War at Home: A Smokey Dalton Novel

by Kris Nelscott

  I swallowed. A bead of sweat ran down one side of my face. The room wasn’t as cool as I had thought.

  “Daniel couldn’t afford to go home for Christmas,” I said softly. “Surely your file would tell you that.”

  “My file tells me he had a full scholarship, he was a straight-A student his first semester, his grades went down slightly in the second, and that he participated in some of the more radical societies on campus. He stopped attending all but a few classes in his third semester, became quite active in Bee-Say—”

  “What’s Bee-Say?” I asked.

  “B-S-A-Y.,” he said, enunciating each letter. “It is the Black Student Alliance at Yale. BSAY is an informal group that the students originally put together. Over the years it has become militant, making demands and protesting the smallest slight. This afternoon, a handful of the BSAY students still on campus are at the courthouse, protesting the arrest of some Black Panthers who murdered one of their own this spring.”

  He shook his head.

  “If Daniel were still in New Haven, I would expect him to be there, not here.”

  I nodded, suddenly wanting to get out of this oppressively opulent room.

  “Where’s the courthouse?” I asked.

  “On the corner of Church and Elm,” he said, obviously glad he had diverted me. “Across from the Green. Not far from here at all.”

  I stood. “Come on, Jim,” I said. “We’ll see if we find him there.”

  Jimmy stood, looking a bit confused. I hadn’t gotten my questions answered, but I wasn’t sure if I could talk to this man much longer and remain polite.

  “I’d still like that appointment with your dean,” I said, putting my hand on Jimmy’s shoulder to lead him out of the room.

  “I’ll get in touch with you,” Robinson said.

  “Is it possible to set it up now?” I asked. “I’m hard to reach. We’re in a motel.”

  I stressed the word “motel.” Robinson had probably never stayed in one in his life.

  “Let me call his secretary.” Robinson picked up the phone. Jimmy and I walked toward the books on the far wall.

  “He didn’t say nothing,” Jimmy whispered. “Just a bunch of junk about girls.”

  I smiled at him. Jimmy had never really helped me on a case before, and he was putting his entire self into this.

  “Sometimes it’s what people don’t say,” I whispered. “I’ll tell you when we leave.”

  Jimmy grunted. He hated nuance more than I did.

  “Mr. Kirkland?”

  I turned. Robinson still had his hand on the top of the phone. “He’ll see you tomorrow at eight A.M. sharp.”

  I nodded to Robinson. “I appreciate your help. If you find out anything else, we’re at the Motor Court near the Yale Bowl. Or you can call Daniel’s mother. She’ll be able to get in touch with us.”

  Robinson closed the file. “I’m sure Dean Sidbury will be of more help. Good luck finding the young man.”

  Neither Robinson nor I tried for other amenities. This time, I didn’t even offer him my hand. I opened one of the double doors and let us out.

  “Jeez—,” Jimmy started as the door closed, but I put a finger over his mouth.

  “Outside,” I said.

  “Okay,” he whispered and ran ahead of me down the hall. Jeez was right. If these were the attitudes “young Daniel” faced, I was amazed he had survived even a year at Yale.

  Jimmy and I headed down the stairs and out of the building. When we reached the quad, I pulled off my suit coat, wishing I could remove my sweat-stained shirt as well.

  “Jeez,” Jimmy said again, louder than he should have, probably because I had stifled him before. “That guy was a jerk.”

  I grinned. “Better brace yourself, Jim. I have a hunch he’s not the only one we’re going to encounter on this trip.”

  “How come you didn’t ask him more questions?”

  “Because he was making me mad, and I can’t do a good job when I’m angry. If I need to, I’ll talk to him again.”

  “I’m glad I know Laura,” Jimmy said. “So that I know all rich people aren’t like that.”

  “Here’s a tip, Jim. That man isn’t rich.”

  Jimmy looked up at me. “But he lives in a mansion.”

  “Paid for by the school. Owned by the school. For his name, which is a famous one, and the work he does for the school.”

