When Cronley and Ziegler walked into Justice Jackson’s office, Kenneth Brewster, Jackson’s law clerk, politely said, “Good morning, gentlemen.”
“Good morning,” they replied in chorus.
“There is an officer waiting to see you, Mr. Cronley,” Brewster said.
“Who is he?”
“He didn’t give his name. A large, very large Negro captain.”
Tiny? Here?
Why?
Bearing bad news from Wallace, that’s why!
The question then becomes “What bad news?”
“Where is he?”
“In the gentlemen’s restroom.”
Two doors opened simultaneously. Justice Jackson stood in the door frame of one of them and Captain Chauncey L. Dunwiddie exited the gentlemen’s restroom through the other.
“Good morning,” Jackson said.
“Good morning, Mr. Justice,” Cronley replied.
“Am I interrupting anything here?” Jackson asked.
“Mr. Justice, this is Captain Dunwiddie of DCI,” Cronley said. “I don’t know what he’s doing here.”
“Sir, I am reporting for duty, together with two Americans and eight Poles.”
“I don’t understand,” Cronley said.
“Sir, I didn’t know where to find you, so I came here,” Tiny said.
“Where’s everybody else?”
“Parked behind this building, sir, in two ambulances, two jeeps, and a Ford staff car.”
“And the Americans are?”
“Miss Miller, sir, and Mr. Hessinger.”
Jesus Christ, what the hell is going on?
“And the purpose of your visit, Captain?” Cronley asked.
“Sir, we have been transferred to Detachment ‘A.’”
And what the hell is that all about?
“Tell you what,” Justice Jackson said, “why don’t you and the captain come into my office? We can have a cup of coffee while the captain tells us what’s going on. To judge from Mr. Cronley’s normally
inscrutable face, he is more than a little curious.”
“Thank you, sir,” Cronley said.