The Good Cop

by Dorien Grey

  Though I knew Jonathan wasn’t really aware of everything that was happening, or why, I tried not to leave him out as I told Phil everything. The call, the meeting with the chief, Offermann, and Richman, the urgency of getting the community leaders together.

  “The main thing we have to get across, is that the community can’t just react until we know the facts, and we have to give the chief and the others time to find out what really happened. We can’t just assume it was another cop who killed Tom…even though that’s where I’d place my bets right now. He’d been getting death threats….”

  The phone rang again.

  “Do you want me to answer it?” Jonathan asked, but I shook my head and got up to answer it.

  “Hardesty.”

  “Dick, it’s Tim. I’ve got some really bad news.”

  What could possibly be worse than Tom’s being dead? I wondered. “Yeah?” I said, steeling myself for whatever it was.

  “We got the bullet that…that killed him. It’s from a .38.” I felt a tidal wave of anger sweep over me. While a .38 was a common weapon, it was also the standard-issue duty weapon of the police department.

  When I didn’t say anything, Tim added. “One bullet. To the left temple. Death was instantaneous. From the position and angle of the wound, he was probably looking straight ahead. There were no powder burns, which means the killer was at least five feet away—probably in a car pulled up beside him at the stoplight. He might very well not even known it was coming.” There was another long pause, and then: “I’m sorry, Dick. I really am.”

  “I know, Tim. Thanks. Did you want to talk to Phil?”

  “No, that’s okay. I’ve got to get back to work. I’ll talk to him later.”

  *

  The day flew by. I was on the phone constantly. I remembered that at the first meeting, we’d asked everyone who attended to sign in with their names and phone numbers. I had the list at the office, and Phil volunteered to go down and get it for me. I gave him the keys, told him where I thought the list was; I gave him about ten alternative places to look if it wasn’t, and he left.

  I called Lieutenant Richman to tell him of the time and location of the meeting and he assured me that Chief Black would be there.

  If I’d been in much of a state to do any pondering or speculating about things other than the immediate situation with Tom and the fuse that would definitely be lit if word got out that he had been killed with the same kind of gun used by just about every policeman in the city, I might have given a bit more time to wonder exactly why Jonathan was here. But I didn’t: I just accepted it and, on some not-too-deeply hidden level, appreciated it. He didn’t talk my arm off: He was very quiet, actually. I got the feeling that he simply wanted to be with me, and that was very sweet of him.

  When Phil returned with the list, I called everyone on it I’d not already called. Several of them had already spoken to either Bob, or Mark Graser, or Glen O’Banyon. All expressed a great deal of sorrow over Tom’s death and apprehension over what it might result in. There was a great deal of anger, too. Even without knowing about the weapon that had killed Tom, many automatically assumed he had been killed by a homophobic fellow officer.

  Phil had picked up copies of all the papers, which, if not headlining the killing, ran the story on the front page. The two more journalistically responsible papers merely reported the facts—what few were known—mentioning Tom’s having been at the head of his academy class, his having saved his fellow officer trapped in the burning squad car, and having come to the rescue of a number of “citizens” being attacked by gang members, and the fact that the police were pursuing the probability that the killing was a gang retaliation. All respectful, all dignified.

  But, ah, the Journal-Sentinel: Somehow they had managed to get a close-up photo of Tom’s car, looking in the driver’s side open door, and showing the hood partially through the wall and smashed display window of Reef Dwellers. The banner headline shouted: “Gay Cop Shot Dead!” While the accompanying article was almost totally devoid of fact, it was of course dripping with innuendo, including making a point of mentioning that the killing had occurred in “the gay area of town” where “gay bars abound.” It of course did not mention that so did gay bookstores and gay clothing stores and gay record shops and gay restaurants and…

  You’re preaching to the choir, Hardesty, my mind said.

