Whispers in the Wind (37 page)

“C’mon!” gusted Thornton. “Let’s get him!”

When they rounded the corner of the building closest to them at the end of the alley, they saw the boy halfway down the alley, trying to get the back door of a building open.

“Stop right there!” Collins said.

The youth’s head whipped around and he raised his gun, pointing it at the oncoming policemen.

Thornton took aim. “Freeze, Weston! Drop that gun!”

The boy fired at them again and the bullet hissed between them, striking a metal trash receptacle. Collins fired back. The slug struck the boy in the right shoulder. Thornton was just about to squeeze his trigger, but refrained when the boy went down, his gun falling from his grasp.

In spite of the bullet in his shoulder, the boy started to pick up his gun as the officers were running toward him. Thornton shouted, “Don’t do it, Weston, or I’ll have to shoot you! Get your hand away from the gun and put your head down!”

The boy was on his stomach. He pulled his shaky hand away from the gun and dropped his face low toward the ground.

Collins dropped to his knees, handcuffs in hand, pulled both hands behind his back and snapped on the cuffs while Thornton stood over him, holding his gun on him.

Blood was seeping through the bullet hole in the boy’s coat.

“Okay, Weston!” said Collins, grasping his other shoulder and turning him over. “You just about got yourself kill—”

The eyes of both officers widened as they focused on the wounded youths face.

“Hey, you’re not Dane Weston!” Collins said.

“But you sure look like him.”

The officers looked at each other as Thornton picked up the boy’s gun. Suddenly they both knew that this had to be the teenager who stabbed Benny Jackson to death. Dane had been telling the truth.

Collins hoisted the youth to his feet.

“Okay, kid,” said Thornton. “What’s your name?”

The boy was obviously in a great deal of pain, but still he jutted his jaw and gave Thornton a defiant glare. “I ain’t tellin you my name.”

Thornton gave him an icy stare. “We’ll see about that. Right now, we’ve got to get you to the hospital and get that wound taken care of.”

They went to the street, hailed a paddy wagon that was passing by, and took the boy to Mercy Hospital. The slug was removed by the doctors and when the boy had come out from under the anesthetic, he was put in a private room, and cuffed to the iron bedstead even though he was still quite drowsy.

When Collins had snapped the cuffs in place while a nurse stood looking on, Thornton said, “You stay with him, Fred. I’m going to headquarters and get permission from the chief to bring the three witnesses who testified at Dane Weston’s trial. I want them to look at this guy. He was carrying a gun illegally and no doubt has a criminal record.”

“I’ll wait right here, partner.”

Nearly two hours had passed when Officer Fred Collins was still attempting to get the dark-haired youth to tell him his name. His mouth was clamped shut and a stubborn look was in his eyes.

The nurse came in, followed by Chief of Police William Yarrow, Officer James Thornton, and the man and two women
who had testified at Dane Westons trial, identifying him under oath as Benny Jackson’s killer.

Collins stood up and shoved the chair to the side so the chief and the others could move up close to the wounded teenager.

Yarrow took one look at the boy and shook his head. He turned to the man and the women. “Take a look at him.”

All three gasped in unison as they stepped up and focused on the face of the dark-haired boy.

“Oh my,” said the tall, gray-haired man as he studied the boy through his thick spectacles. “Ladies, we have made a terrible mistake. This definitely is Benny Jackson’s killer. It wasn’t Dane Weston.”

The older of the two said, “Oh, dear. We did make a mistake. This is indeed the young man we saw stab Benny.”

The other woman nodded. “You’re right. It is, indeed.”

The wounded teenager glared at them, his lips pressed into a pencil-thin line.

“Are you absolutely sure?” Officer James Thornton said. “You were so certain before that it was Dane Weston you had seen stab Benny Jackson.”

The gray-haired man cleared his throat nervously. “I know, and there are many similarities, as you can see. But I’m absolutely positive that this is Benny’s killer.”

The chief moved up close. “Then I’m going to make sure that justice is done speedily. Dane Weston was wrongfully convicted of a crime he didn’t commit, just like he kept telling us.” He looked the boy in the eye. “I want to know your name and where you live.”

The stubborn look on the wounded teenager’s face grew more defiant. “I ain’t tellin you.”

