"Just a few little questions, Reverend," Brody said cheerfully. "First, why did you kill him?"

"G.o.d directed me to," Reverend Short replied in a calm, quiet voice.

Brody glanced at Coffin Ed, but Coffin Ed didn't notice. Grave Digger continued to stare out at the river.

"Tell us about it," Brody said.

"Big Joe Pullen found out that he was her husband and they were still living in sin while she was supposed to be married to Johnny Perry," Reverend Short began.

"When did he find that out?" Brody asked.

"On his last trip," Reverend Short said quietly. "He was going to talk to Val and tell him to clear out, go to Chicago, get his divorce quietly and just disappear. But before Joe Pullen had a chance to talk to him he died. When I came to help Mamie arrange for the funeral she told me what Big Joe had found out, and asked me for spiritual advice. I told her to leave it to me and I'd take care of it, being as I was both her and Big Joe's spiritual advisor and Johnny and Dulcy Perry were members of my church, too, although they never attended the services. I telephoned Val and told him I wanted to talk to him, and he said he didn't have time to talk to preachers. So I had to tell him what I wanted to talk to him about. He said he'd come and see me in my church the night of the wake, and we made an appointment for two o'clock. I think he was preparing to do me injury, but I was prepared, and I put it to him straight. I told him I'd give him twenty-four hours to get out of town and leave her alone or I'd tell Johnny. He told me he'd go. I was satisfied he was telling me the truth, so I went back to the wake to comfort Mamie in her last hours with Big Joe's mortal remains. It was while I was there that G.o.d directed me to slay him."

"How did that happen, Reverend?" Brody asked gently.

Reverend Short took off his gla.s.ses, laid them aside and ran his hand down over his thin bony face. He put his gla.s.ses back on.

"I am give to receiving instructions from G.o.d, and I don't question them," he said. "While I was standing in the room where Big Joe's mortal remains lay in the casket, I felt an overwhelming urge to go into the front bedroom. I knew right away that G.o.d was sending me on some mission. I obeyed without reservation. I went into the bedroom and closed the door. Then I felt the urge to look among Big Joe's things . .

Coffin Ed slowly turned his head to stare at him. Grave Digger turned his gaze from the East River and stared at him, too. The police reporter glanced up quickly and down again.

"As I was looking through his things I came across the knife laying in his dresser drawer among his hairbrushes and safety razors and things. G.o.d told me to take it. I took it. I put it into my pocket. G.o.d told me to go to the window and look out. I went to the window and looked out. Then G.o.d caused me to fall--"

"As I remember it, you said before that c.h.i.n.k Charlie pushed you," Brody interrupted.

"That was what I thought then," Reverend Short said in his quiet voice. "But since then I've come to realize it was G.o.d who pushed me. I had the urge to fall, but I was holding back, and G.o.d had to give me a little push. Then G.o.d placed that basket of bread on the sidewalk to break my fall."

"Before you said it was the Body of Christ," Brody reminded him.

"Yes," Reverend Short admitted. "But since then I've communed with G.o.d and now I know it was bread. When I got out of the bread basket and found myself unhurt, I knew right away that G.o.d had placed me in that position to accomplish some task, but I didn't know what. So I stood in the hallway downstairs, out of sight, waiting for G.o.d to direct me what to do--"

"You're sure it wasn't just to take a leak," Coffin Ed cut in.

"Well, I did that, too," Reverend Short admitted. "I have a weak bladder."

"No wonder," Grave Digger said.

"Let him go on," Brody said.

"While I was waiting for G.o.d to instruct me, I saw Valentine Haines crossing the street," Reverend Short said. "I knew right away that G.o.d wanted me to do something about him. I stood out of sight and watched him from the shadows. Then I saw him walk up to the bread basket and lie down as though to go to sleep. He lay just as though he were lying in a coffin awaiting his burial. I knew then what it was that G.o.d wanted me to do. I opened the knife and held it up my sleeve and stepped outside. Val saw me right away and said, I thought you went back upstairs to the wake, Reverend. I said, no, I've been waiting for you. He said, waiting for me for what. I said, waiting to kill you in the name of the Lord, and I leaned down and stabbed him in the heart."

Sergeant Brody exchanged glances with the two colored detectives.