  “Wow,” Jimmy said. “Wish I could get a job like that.”

  “You can,” I said. “It takes a lot of education and a specialty in an important field. Anyone can do it, if they want to.”

  Jimmy’s eyes lit up. “And they pay you to live here?”

  I nodded.

  “That’s just cool,” he said and ran ahead of me down the path, through the students.

  Of course, it wasn’t as easy as it sounded, but that was the first time I’d seen Jimmy interested in anything that had to do with school.

  I followed him across the quad, happy to be leaving Yale, and hoping we’d be lucky enough to find Daniel at the courthouse.

  TEN

  The courthouse was hard to miss. It was a massive stone building that wasn’t Colonial or Federal, but appeared to have been built at the turn of the century.

  Initially, the courthouse had been white, but time, dirt, and pollution had turned it a dusky gray. Still, it had a grandeur that a lot of other old buildings lacked. Big stone columns, marble steps, and two statues bridging those steps like guardians. I didn’t recognize the men who formed the statues, but I didn’t look that hard.

  The sidewalk was relatively empty. No one protested on the steps, and no large group of black students stood near the entry.

  Jimmy and I entered, and stopped in surprise.

  The interior was stunning. The ceiling was vaulted, with amazing amounts of light. Bridges and mezzanines floated above us, like some kind of Escher drawing.

  “Wow,” Jimmy said, his voice echoing in all that stone. “How come they don’t have stuff like this in Chicago?”

  I didn’t know the answer to that, so I didn’t even try to guess. Instead, I walked to the information board, which listed the day’s uses for each courtroom.

  The grand jury room was on the second floor. I took Jimmy’s hand, pulling him forward, and we walked up one of the staircases.

  I couldn’t hear the sounds of protest coming from any level. And if someone spoke too loudly in these hallways, the sound would carry. It probably wouldn’t be understandable, but it would be audible.

  We reached the top, and I turned right. Jimmy ran to the railing so that he could look down at the main floor, then up at the vaulted ceiling.

  “C’mon Jim,” I said, still heading forward.

  No group of black students stood in the corridors. In fact, no one was in the corridors at all, except a few lawyers scurrying to their next court date and a couple of bailiffs guarding the doors.

  I figured that behind one of those doors would be the Black Panthers. Jimmy hurried after me, catching up as I reached the grand jury room.

  One of the bailiffs stood in front of it. He wore a gray uniform, a black belt with a truncheon and handcuffs, and a walkie-talkie. His skin was darker than mine, and as I approached, he watched me out of the corner of his eye.

  “Can I ask you a couple of questions?” I asked as I approached.

  “Information’s downstairs.”

  “I know,” I said, “but this’ll only take a minute.”

  “Downstairs,” he repeated. I knew what he was thinking; he worried that I would distract him so that I — or a cohort of mine — could cause a disruption in the grand jury room.

  “I was told by one of the professors at Yale that the Black Students Alliance had planned a protest here today.”

  The bailiff snorted.

  “I’m looking for a missing student, and I thought he might be with them.”

  “He’s my brother,” Jimmy piped up.

  I hadn’t planned to use
the Kirkland identity here, but Jimmy’s comment caught the bailiff’s attention.

  “Where’s he missing from?” The bailiff spoke to Jimmy, not me.

  “Yale,” I said. “He didn’t report for the last semester, and we only just found out about it.”

  “So they sent you here?”

  “One of the so-called special masters.”

  The bailiff’s gaze caught mine. He clearly disapproved of the title these men held as much as I did.

  “We didn’t have no protest today,” the bailiff said, moving his gaze to the far wall. He hadn’t moved from his position near the door. “Those students haven’t come near here all summer. Last seen students in May.”

  “Black students?” I asked.

  He nodded. “When those Panthers got arrested, the students came as a ‘show of support.’ ”

  Again, he didn’t seem to approve.

  “You think the Panthers are guilty,” I said.

