WALLS
Enos did his best to control his reaction, slowing his breath down and swallowing against the imaginary cold hand pressing against his throat: he couldn't show his fear and shock to that reporter. He couldn't show it to his friends. To Daisy.
He felt her hand squeezing his forearm, and her soft voice, "Enos? Is everything OK?"
His legs were gently trembling, and he hoped nobody noticed it; he hoped it was just his feeling and not a real trembling.
"We may talk at the Police Station. Now," his voice was hoarse, but he couldn't run away; he had to know what that reporter wanted to tell him, no matter if his legs were trembling. Rosco was out on patrol, so he could talk to that woman privately and with no break.
He glanced at Daisy by his side, trying to wear his most relaxed look. Pitiful and pointless attempt: her hand squeezed even more his forearm as her eyes opened wide; he'd have told her to stop squeezing his forearm 'cause it hurt, but he didn't want to let her know the reason of that easily evoked pain (it was the first time he realized broken bones could hurt for so much time).
"I'm going to know what she has to say, and then she's going to leave," he walked to the Police Station followed by the reporter whereas Daisy, Bo and Luke remained still, following his brief and meaningful nod and his look, his way to tell them "Everything's OK. Don't worry and wait for me."
Walking away from them he caught Daisy's way to fold her arms and lower her head to show her disappointment and worrisome, whereas Bo and Luke looked at each other.
When they entered the Police Station he approached a chair to his desk, "Please, Madam," he waited for Mrs. Burns sitting down, he took his hat off and he sat in front of her; he observed her taking a small notebook and a pencil from her bag and wearing large glasses. The sight of that notebook gave him a rush of nausea.
"I'm sorry to bother you in your town, Officer…," she seemed doubtful, "Deputy Strate, but there's something important I'd like to know from you. I was at the Courthouse the day you testified against your colleagues, you remember it, don't you?"
Her voice was a bit hoarse and deep (the opposite of Daisy's voice) but anyway a pleasant voice, pleasant despite memories it brought him. He knew her voice, and he knew her eyes behind those large glasses with black frame.
He tried to ease his discomfort gently scratching his nape.
Her eyes and voice: he remembered her eyes staring at him in that room (a lot of eyes staring at him beside hers) and he remembered her voice calling him as he walked along the corridor, leaving the Courthouse; that day, she'd have reached him if some officers hadn't blocked her.
Her name, Catherine Burns: he recalled her name echoing in that corridor and then her name in "The Los Angeles Time".
"Yeah, I remember you."
She nodded, "Well, I'd like to interview you about your deposition, and about what happened after you testified."
Interview? What interview? SHE had to say him something about investigations, not the contrary.
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Burns, but… I have nothing to say about it. You were there, that day, so you heard what I said. I've nothing more to say, and if you've come here just to know something more, well, I'm sorry for your useless flight."
She undressed her glasses and she pinched her nose between her right thumb and forefinger, then she put her glasses on again, "Thought the acquittal of your colleagues, I believe in your deposition, and I really think it was a case of police brutality, not the first case in LAPD."
Enos felt the air becoming colder and rarefied inside the room, as they were moving into another dimension. Was that reporter asking him to talk about police brutality in an interview?
He shook his head, "I don't know about other cases. And, I repeat, I already told to judge and jury what I had to tell. I appreciate you've believed in my words, but… I don't see any sense in your… interview," his voice soft and his eyes down on his intertwined fingers in order to avoid his usual fidgeting.
She started to ticking her pencil on the small notebook, and it really annoyed it because it recalled him another ticking; drops of cold sweat rolled along his spine.
"And what about the riots and the beating? Do you want to talk about it?"
"NO!" he couldn't control his high pitch. He held his breath, finding back his control, "I thought you wanted to tell me something about police investigation, whereas now it seems to me you're looking for something different. Beside, you should know pretty well what happened since you wrote all those articles about the riots and about my… medical bulletin," he blushed.