"Well, that wraps it up," he said, then, turning back to Reverend Short, he remarked cynically, "I suppose you'll cop a plea of insanity."

"I'm not insane," Reverend Short said serenely. "I'm holy."

"Yeah," Brody said. He turned to the police reporter. "Get a copy of that statement typed for him to sign as soon as possible."

"Right," the police reporter said, closing his notebook and hurrying from the room.

Brody rang for the attendant and left him with Grave Digger and Coffin Ed. Outside he turned to Grave Digger and said, "You were right after all when you said that folks in Harlem do things for reasons n.o.body else in the world would think of."

Grave Digger grunted.

"Do you think he's really crazy?" Brody persisted.

"Who knows?" Grave Digger said.

"Depends on what you mean by crazy," Coffin Ed amended.

"He was just s.e.xually frustrated and l.u.s.ting after a married woman," Grave Digger said. "When you get to mixing s.e.x and religion it will make anybody crazy."

"If he sticks to his story, he'll beat it," Brody said.

"Yeah," Coffin Ed said bitterly. "And if the cards had fallen just a little differently Johnny Perry would have got burned."

Dulcy had been taken to Harlem hospital. Her wound was superficial. The knife thrust had been stopped by her sternum.

But they kept her in the hospital because she could pay for a room.

She telephoned Mantle and Mantle went to her immediately. She cried her heart out on Mamie's shoulder, while telling her the story.

"But why didn't you just get rid of Val, child?" Mamie asked her. "Why didn't you send him away."

"I wasn't sleeping with him," Dulcy said.

"It didn't make any difference--he was still your husband and you kept him there in the house."

"I felt sorry for him, that's all," Dulcy said. "He wasn't worth a d.a.m.n for nothing, but I felt sorry for him just the same."

"Well, for G.o.d's sake, child," Mamie said. "Anyway, why didn't you tell the police about c.h.i.n.k having another knife instead of getting Johnny to kill him?"

"I know I should have done it," Dulcy confessed. "But I didn't know what to do."

"Then why didn't you go to Johnny, child, and make a clean breast and ask him what to do?" Mamie said. "He was your man, child. He was the only one for you to go to."

"Go to Johnny!" Dulcy said, laughing with an edge of hysteria. "Imagine me going to Johnny with that story. I thought he had done it himself."

"He would have listened to you," Mamie said. "You ought to know Johnny that well by now, child."

"It wasn't that, Aunt Mamie," Dulcy sobbed. "I know he would have listened. But he would have hated me."

"There, there, don't cry," Mamie said, caressing her hair. "It's all over now."

"That's what I mean," Dulcy said. "It's all over." She buried her face in her hands and sobbed heartbrokenly. "I love the ugly b.a.s.t.a.r.d," she said sobbingly. "But I ain't got no way to prove it."

It was a hot morning. The neighborhood kids were playing in the street.

Johnny's lawyer, Ben Williams, had got him out on bail. The garage had sent a man down to the jail with his fishtail Cadillac. Johnny came out and got in behind the wheel and the man from the garage sat in back. The lawyer sat beside Johnny.

"We'll get that manslaughter charge nol-prossed," the lawyer said. "You ain't got a thing to worry about."

Johnny pressed the starter, shifted to drive, and the big convertible moved off slowly.

"That ain't what I'm worrying about," he said.

"What is it?" the lawyer asked.

"You wouldn't know anything about it," Johnny said. Skinny black kids in their summer shifts ran after the big flashy Cadillac, touching it with love and awe.

"Fishtail Johnny Perry," they called after him. "Four Ace Johnny Perry."

He threw up his left hand in a sort of salute.

"Try me," the lawyer said. "I'm supposed to be your brain."

"How can a jealous man win?" Johnny said.

"By trusting his luck," the lawyer said. "You're the one who's the gambler, you ought to know that."

"Well, pal," Johnny said. "You'd better be right."

ABOUT THE AUTHOR.

CHESTER HIMES was born in Missouri in 1909. He began writing while serving a prison sentence for a jewel theft and published just short of twenty novels before his death in 1984. Among his best-known thrillers are _Cotton Comes to Harlem_, _The Real Cool Killers_, and _The Heat's On_, all available from Vintage.