“I’ll eventually find out anyway, kid. If you don’t tell me now, it’ll go harder on you if I have to do it that way. I’ll see that you’re locked up in the Tombs until I learn who you are and if you have a criminal record.”

“I said I ain’t tellin’ you.”

Yarrow turned to Thornton. “I want a police photographer brought here right away. Once we have this kid’s picture, we’ll be able to identify him if he has a criminal record.”

“I’ll go get one right away, Chief.”

Two days later, the low, dark clouds that had been threatening to deliver a storm finally lived up to their promise.

Dane Weston stood at the window in his cell and looked out at the fat snowflakes that were moving swiftly past him, driven by a stiff wind. The ground below was already covered with a white blanket. The clouds overhead looked as bleak as he felt.

Dane heard footsteps in the corridor and turned to see a guard draw up to his cell door. “Dane, Superintendent Thaxton wants to see you in his office.”

“Oh?” said Dane, moving to the barred door as the guard turned his key in the lock and swung it open. “What’s he want to see me about?”

“I don’t know. I was just told to come and get you.”

Dane looked puzzled. “Okay. Let’s go.”

Moments later, the guard ushered Dane into the office of Roger Thaxton, who sat behind his desk. Dane was stunned to see Police Chief William Yarrow, Officers James Thornton and Fred Collins, and the three witnesses who had identified him in court as Benny Jackson’s killer. They were sitting on chairs in a semicircle.

Chief Yarrow stepped up to him. “Dane, I have a story to tell you. Come. Sit down.”

Every eye was on the young man as he sat on a chair next to the police chief, looking puzzled.

Chief Yarrow told Dane of the incident two days previously when Officers Thornton and Collins were fired upon by a teenage boy whom they shot in the shoulder and took into custody.

Dane’s heart was thumping in his chest. Had the Lord answered his prayer? Was this boy the one who had stabbed Benny Jackson?

Yarrow then reached into a brown envelope and took out a photograph. At first glance, Dane saw that it was taken in a hospital room. The dark-haired boy lay in bed.

Yarrow placed the photograph in Dane’s hand. “This is the boy Officers Thornton and Collins shot. And these people who had identified you as Benny Jackons killer all agree that it was not you. It was this boy in the photograph.”

Dane’s pulse throbbed and the expression on his face was a tangle of relief and excitement. He ran his gaze to the faces of the witnesses, then eyed the photograph closely. “He—he really does look a lot like me, doesn’t he?”

“That he does,” said the chief, “and I think you can see why these people thought you were him.”

Dane nodded.

“The boy’s name is Monte Smalz, Dane. He’s sixteen. He was convicted of murdering a ten-year-old boy in the Bronx two years ago and was sentenced to life imprisonment at the New York State Prison known as Sing Sing at Ossining, New York. He managed to slip out of Sing Sing on a grocery delivery wagon about a month before he killed Benny Jackson. Benny was also from the Bronx and had done something to infuriate Monte before Monte was arrested and sent to Sing Sing. He tracked Benny down with the express purpose of killing him. We know this for sure now, because Monte broke down and confessed it all. He is going back to Sing Sing in a few more days.”

Dane handed Yarrow the photograph, and saw that the chief had taken something else out of the brown envelope. It was an official-looking letter.

Yarrow placed the letter in Dane’s hand. “This is a letter of apology for this miscarriage of justice. As you can see, it is
signed by Judge Hector B. Rigby and me.”

As Dane ran his eyes along the lines of the letter, which expressed the deep regret for the miscarriage of justice and a sincere apology, his heart pounded in his chest. In his heart, he was praising the Lord for answered prayer.

The three witnesses then spoke up one at a time and sincerely apologized for their error, asking his forgiveness.

Dane smiled at them. “You are forgiven. You were only doing what you thought was right.”

Chief Yarrow laid a hand on the boys shoulder. “Well, Dane, you’re now free to go. No more prison cells for you.”

Dane shook his head in wonderment. “I hear what you’re saying, sir, but all of this is so sudden. I’m having a hard time grasping that this is really happening. I’m really free to go? No strings attached?”

Yarrow chuckled. “No strings attached.”

“Yes, my boy,” said the prison superintendent, rising to his feet behind the desk and moving around it. He extended his hand.