Catherine Burns had a deep sigh, "OK, it's pointless to keep on beating about the bush. Yeah, I know what happened that day, I know… official reports," her voice pointed out the word "official", and the air became even more cold and thin, "and, sincerely, I'm not sure those official reports are the truth," she stared at him, trying to read his features, and Enos froze: what was she talking about? Was it possible she knew the truth about his beating?
"I don't know what you're talking bout, Madam." He was unable to lie, he knew his limit, and he felt his cheeks burning as he tried to pretend self-confidence and indifference.
"I was there, at the Hospital, that day, and I saw you few after you arrived there"
No. No. No! WHY was she recalling him that day?
"I've the feeling you weren't injured by baseball bats, but with cops' batons."
He suddenly stood up walking to the window, feeling the urgency to run away, but he couldn't run away: Bo, Luke and Daisy were still out there, and the scene of him chased by that woman along the square as he's running away would have been embarrassing and unseemly.
He wasn't unable to lie, it's true, but he could be really stubborn in his avoiding to answer unpleasant questions or to talk about unwelcome topics. For sure he wouldn't have talked to any reporter about the truth behind his beating; he wouldn't have let her (and any other reporter) use his words on a newspaper as an attack to LAPD or any other Police Department. His beating was something involving just LAPD.
He was a cop, he believed in his job, and he knew, in the deep of his heart, the most part of cops were honest, like him, and they did their duty, so he would've never let a reporter throw mud at the whole Police Department just because of some bad eggs.
Uncle Jesse was right: his idealism couldn't be destroyed because he faced a dramatic disappointment; it was a ravaging disappointment, and the more he thought about it the more he felt disappointed, but there's no way he was going to throw mud at his colleagues, indiscriminately.
He knew pretty well what that reporter wanted to talk about; she wanted to talk with him about the Blue Wall of Silence, and an article about it would've sapped the public trust in Police.
No way. He wouldn't have let her mix bad eggs with honest cops.
He testified against corrupted cops (a minority) abusing of their power and using excessive violence against someone who couldn't defend himself, no matter if that man was guilty of a crime, and it cost him a lot. It was like testify against his family after the worst betrayal.
He protected citizens.
But… nobody protected him.
She was right. Looking at him walking nervously to the window Catherine understood, definitely, Enos State was beaten by his colleagues because of retaliation. But she couldn't write it in "The Los Angeles Time" without that's cop plain admission.
He was scared by her questions, and really nervous. She observed him as he looked outside the window, his shoulders stiffened and his look deep and thoughtful; whatever he was thinking of, she decided to give him all the time he needed to, 'cause a wrong question or a excessive insistence in such a delicate moment would've been harmful and would've compromised her possible scoop.
She patiently waited for his words.
He slowly turned to her, serious and self-confident (or, at least, pretending self-confidence), his chin up and his hands on his hips, "Madam, a police investigation is ongoin'. I can't talk to you about an ongoin' investigation. Police business. I'm saddened of your idea of LAPD, and I'm sorry you've wasted your time to come in a small County as Hazzard from L.A."
Catherine couldn't help but thinking that, despite his tall and muscular body, despite his posture, and despite his attempt to look threatening, his eyes betrayed his peaceful and quiet nature. Did that kind man survive in a violent city like L.A.? Where did that man find the courage to oppose to the Blue Wall of Silence? She wasn't able to give a name or an explanation to that strength. Or was it a sort of recklessness or an incredible naivety? That man awoke her curiosity. An interview would've been really interesting.
"And now, I'm sorry but my job's waiting for me."
Their talk was over, and Catherine didn't even try to insist. It'd have been pointless, but she wasn't surrendering, and she changed the subject in order to relax him.
"Whatever happened, you're lucky to have friends like Bo and Luke and a fiancée like Daisy."
She looked amused at him losing that fake self-confident posture and fidgeting.
