Native Son - Richard Wright [96]
“Sure. Why not?” Britten said.
All of the men followed Britten up the stairs and Bigger was left alone. At once his eyes went to the newspaper; he wanted to pick it up, but was afraid. He stepped to the back door and made sure that it was locked; then he went to the top of the stairs and looked hurriedly into the kitchen; he saw no one. He bounded down the steps and snatched up the paper. He opened it and saw a line of heavy black type stretched across the top of the front page: SEEK HYDE PARK HEIRESS MISSING FROM HOME SINCE SATURDAY. GIRL BELIEVED HIDING OUT WITH COMMUNISTS. POLICE NAB LOCAL RED LEADER; GRILLED ON RELATIONSHIP WITH MARY DALTON. AUTHORITIES ACT ON TIP SUPPLIED BY GIRL’S FATHER.
And there was the picture of Jan in the center of page one. It was Jan all right. Just like him. He turned to the story, reading,
Did the foolish dream of solving the problem of human misery and poverty by dividing her father’s real estate millions among the lowly force Mary Dalton to leave the palatial Hyde Park home of her parents, Mr. and Mrs. Henry G. Dalton, 4605 Drexel Boulevard, and take up life under an assumed name with her long-haired friends in the Communist movement?
This was the question that police sought to answer late tonight as they grilled Jan Erlone, executive secretary of the Labor Defenders, a Communist “front” organization in which it was said that Mary Dalton held a membership in defiance of her father’s wishes.
The story went on to say that Jan was being held for investigation at the Eleventh Street Police Station and that Mary had been missing from her home since eight o’clock Saturday night. It also mentioned that Mary had been in the “company of Erlone until early Sunday morning at a notorious South Side café in the Black Belt.”
That was all. He had expected more. He looked further. No; here was something else. It was a picture of Mary. It was so lifelike that it reminded him of how she had looked the first time he had seen her; he blinked his eyes. He was looking again in sweaty fear at her head lying upon the sticky newspapers with blood oozing outward toward the edges. Above the picture was a caption: IN DUTCH WITH PA. Bigger lifted his eyes and looked at the furnace; it seemed impossible that she was there in the fire, burning…. The story in the paper had not been as alarming as he had thought it would be. But as soon as they heard of Mary’s being kidnapped, what would happen? He heard footsteps and dropped the paper back in the corner and stood just as he had before, his back against the wall, his eyes vacant and sleepy. The door opened and the men came down the steps, talking in low, excited tones. Again Bigger noticed that they were watching him. Britten also came back.
“Say, why can’t we talk to this boy?” one demanded.
“There’s nothing he can tell you,” Britten said.
“But he can tell us what he saw. After all, he drove the car last night.”
“O.K. with me,” Britten said. “But Mr. Dalton’s told you everything.”
One of the men walked over to Bigger.
“Say, Mike, you think this Erlone fellow did this?”
“My name ain’t Mike,” Bigger said, resentfully.
“Oh, I don’t mean no harm,” the man said. “But do you think he did it?”
“Answer his questions, Bigger,” Britten said.
Bigger was sorry he had taken offense. He could not afford to get angry now. And he had no need to be angry. Why should he be angry with a lot of fools? They were looking for the girl and the girl was ten feet from them, burning. He had killed her and they did not know it. He would let them call him “Mike.”
“I don’t know, suh,” he said.
“Come on; tell us what happened.”
“I only work here, suh,” Bigger said.
“Don’t be afraid. Nobody’s going to hurt you.”
“Mr. Britten can tell you,” Bigger said.
The men shook their heads and walked away.
“Good God, Britten!” said one of the men. “All we’ve got on this kidnapping is that a letter was found, Erlone’s to be released, the letter was signed by ‘Red,’ and there was a hammer and sickle emblem on it. That doesn’t make sense. Give us some more details.”