“You are free to go, no strings attached.”

Dane stood up and clasped his hand. A smile as bright as sunshine on snow broke over his young face.
Thank You, Lord
, he said in his heart.
Thank You! In Your own time, justice was done!

Officers Thornton and Collins moved up to Dane and apologized for being so rough with him the day they put him under arrest. Dane shook their hands, saying they were only doing their duty. After all, he had been identified by three credible witnesses as Benny Jackson’s killer.

After thanking Chief Yarrow for seeing that he was cleared of the crime, Dane went back to the cell that had been his home for too long already. He gathered up his medical books and the medical bag given to him by Dr. Lee Harris, in which he stuffed what little clothing he had, then wearing his winter clothes and his coat, he was led by a guard to the door of the Tombs building.

Another guard was waiting outside to escort him across the prison yard to the main gate. Clutching his few belongings, Dane turned his face to the sky. Snowflakes landed on his cheeks and clung to his eyelashes.

When he stepped through the gate onto the street in front of the Hall of Justice, tears of relief and gratitude formed in his eyes. “Lord,” he said, his gaze still pointed skyward, “even in my darkest hours, You were always with me, bringing me a ray of hope through Your precious Word. I memorized another wonderful Scripture just this morning. It means so much to me, Father. Psalm 9:9–10. ‘The LORD also will be a refuge for the oppressed, a refuge in times of trouble. And they that know thy name will put their trust in thee: for thou, LORD, hast not forsaken them that seek thee.’ Thank You, dear Lord, that You are ever faithful.”

Since all of his friends in the alley were gone and he had nowhere to call home, Dane decided to go to the Children’s Aid Society and ask Mr. Brace if he would put him on an orphan train so he could find a home out West where fragrant breezes sigh.

Drawing a hand across his face, Dane dried the lingering tears, squared his shoulders, and without a backward glance, walked down the street whistling a nameless happy tune that was coming straight from his heart.

At Children’s Aid Society headquarters, Charles Loring Brace looked up as Myra Hinson opened his office door. “Sir, there is a young man out here who wants to see you. I believe you’re going to be surprised but pleased when you see who it is. You’ve been telling me a lot about him the past several weeks.”

Brace’s brow furrowed. “A young man I’ve been telling you about?”

Myra smiled. “Mm-hmm.”

Brace put a hand to his forehead. “I’m not sure who you’re referring to.”

Myra turned around and motioned to the person standing in the hall. “Come on in, young man.”

Brace stood up behind his desk. When he saw Dane Weston, his jaw slacked and he stood transfixed, mouth agape and wide-eyed.

Dane smiled at the Society’s director as Myra gestured for him to go on in. “Hello, Mr. Brace. God did His miracle. The real killer was caught, and as you can see, I’ve been released.”

A smile broke over Brace’s slender features. He moved around the desk as Myra looked on and wrapped his arms around the boy. When he had hugged him, he gripped his upper arms and said, “Dane, this is wonderful!” He gestured toward a sofa that stood against one wall. “Sit down here and tell me about it. Myra, come over here and sit beside him and listen, too. I’ll sit on this chair. Dane I’ve told Myra all about you, and I’ve kept her up with how it’s been going for you.”

“Yes, sir. She told me that when I came in.” When all three were seated, Dane said, “I left my medical books and other things in Miss Hinson’s office, but I brought this in with me so you could see it.”

Brace and his secretary took note of the official-looking letter the boy held in his hand. Extending the letter to Brace, he said, “It’s a letter of apology from the judge and the chief of police. Take a look at it.”

Brace took the letter, read it, and smiling, handed it to his secretary. “Myra, I told you after I first visited this boy in the prison that I believed him when he told me he was innocent.”

“You sure did, sir,” she said, then began reading the brief letter. When she finished it, she handed it to Dane. “I’m so glad you were cleared of the crime.”

Dane smiled. “Thank you, ma’am.” Then to Brace he said,
“Sir, I came here for two reasons. The first is to let you know that I am free, and the other, to ask if you would put me on an orphan train so I can find a home out West.”

“Of course I will, son. I can put you on a train next week.”

“Oh, that will be great, sir!”

Brace stood up. “Right now, I want you to meet that special little boy who knows what you did for him by contacting me about taking him in here at the Society.”