“A what?” McDermott gasped, then caught himself. “Yes... yes, I know what you mean. We — ah — don’t have an Inspector’s funeral here, Jason. The department’s not big enough to have an Inspector.”
“What’re you?”
“I’m a Captain.”
“Okay. Is he gonna have a Captain’s funeral?”
“Now, Jason,” McDermott said, “I’m beginning to understand what you’re driving at. You think Cameron was a fine officer and he ought to have a big funeral.”
“Sure. Like all the heroes. In New York a cop shot it out with some bandits. He killed two of them and he got killed himself, so they gave him an Inspector’s funeral.”
“I read about that. He was a very brave man.”
“Sure. And I read about another cop who shot a man who was holding a woman prisoner. Only the cop got killed too.”
“Yes, I remember the case.”
“Does a cop have to kill somebody to be a hero?”
McDermott wondered what ever happened to the kids who were too scared to walk into a police station and whose parents used to make bogeymen out of cops.
“That’s quite a question, Jason. I don’t know. But still... those officers were heroes.”
“So was Officer Cameron. He never let anybody get killed or hurt I guess that makes him a hero... kinda... I guess he didn’t make much noise like shooting, and he didn’t kill anybody, but he was sure a hero.”
“In a way,” McDermott conceded. “Yes, in a quiet sort of way he was a hero, I suppose. But... I’m afraid he won’t get an Inspector’s funeral, son. Not even a Captain’s. Oh, it’ll very likely be a big one because he had a lot of friends...”
“But all the cops won’t march?”
“No.”
Jason Palmer rubbed one eye with his knuckles and thus smeared some foreign substance on his cheek.
“I wanna see the Chief of Police,” he said.
“But you can’t, Jason. He’s home and he’s sick. He can’t see anyone. Now — about school...”
“Okay, okay, I’m not playing hookey. I’ll just be a little late, that’s all.”
“You run along now. I like your ideas, Jason. They’re very kind and unselfish. I wish I could help you.”
“You think Officer Cameron oughta have a Captain’s funeral, sir?”
“Indeed I do.”
“Should I ask the principal of my school? He’s... well, kind of a stinker, I guess, but if I asked him...”
“You have the right to ask anyone, Jason. But if you don’t get back to school, there’ll be all sorts of trouble.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
“That’s all right. I’m glad you dropped in.”
The boy walked out carefully, but broke into a run as soon as he reached the street.
“Just like a taxpayer,” McDermott said to himself. “Only he knows what he wants.”
The telephone started a short, busy spurt and it was after two o’clock when the principal of Jason’s school called on the phone.
“Captain McDermott,” he said, “this is Principal Harris of the—”
“I know, Mr. Harris,” McDermott interrupted. “You couldn’t possibly be calling about anyone except a boy named Jason Palmer.”
“He came into my office with the most fantastic idea—”
“What did you actually think of it, Mr. Harris?”
“Impractical, juvenile... but interesting. No one but a child could possibly have thought of it. He told me you said it was all right for him to ask me — and that you approve of the idea.”
“I do — but it can’t be done,” McDermott said.
“Cameron wasn’t a — well, a spectacular sort of policeman, was he?”
“Not spectacular in any way except his devotion to duty. No, he didn’t rate any medals and he won’t get a hero’s funeral, but I’ve seen worse cops.”
“I told Jason the faculty would send a floral tribute. He was not impressed.”
“No, he wouldn’t be. But that’s all there’ll be to it, Mr. Harris. Only one small boy has been disillusioned, and he’ll get over it.”
“Yes, I suppose so. Thank you, Captain.”
McDermott hung up and attended to the booking of a drunk carried in on a stretcher. He knew him. He thought he knew all the drunks on earth. After that there were bail bonds to arrange, pedigrees to be taken, reports to be read, beat assignments to be made.
At three the phone rang and Chief Bradley was on the wire, speaking with the croak he always developed when he had a bad cold.
“There’s some kid here says you sent him. Mac, what’s it all about? He talks of Cameron’s funeral, but he doesn’t make much sense to me and anyway I feel so lousy...”
“I know the boy,” McDermott said. “He was here. I told him you couldn’t see anyone, but he’s quite a persistent tyke. I’ll explain the whole thing when you feel better.”
“Well, he’s camped on my front porch. Kid like him belongs in school. Send a car for him. He walked all the way from the center of town. Imagine that? I used to walk it every night on my beat, but I couldn’t do it now.”
“I’ll send a car,” McDermott said. “I’ll personally take him home and read a mild riot act to him. Tell him to sit tight.”
“I couldn’t pry him off my porch with a crowbar. Send a car right away, before I find myself listening to him and then I’ll be in trouble.”
McDermott rang for a driver and sent him to the Chief’s house with orders to bring the boy back. It would be around four by the time they returned. McDermott decided he’d better put a firm end to Jason’s “idea.”
He had changed to civilian clothes by the time the car brought Jason in. McDermott clambered into the back. Jason sat up front with the driver, somewhat nervously but quite defiantly. He wasn’t beaten.
“Hi, Jason,” McDermott said. “You were wrong in going to see the Chief.”
“Yes, sir. You told me not to, but I went anyhow. My mom says I’m as stubborn as my dad who’s in the Navy and I guess she’s right.”
“I’m going to take you home now and have a little talk with your mother. Do you mind?”
“No, sir. I been trying to make her understand too, but she don’t seem to neither. Nobody does... well, maybe you do. I think you do, but nobody else.”
“I think I do too. In fact, the more I think about Officer Cameron, the more I think you’re right, but... well, I think further than you, Jason, and I see how impossible it is.”
“Why should it be, that’s what I’d like to know. Gosh... if a guy has to kill somebody and get killed himself to be a hero, I sure don’t want to be no hero.”
McDermott said, “Do you get the drift of this, Brophy?”
The driver shook his head. “No, Captain, I don’t figure it.”
“Keep your ears open and you’ll get an education when Jason is around!”
“Yeah,” Brophy said, “I got two boys of my own. You ain’t telling me something I don’t know. But this kid seems a little deeper somehow.”
The police car pulled up before a neat two-story, one-family house on a street where it was one of a row of two dozen others just like it. The police car drew all the kids in the neighborhood.
Jason got out of the car and walked rather proudly, with McDermott towering over him. His mother opened the door and some of Jason’s assurance left him.
“Is he in trouble?” she asked, eying the official car and the uniformed driver.
“No, ma’am,” McDermott said. “I’m Captain McDermott. Jason came to have a little talk about his pal, Officer Cameron. I think your son is a remarkable boy, Mrs. Palmer. That’s why I brought him home myself — to tell you so.”
“Do you really think so, Captain? I try very hard to keep Jason from doing anything wrong — his father’s away so much...”