  He shrugged. “That’s what this’s for. To see if there’s enough to indict ’em. There’ll be another grand jury tomorrow, but it’ll be in Middletown. Looks like they get the murder charges, not us.”

  I frowned. “What’s the case?”

  “One of their own got found, murdered, in a marsh. Looks now like the killing might’ve happened in Middlesex County, not here. So we’re getting kidnapping, at least that’s what the DA said.”

  “How many Panthers are being indicted?” I asked.

  “That’s for the grand jury,” he repeated.

  I hadn’t asked my question correctly. “How many were arrested?”

  “Eleven.” He shrugged one shoulder. “Them kids—”

  Meaning the students.

  “—they see it as a cause.”

  “What do you see it as?”

  “Trouble,” he said. “Most the time, folks around here just don’t notice us. Then the militant kids come along, and suddenly, it’s a black-white thing.”

  “You don’t have racial problems in New Haven?”

  He looked at me like I’d grown a third head. “Where’re you from?”

  “Chicago,” I said.

  “You live rich, there, right, you and your kid? Buying Yale and all, trying to be white?”

  I tried to think of a way to answer without letting him know that I bristled at his tone.

  “We ain’t rich,” Jimmy said. “He got here on — whatsit? — school money.”

  “Scholarship.” The bailiff gave him a tolerant look. “We been seeing all kinds of stuff. They say New Haven’s protected from the — y’know — violence and stuff because the kids here are rich and from good families. Me, I think it’s that university president, Brewster, you know? He stops stuff just as it starts. And there’s still trouble. But you don’t hear about it none.”

  “How could I find out?”

  “Your kid in trouble?” he asked.

  “I didn’t think so at first, but I’m not so sure now,” I said. “He’s been involved in the antiwar movement, and his ‘special master’ said he was also in the Black Students Alliance.”

  “Them BSAY kids.” The bailiff shook his head.

  “They’ve come through the courthouse?”

  “Not except to put up bail money for protestors. And mostly, they been outside, talking about how unfair the system is. Like they know.”

  I let that pass. Just because a black student got a privileged education didn’t mean he was privileged.

  “You said I wouldn’t hear about the problems,” I said.

  “Town’s buttoned up. You noticed that, right? Read the Crow?”

  “The Crow?”

  He nodded. He was looking at both of us now, not paying attention to his job.

  “I’ve only been in town since last night,” I said.

  “It’s supposed to be our paper,” he said, meaning the black paper. “But you read it and you won’t understand it. It’s all black businesses and how good stuff is. That’s New Haven. Don’t say bad stuff about nothing.”

  “Even if it is bad,” I said.

  “Especially if it’s bad.” His voice was close to a whisper.

  “So how do I find out what’s going on?”

  “You got to know folks, and you don’t.”

  I sighed. “All I want to do is find Daniel.”

  “Best thing, you go through the reports, ask some questions. The paper’ll help you so long as they ain’t on record. Nobody’ll go on record.”

  “Not even you,” I said.

  “A job is a job.” He seemed to remember his. He resumed his military posture in front of the door. “But use your eyes. Look who’s got what jobs around here. And how come no one says nothing to them masters of yours.”

  I shuddered at the phrase. They weren’t my masters.

  “They have the paper at the library?” I asked.

  “Just go down to the offices. They’re on Goffe, the hundred block,” he said. “And there’s one other place you might want to check out. There’s a place on Washington where kids live, mostly townies, but I heard stuff. You can’t miss it when you work here, you know.”

  “Do you know exactly where?”

  “No,” he said. “Just ask, though. They been calling it a ‘Teen-Inn’ locally. Won’t be in the papers, but the neighbors’ll know.”

  “And they’ll talk to me?”

  His gaze met mine. “It’s not so much how you look. It’s that you don’t live here. You gotta tell them this kid is missing, maybe in trouble. They’re not gonna feel no compassion, but the fewer troublemakers we got in this town, the better.”