  *

  We…Phil, Tim, Jonathan and I…arrived at the M.C.C. at 6:30 and already there were several cars in the church’s parking lot. I’d thought of taking Jonathan back to Bob and Mario’s, but he wanted to come and I figured ‘what the hell, he’s as safe here as anywhere.’ I could tell he wanted to run next door to Haven House to say hello to some of his former housemates and, after asking if I was sure I didn’t mind, he went. I was sure that with Chief Black expected, not even Cochran’s boys would dare make a move on Jonathan, even if they knew he was there.

  While none of us had intended for the straight media to be there, a van from Channel 6 pulled up in front of the church, and I was sure representatives from at least one of the newspapers were there, too. Everything had happened so fast we had no way of really knowing who was supposed to be there and who was not. There had been something like sixty-two people at our first meeting. I expected we’d have quite a few more for this one. But I certainly was not prepared for the crowd that had already gathered by six forty-five.

  We’d moved around to the front of the church to see who was arriving. Earlier, Lee Taylor of the Gay Business League had agreed to open the meeting, and he and Glen O’Banyon had suggested I introduce Chief Black. I didn’t think that was a good idea at all, and suggested that Lee Taylor introduce Lieutenant Richman, whom I was pretty sure would be accompanying the chief: Richman could introduce the chief.

  At ten ’til seven, I checked with Bob and Mark Graser and Glen O’Banyon and together we went through the crowd outside, looking for those we knew had been specifically invited and urging them to go into the church and find a seat while they still could.

  Jonathan made his way to me and I told him to go inside with Tim and Mario to save seats for Bob and Phil and me. As I was saying a few words to Charles Conrad of Rainbow Flag, I was surprised to see Jared coming toward me. As Charles climbed the stairs into the church, I turned to a very sober-faced Jared. We exchanged a handshake and a bear-hug.

  “I’m sorry, Dick,” he said. He didn’t have to say anything more. Looking around at the still-growing crowd, he shook his head: “It looks like we’re really in for it, doesn’t it?”

  I nodded. “I’m afraid so,” I said, and suggested he go inside and find a seat with the rest of the gang, then quickly sought out Glen O’Banyon, who was talking with a woman I recognized as the organizer of the Gay Pride parade. I motioned to him and he came over immediately.

  “I don’t know if we can do this, but I suggest we post a couple people at the doors. There’s a TV crew out there, and I saw a couple still cameras, I think, indicating the papers are here. I think we should keep the cameras out, at least. This is going to be enough of a circus without having people worry that their pictures are going to be splashed across the papers and TV screens.”

  “You’re right. Let me go find Reverend Mason. It’s his church, and he has the authority to keep the cameras out.”

  By five minutes to seven, the church was completely full, and there were probably twenty to fifty others standing in the doorway and on the stairs. Tony had, indeed, stood in the doorway and refused entry to cameras and the TV crew, which did not make them overly happy. Two other people with cameras were spotted among those in the church, and they were asked to either leave the cameras in the church office or to leave. Both gave their cameras to the Reverend with only minimal objections.

  At exactly seven o’clock, Reverend Mason went to the pulpit, and I moved to the side door to one side of the altar and went out, circling around the church, to wait for Chief Black’s arrival. We had all agreed it would
be less disruptive if he could come in through the side, rather than having to walk, like a brideless father, all the way down the aisle to the pulpit.

  Fortunately or unfortunately, I was still in too much a state of semi-numbness to be nervous, though I realized that, as Jared had said, this was rapidly turning into something a lot bigger than any of us had anticipated.

  At two minutes after seven, two squad cars pulled up in front of the church. The TV crew and one or two still cameramen from the newspapers, who had had nothing much to do in the past several minutes, scrambled toward the squad cars, from which Chief Black, Captain Offermann, and Lieutenant Richman emerged. Chief Black’s driver remained in the car. The last thing in the world that I wanted was to see myself on the evening news or in the papers. Richman spotted me, and I turned and walked back around the church to the side door as they followed, saying as little as possible to the insistent reporters.