"My… fiancée?", he blushed, a different blushing than his previous one.
"It's what she told. She's your fiancée, isn't she?"
"I suppose… yeah," he blushed even more and Catherine wondered why it was so strange to him admitting Daisy was his fiancée.
"Your friends and fiancée are really worried for you."
He stiffened, "Did you tell them about your… supposition?"
She shook her head, "No. It's just a supposition, and I avoided to talk about it to them," she felt he wouldn't have been happy to know his friends knew everything, and she didn't want to lose him.
"I don't want you involve my friends in your suppositions, especially since a police investigation is ongoin'. It's not their business. It's not YOUR business," he walked to the desk and he grabbed his hat, "and now, I really have to go back to my job. I'm sorry."
Catherine stood up.
Their talk was definitively over: that apparent simple and naïve man was a wall, a rubber wall.
Daisy looked at Enos coming out the Police Station, trying to catch any sign of that brief talk.
Brief but intense talk, as she could understand 'cause his stiffness and his blushing: for sure Catherine Burns asked Enos of the beating and of his colleagues, and Enos was showing his discomfort, confirming her the truth in Catherine Burns' words (another confirmation after his reaction when he met Mrs. Burns).
"Enos, everything's OK?" How many times did she ask it to him since his coming back from L.A.? And how many other times was she going to repeat that question?
"I'm OK, don't worry", he briefly stopped in front of her, "I simply don't like to… recall that day, but I'm fine. Gotta go, now. See you," he headed to his patrol car.
At least he admitted it. Now he knew Catherine Burns told her about L.A. he looked more open to talk about it.
When his car left, Catherine Burns came closer her and her cousins.
"So?" Daisy looked into the woman's eyes.
"He avoided the topic. He didn't deny his colleagues beat him up but he hid behind police business. He didn't grant any interview."
Enos' style: Daisy wasn't surprised.
"If you need a lift back to Atlanta's airport, Mrs. Burns…" Bo came closer Catherine.
"Back to Atlanta? Though he isn't going to talk about his colleagues, I could write a good article about his recover away from L.A. I'm here, now, and I won't go back empty-handed."
Daisy stared at Catherine as she walked to the Hazzard Hotel, "Stubborn," she folded her arms, "I regret we gave her a lift to the town."
"She'd have arrived here anyway, our lift or not," Luke shrugged, "and I prefer Enos met that woman with us by his side."
Luke was right, but Daisy didn't feel relieved, "I don't like someone recall Enos what he faced. I should've stopped her."
"Stop her? How? Drowning her into a pond as we were coming here?" Bo looked at her with his amused and sweet smile, then he turned serious, "Seriously, I also don't like that woman's nosing around, but, if she contents of an article about Enos' recover, forgetting about Enos' beating and not bothering him too much, well, that article won't hurt anybody."
"Especially 'cause nobody, here, reads The Los Angeles Time," her arms still folded, Daisy rolled her eyes, and Bo sniggered.
"He avoided the topic. He didn't deny his colleagues beat him up but he hid behind police business. He didn't grant any interview."
Daisy sighed, Enos was unable to lie, and, in order to avoid Catherine's questions, he was entrenching behind his usual protective wall.
Unable to lie, he's always been unable to lie, except that day.
Enos remembered their eyes, a couple of cold blue eyes and another couple of deep dark eyes, cold eyes.
He lied to LAPD's detectives, so hampering police investigation. A crime.
He committed a crime 'cause he was scared, 'cause he didn't know anymore whom he could trust.
HE betrayed his badge and uniform.
"Though you can't change the World, you can prevent the World changes you."
He remembered uncle Jesse's words and he stopped the car, resting his forehead on the wheel, ashamed of his betrayal, a dark force pushing him down.
"It's what she told. She's your fiancée, isn't she? Your friends and fiancée are really worried for you. You're lucky."
The force pushing him down let him go.