The second drawer was also open, and as Ben quickly riffled through it, he found more catalogues of weapons and paramilitary materials, along with messages and memos which appeared to have been written by Teddy Langley to himself or to his brother. They were mostly filled with racial slurs and rabid exhortations to violent action. Ben made a brief effort to comprehend Langley’s mind, so clogged with hatred that it seemed hardly capable of light or air or the simplest of life’s humanities, its small acts of mercy, kindness and generosity. He tried to imagine how Langley, or anyone else, could become so addicted to his own poison that it became his life’s blood. And yet, as Ben continued through the desk, it was clear that this was exactly what had happened to Langley. Without his hatred, he was nothing. It was what gave his life a meaning, a purpose.
The third and final drawer was cluttered with an assortment of unconnected items. A police badge, a belt buckle, several packs of matches, a pair of scissors, tape, paper clips. There was a twenty-two pistol and a half-empty box of shells, a small pocket knife and a bottle of aspirin. A roll of electrical tape was nestled in the left-hand corner of the drawer, and as Ben picked it up, he noticed a small circular ridge on its surface. He peeled the tape back slowly, spooling it over his hands as he unraveled it. The ridge grew more visible until the last strand of tape was peeled from its surface. It was a gold wedding band, and as Ben turned it slowly in his fingers, he could read the inscription plainly: For Charlie. Love Susan.
‘Charlie Breedlove’s ring,’ Ben said as he tossed it onto Luther’s desk.
Luther picked it up and stared at it unbelievingly. ‘How do you know?’
‘His wife told Patterson it was missing,’ Ben said. ‘When I talked to her about it, she told me the inscription.’
Luther continued to roll the ring between his fingers. ‘Where’d you find it?’
‘It was wrapped up in a roll of electrical tape,’ Ben said. ‘I found it in a little house over on Courtland.’
‘Courtland?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Whose house?’
‘There was some mail in a desk. It was all addressed to Teddy Langley.’
Luther’s face grew rigid, and his light-blue eyes seemed to go pure white. ‘Langley?’
‘It’s full of racial stuff,’ Ben said. He handed Luther one of the pictures he’d found in Langley’s desk.
‘Oh, sweet Jesus,’ Luther groaned as he stared at it.
‘Did you know Langley was caught up in stuff like that?’ Ben asked.
Luther shook his head. ‘I knew he wasn’t liked over in Bearmatch, that he was always busting up their shot-houses and roughing people up.’ His eyes shot up to Ben. ‘But no, I didn’t know he was into trash like this.’ He leaned back in his chair. His eyes settled onto the picture once again, held there a moment, then lifted toward Ben. ‘Do you think he killed Charlie Breedlove?’
Ben nodded. ‘Maybe.’
‘Why?’ Luther asked. ‘Because he thought Breedlove was an informer?’
‘Yes.’
Luther eased himself forward and placed his elbows on his desk. ‘But if Breedlove really was an informer,’ he said, ‘then who in hell was he reporting to?’
‘I don’t know.’
Luther stared at him accusingly. ‘Bullshit.’
‘I don’t know, Captain,’ Ben said firmly.
‘Well, how’d you know about this house on Courtland Street?’
‘I got a tip.’
Luther’s face turned sour. ‘A tip?’ he demanded. ‘What kind of tip?’
Ben didn’t answer.
Luther glared at him irritably. ‘Are you telling me that you’ve got your own little nest of informers in the Police Department?’
‘Not in the Police Department,’ Ben said. ‘That’s all I can tell you.’
Luther did not seem to know what to do. His eyes appeared to grow large and menacing, but with an anger which he could not direct toward anything or anyone. ‘All right,’ he said finally. ‘We’ll do it this way. You’re back on the force, Ben.’
Ben said nothing.
‘Do you want to be back on the force?’
‘I guess so.’
‘Good,’ Luther said. I’m glad to hear it. Because I’ve already got your first assignment for you.’
Ben waited, half-expecting it to have something to do with Martin Luther King.
‘The first assignment, Ben,’ Luther said, almost tauntingly, ‘is to find Teddy Langley and bring his ass to me.’
THIRTY-SIX
It took Ben several hours finally to spot Black Cat 13. It was parked under a shade tree in the heart of Bearmatch, and Langley was resting leisurely on the hood, a cigarette dangling from his mouth and a bottle of Double Cola in his hand.
‘I wouldn’t mess with me if I were you,’ Langley said as Ben approached him. ‘That shit at headquarters, that was a free one. It’s the only one you’re ever going to get.’ He took a hard pull on the bottle, then wiped his forehead with his fist.
‘I been trying to find you all morning,’ Ben said.