  We gathered just inside the door, on the steps leading to the stage and the altar. Lee Taylor noticed us out of the corner of his eye, and wrapped up his remarks, which from the little I heard and the details given me later, centered on the necessity, if the gay community expected to be accepted into the mainstream, of proving that it could act and react responsibly; that to do otherwise would only prove to our enemies that we were not deserving of inclusion.

  “Before we hear from the chief,” Lee said, “I have to emphasize that he is here out of concern for the community’s reaction over the death of Officer Brady. This is not the time for a town meeting or a press conference. The chief will not be taking questions. Tom Brady has been dead less than twenty-four hours; so while we all have many questions, there simply has been too little time to find answers. We have got to keep that in mind, and give the chief the time he needs to find those answers.”

  He then introduced Lieutenant Mark Richman, and Richman, Offermann and Chief Black moved up onto the stage and crossed it to the podium in total silence. I remained on the steps until they had completely crossed the stage, then went through the small door at the foot of the stage that led to the auditorium. Fortunately, Jonathan, Bob, and the rest were seated in the first two rows, on my side of the room. Jonathan saw me and quickly scooted aside making room for me to sit, which I did. Richman stepped to the podium, introduced himself as being in the department’s Administrative Division, among whose duties was outreach to the various minorities in the city. He acknowledged the department’s long history of discrimination against the gay community, pointed briefly to several steps that had been taken to rectify it, and promised continued and intensified steps in that direction.

  He then introduced Captain Karl Offermann as head of the department’s homicide division, who limited his remarks to the fact that his presence was intended to show the department’s determination to relentlessly pursue Officer Brady’s killer or killers until he or they were found and convicted.

  “The hope of your police department, and the hope of the community of which you are all members lies in the ability of our new chief to do the job to which he was appointed. There can be no progress without his leadership, and there can be no progress without your cooperation. With that said, it is my privilege to introduce you to your, my, and our Chief of Police, Kensington Black.”

  There was some polite applause. Most of the members of the audience appreciated and recognized the significance of the chief’s coming to speak to them, but there was too much skepticism, too much anger and sadness and confusion to give him the kind of reception he deserved.

  He seemed oblivious to the lack of response.

  “I knew Tom Brady long before he was Officer Tom Brady,” the chief began, and it was immediately apparent that he was a seasoned and persuasive speaker. “His wife, as most of you know, is my god-daughter. I myself have three daughters, but no sons. But if I had a son, I could not have hoped for a finer one than Tom.”

  A couple members of the crowd applauded softly, and I could sense that his words had had an impact on the rest.

  “As chief of police, I am acutely aware of the tensions which have existed between the police department and the gay community, and I apologize on behalf of the department for its past wrongs against you. I am aware, too, in light of this long-standing distrust of the department, of rumors within the community as to who might be responsible for Officer Brady’s death. Rumors unfortunately tend to totally override logic: In this case the more logical probability is that the killing was a gang-related retaliation for the deaths of two of their members during the shooting incident which brought Tom Brady to the gay community’s attention and, as a member of the Gang Control Unit, Officer Brady had ample opportunity to make other enemies among the members of numerous gangs.

  “Still, I can assure you that we will not dismiss any possibilities out of hand. Our homicide division, led by Captain Offermann, is working around the clock on every aspect of the investigation, and with our Internal Affairs department and Gang Control Unit, to which a number of additional officers have been assigned for this case.

  “In short, I am here today to tell you that I do not know who killed Tom Brady, and to ask you to give me the time to find out. I have not been chief of police long enough to expect your trust automatically, but I most sincerely hope you will give me the chance to earn it. And I swear to each and every one of you that the person or persons who caused the death of this outstanding police officer and outstanding young man, no matter who they may be, will be found and will be punished to the full extent of the law. And when that has been done, I promise I will work diligently to bridge the tremendous gap that has too long existed between the police department and the community you represent. But for right now, our priority—yours and mine—is to not let rumor stand in the way of finding out who killed Tom Brady. I ask you for the time to do my job. Thank you.”

