In Cold Blood - Truman Capote [88]
"This is a serious matter, Mrs. Johnson," Nye said. "We'd like to talk it over." Having surrendered, having asked them in and offered them coffee (which was accepted), Mrs. Johnson said, "I haven't seen Perry in four years. Or heard from him since he was paroled. Last summer, when he came out of prison, he visited my father in Reno. In a letter, my father told me he was returning to Atlanta and taking Perry with him. Then he wrote again, I think in September, and he was very angry. He and Perry had quarreled and separated before they reached the border. Perry turned back, my father went on to Alaska alone."
"And he hasn't written you since?"
"No."
"Then it's possible your brother may have joined him recently, within the last month."
"I don't know. I don't care."
"On bad terms?"
"With Perry? Yes. I'm afraid of him."
"But while he was in Lansing you wrote him frequently. Or so the Kansas authorities tell us," Nye said. The second man, Inspector Guthrie seemed content to occupy the sidelines.
"I wanted to help him. I hoped I might change a few of his ideas. Now I know better. The rights of other people mean nothing to Perry. He has no respect for anyone."
"About friends. Do you know of any with whom he might be staying?"
"Joe James," she said, and explained that James was a young Indian logger and fisherman who lived in the forest near Bellingham, Washington. No, she was not personally acquainted with him, but she understood that he and his family were generous people who had often been kind to Perry in the past. The only friend of Perry's she had ever met was a young lady who had appeared on the Johnsons' doorstep in June, 1955, bringing with her a letter from Perry in which he introduced her as his wife.
"He said he was in trouble, and asked if I would take care of his wife until he could send for her. The girl looked twenty; it turned out she was fourteen. And of course she wasn't anyone's wife. But at the time I was taken in. I felt sorry for her, and asked her to stay with us. She did, though not for long. Less than a week. And when she left, she took our suitcases and everything they could hold - most of my clothes and most of my husband's, the silver, even the kitchen clock."
"When this happened, where were you living?"
"Denver."
"Have you ever lived in Fort Scott, Kansas?"
"Never. I've never been to Kansas."
"Have you a sister who lives in Fort Scott?"
"My sister is dead. My only sister." Nye smiled. He said, "You understand, Mrs. Johnson, we're working on the assumption that your brother will contact you. Write or call. Or come to see you."
"I hope not. As a matter of fact, he doesn't know we've moved. He thinks I'm still in Denver. Please, if you do find him, don't give him my address. I'm afraid."
"When you say that, is it because you think he might harm you? Hurt you physically?" She considered, and unable to decide, said she didn 't know. "But I'm afraid of him. I always have been. He can seem so warm-hearted and sympathetic. Gentle. He cries so easily. Sometimes music sets him off, and when he was a little boy he used to cry because he thought a sunset was beautiful. Or the moon. Oh, he can fool you. He can make you feel so sorry for him - " The doorbell rang. Mrs. Johnson 's reluctance to answer conveyed her dilemma, and Nye (who later wrote of her, "Through-out the interview she remained composed and most gracious. A person of exceptional character") reached for his brown snap-brim. "Sorry to have troubled you, Mrs. Johnson. But if you hear from Perry, we hope you'll have the good sense to call us. Ask for Inspector Guthrie." After the departure of the detectives, the composure that had impressed Nye faltered; a familiar despair impended. She fought it, delayed its full impact until the party was done and the guests had gone, until she 'd fed the children and bathed them and heard their prayers. Then the mood, like the evening