that girl, did you?”
“His right to associate with her or anybody else was not in question….”
“Did you try to keep that Negro from Miss Dalton?”
“I didn’t….”
“Answer yes or no!”
“No!”
“Have you a sister?”
“Why, yes.”
“Where is she?”
“In New York.”
“Is she married?”
“No.”
“Would you consent for her to marry a Negro?”
“I have nothing to do with whom she marries.”
“Didn’t you tell that drunken Negro to call you Jan instead of Mr. Erlone?”
“Yes; but,….”
“Confine yourself to answering the questions!”
“But, Mr. Coroner, you imply….”
“I’m trying to establish a motive for the murder of that innocent girl!”
“No; you’re not! You’re trying to indict a race of people and a political party!”
“We want no statements! Tell me, was Miss Dalton in a condition to say good-bye to you when you left her in that car with the drunken Negro?”
“Yes. She said good-bye.”
“Tell me, how much liquor did you give Miss Dalton that night?”
“I don’t know.”
“What kind of liquor was it?”
“Rum.”
“Why did you prefer rum?”
“I don’t know. I just bought rum.”
“Was it to stimulate the body to a great extent?”
“No.”
“How much was bought?”
“A fifth of a gallon.”
“Who paid for it?”
“I did.”
“Did that money come from the treasury of the Communist Party?”
“No!”
“Don’t they allow you a budget for recruiting expenses?”
“No!”
“How much was drunk before you bought the fifth of rum?”
“We had a few beers.”
“How many?”
“I don’t know.”
“You
don’t remember much about what happened that night, do you?”
“I’m telling you all I remember.”
“All you remember?”
“Yes.”
“Is it possible that you don’t remember some things?”
“I’m telling you all I remember.”
“Were you too drunk to remember everything that happened?”
“No.”
“You knew what you were doing?”
“Yes.”
“You deliberately left the girl in that condition?”
“She was in no condition!”
“Just how drunk was she after the beers and rum?”
“She seemed to know what she was doing.”
“Did you have any fears about her being able to defend herself?”
“No.”
“Did you care?”
“Of course, I did.”
“You thought that whatever would happen would be all right?”
“I thought she was all right.”
“Just tell me, Mr. Erlone, how drunk was Miss Dalton?”
“Well, she was a little high, if you know what I mean.”
“Feeling good?”
“Yes; you could say that.”
“Receptive?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Were you satisfied when you left her?”
“What do you mean?”
“You had enjoyed her company?”
“Why, yes.”
“And after enjoying a woman like that, isn’t there a let-down?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“It was late, wasn’t it, Mr. Erlone? You wanted to go home?”
“Yes.”
“You did not want to remain with her any longer?”
Native Son Page 35