  The applause as he stepped back to join Richman and Offermann was much warmer, though far from overwhelming. Chief Black was right: He could not expect the community’s trust: He was going to have to earn it. I think he knew that very well. As for his request for time….

  Despite Lee’s clearly stating that the chief wouldn’t be answering any questions, as the three men were leaving the stage, several people in the crowd, including a few I recognized as the community’s most militant activists, and one or two I did not recognize but assume were probably reporters, started yelling questions, but the chief’s group made no response and went down the side steps and out the door.

  Tony Mason stepped quickly to the pulpit and raised his hand to silence the protesters and, as soon as his voice could be heard over the din, asked for a moment of silence in Tom’s memory, which effectively silenced the entire room. When the moment was over, the chief was long gone, and the meeting ended with Tony calling once more for the entire community to act responsibly. “And as to the community’s long and difficult history with the police department,” he concluded, “we should all keep in mind that Tom Brady wore the uniform of that department, and it was to it he had hoped to devote his life.”

  As the crowd dissolved, Bob, Mario, Tim, Phil, Jared, Jonathan, and I stood by the stage with a group of community leaders, who agreed the chief’s appearance had done a lot to show the department’s sincerity in dealing with the issue of Tom’s death, and in recognizing the power of the gay community. It was definitely a milestone in police-community relations. But none of us knew if it would be enough.

  *

  Jonathan wanted to come home with me.

  “You shouldn’t be alone right now,” he said as the others were talking among themselves. “I won’t get in your way, I promise. But maybe I can help you somehow, if you need anything. I won’t ask you to…ah….”

  I understood what he was saying, and I put my hand on his shoulder. “I appreciate that, Jonathan, I really do. But I’ll be fine, and Bob and Mario really need you.”

  He looked disappointed, but I knew full well I was a little too vulnerable right then to be tempted by a
cute and willing young guy. It wouldn’t be fair to either of us, and especially to him.

  *

  Saturday’s papers and morning news all made note of the meeting without making it a big deal, and carried separate short articles on Tom’s death, the plans for the funeral to be held Tuesday at noon, and the fact that the police were investigating the gang-retaliation theory of the shooting. Except for the Journal-Sentinel, which had obviously hitched its star to the rumors and sensationalism. “Chief Caves In to Gays!” the cover headline…well, I was going to say ‘screamed’, but the Journal-Sentinel’s headlines never did anything else. And “a reliable source” in the department reported that a large percentage of the force was planning to boycott Tom’s funeral.

  I’d picked up all the papers on my way back from Lisa’s. She wasn’t home, and it occurred to me that she must be staying with Carol, just to get away from the phones. I called Carol as soon as I got back home, and Lisa was indeed there. Tom’s dad had offered her a suite at the Montero, but she’d naturally preferred to be with Carol. I wanted to call Tom’s dad myself, but didn’t really know what to say. If he’d not been aware of the rumors of Tom’s being gay before Tom died, he certainly had to be now. I determined that I would definitely call him before the funeral, but right now….

  Shortly after I arrived home, the phone rang. I thought it might be Jared asking if I’d like to go to brunch, but I remembered him saying at the meeting that he was off to Carrington to see about renting a small house and probably wouldn’t be back until Sunday afternoon.

  So I was somewhat surprised, when I picked up the phone, to hear Mark Richman’s voice.

  “I suppose you saw the Journal-Sentinel this morning?”

  “Yeah, though I resented having to buy that rag. Is there any truth to the part about the boycott?”

  I heard him sigh. “I don’t know, but I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if Cochran wasn’t orchestrating something like that. His brother-in-law works for the Journal-Sentinel, I understand. But I spoke to Captain Offermann this morning and he had a call from Chief Black saying that the chief is issuing a departmental memo tomorrow. He is making it clear that the circumstances of Officer Brady’s death qualify it to be considered a death in the line of duty, and that any uniformed officer not on patrol duty at the time of the funeral would be expected to attend. He also leaves little doubt that anyone who does not attend will be required to have a damned good excuse as to why they weren’t there.”