“My friends,” said Flynn, “tonight’s show will be one for the history books. Earlier today I was given some news that absolutely amazed me. It made me do something I’ve never done before. I canceled my scheduled guest—to make room for the man sitting here with me. His name is Dell Beckert. He’s chief of police in White River, New York—a city where two white police officers have been murdered in just the past few days. With his city on the verge of a race war—with lawlessness in the streets—this man’s toughness is turning back the tide of chaos. His pursuit of justice and order is prevailing. He is doing this at a staggering personal cost—a fact we’ll return to in a moment. But first, Chief Beckert, can you bring us up to date on your investigation of those fatal police shootings?”
Beckert nodded grimly. “Since the cowardly sniper attacks on our brave officers, our department has made rapid progress. The sniper has been identified as Cory Payne, a twenty-two-year-old white supporter of radical black causes. Late this morning I received conclusive evidence linking him to both shootings. At one fifteen this afternoon I issued a formal order for his arrest. At one thirty I submitted my resignation.”
Flynn leaned toward him. “You submitted your resignation?”
“Yes.” Beckert’s voice was hard and clear.
“Why did you do that?”
“To ensure the integrity of the system and the impartial application of the law.”
Madeleine looked at Gurney. “What’s he talking about?”
“I think I know, but let’s wait and see.”
Flynn, who obviously knew all about it—it was why Beckert was there—affected a puzzled look. “Why would that require your resignation?”
“Cory Payne is my son.” The bombshell was dropped with jarring calmness.
“Cory Payne . . . is your son?” Flynn’s question seemed designed to extend the dramatic impact of the revelation.
“Yes.”
Madeleine stared at the screen in disbelief. “Cory Payne killed John Steele and Rick Loomis? And Cory Payne is the police chief’s son? Can that be true?”
“Maybe half true.”
Flynn placed his hands flat on the table. “Let me ask you the obvious question.”
Before he could ask it, Beckert put it in his own words. “How could I have been so deceived? How could a trained police officer have missed the signs that must have been there? Is that what you want to know?”
“I think that’s what we all want to know.”
“I’ll give you the best answer I can. Cory Payne is my son, but we’ve been estranged for many years. When he was barely a teenager, he began acting out. He broke the law more than once. As an alternative to the juvenile detention system, I arranged for him to be sent to a strict boarding school. When he graduated at eighteen I had hopes for him. When he changed his name to Payne, his mother’s maiden name, I hoped it was just another example of the rebellion he’d eventually grow out of. When he came to live in White River last year, I thought we might be able to forge a relationship after all. In retrospect, that hope was foolish. The desperate delusion of a parent. It temporarily blinded me to the depth of his hostility to anything connected with law, order, discipline.”
Flynn nodded understandingly. “Did anyone in White River know that Cory Payne’s real name was Beckert?”
“He told me he didn’t want anyone to know we were related, and I respected that. If he revealed it to anyone for reasons of his own, I was never aware of it.”
“How much contact did you have with him?”
“I left that up to him. He’d visit me from time to time. We had an occasional lunch together, usually someplace where neither of us would be recognized.”
“What did you think of his racial politics, his criticisms of the police?”
“I told myself it was just a lot of words. Adolescent playacting. A warped search for attention. The feeling of power that comes from criticizing powerful people. I imagined he’d eventually come to his senses. Obviously, he went in the opposite direction.”
Flynn sat back in his chair and gave Beckert a long, sympathetic look.
“This must be incredibly painful for you.”
Beckert produced a brief, thin-lipped smile. “Pain is part of life. The main thing is not to run from it. Or let it motivate you to do the wrong thing.”
“The wrong thing?” Flynn produced his pensive expression. “In this case, what would that be?”
“Bury evidence. Call in favors. Twist arms. Influence the outcome. Conceal the fact that we’re father and son. All those actions would be wrong. They’d undermine the law—the ideal of justice that I’ve devoted my life to preserving.”
“Is that why you’re resigning—why you’re voluntarily ending one of the most distinguished law-enforcement careers in America?”
“Respect for the law is built on public trust. The case against Cory Payne must be pursued vigorously and transparently without the slightest suspicion of interference. If giving up my position supports that goal, it’s well worth whatever sacrifice it entails.”
“Wow.” Flynn nodded appreciatively. “Well said. Now that you’ve submitted your resignation, what’s the path forward?”