  His tone had shifted. There was an underlying tone of anger, and it felt like he directed it at me, as if I were in the wrong for even talking to him.

  “Thank you for your help,” I said.

  “Give me his name,” he said, “and I’ll keep an eye out. You can check back if you don’t find him.”

  “Daniel Kirkland.” Jimmy spoke up. He, apparently, hadn’t heard the undertone. Or maybe he was ignoring it.

  “Don’t sound familiar,” the bailiff said, “but I’ll keep my ears open.”

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “You checked the Panther roster, right? He ain’t with them.”

  I hadn’t checked it, but I couldn’t imagine it. Of course, I couldn’t imagine jeopardizing a full scholarship anywhere either. “No, I haven’t.”

  “He ain’t one of these guys, but that don’t mean he don’t know them. These kids’re playing at stuff they don’t understand.”

  I thought of the Panthers I’d seen in Chicago. I never had the sense they were playing at anything.

  “Thanks again,” I said, and put my hand on Jimmy’s shoulder, to lead him out of the corridor.

  “You be careful,” the bailiff said. “Just because stuff don’t get talked about here, don’t mean it don’t happen.”

  I appreciated the warning anyway. Just because the town was smaller than I was used to didn’t make it any safer.

  I was glad Jimmy heard the warning as well.

  He needed to remember to keep his eyes open, just like the rest of us.

  ELEVEN

  Jimmy and I waited for Malcolm on a bench across from Yale. After twenty minutes, I sent Jimmy off to get us ice cream cones, since I was sweltering in the June heat. My wool suit itched, and even though I wasn’t wearing the jacket, I was extremely uncomfortable. I couldn’t wait for Malcolm’s return so that I could go back to the motel and change clothes.

  Malcolm arrived from the Elm Street side, walking toward us from our right. He was upwind from us, and as he got close, I caught the sickly sweet odor of marijuana. Apparently Jimmy did too, because he slid sideways, away from me, obviously anticipating my reaction.

  “Sorry I’m late,” Malcolm said as he reached us.

  “Smells like you found something,” I said, taking the last bite of my cone, balling up the napkin and holding it in my right fist.

  Malcolm sighed. “It’s
not like it seems.”

  “Oh, really?” I asked. “How is it?”

  “I didn’t smoke anything.”

  I raised my eyebrows and looked at him. Even though the smell was strong, his eyes were clear—not unfocused or bloodshot.

  “What happened then?”

  Jimmy leaned forward, elbows on his knees, watching both of us as he nurtured his cone. White ice cream dripped down the sides, onto his fingers and pants. Eventually, I would have to find a Laundromat.

  Malcolm looked all around us. Then he crouched, getting as close to us as he could so that he wouldn’t have to speak too loudly.

  “Hooked up with some students in there.” Malcolm pointed toward the arch that we had gone through. “Let them think I was dealing, you know?”

  My fingers tightened on that napkin. That certainly wouldn’t have been my approach.

  “Told them I was establishing my turf, and I was wondering who would need my services.” He grinned. He seemed very pleased with himself. “I figured if Daniel was into bad stuff, these guys would know about it.”

  Logical. Jimmy bit his lower lip and looked at me. He remembered my reaction from over a year ago when I found him running drugs for his brother. Jimmy was probably expecting me to yell at Malcolm.

  “And did they?”

  Malcolm shook his head. “These white boys are really laid back, you know? They don’t care who knows their business. I got five names and ten different places to go. I went to a couple, found out some of those guys were gone for the summer, but a few were hanging around. They were in Silliman College, which took me a while to find. No one wanted to tell me where the college was. They told me the names of the guys, but when they found out that I wanted to go to the college and I wasn’t a Yalie, they got really worried.”

  “Yeah,” I said softly. “So did you find the place?”

  “It’s that way.” He nodded toward Elm, the direction we had come from. “A few blocks down, but it’s hard to tell because everything’s fenced off. Like they don’t want anyone to see in their precious little houses or buildings or whatever.”