Free A Penny for the Hangman by Tom Savage

she stared after him until the Jeep was out of sight down the highway, reassessing him, wondering just who in the world this Mr. Brown really was.
    —
    From
Virgin Cop: My Life with the VIPD
by Joshua L. Faison (Random House, 1982)
After the sentencing, Rodney Harper and Wulfgar Anderman remained in custody at Fort Christian for another month while arrangements were made with medium-security prisons in Florida and North Carolina. I was part of the contingent that took them to the mainland on Thursday, May 28, 1959, two days after Rodney Harper’s sixteenth birthday. We handed them to the authorities at the Miami airport and returned to St. Thomas.
    Hannah Vernon, the beautiful social worker, made the trip with us. When she said goodbye to them in Miami, Rodney did not reply or even acknowledge her as he was shepherded off to the plane to North Carolina. Wulfgar nodded to her, and he even smiled briefly before being led away to the connecting flight to Tallahassee. The two boys hadn’t spoken to each other during the flight, nor did they say goodbye to each other when they parted. They simply went their separate ways.
    On the return flight to the island I contrived to sit beside Miss Vernon, and by the time we landed she had promised to have dinner with me.
    —
    Joshua Faison, Junior, was appropriately named: He was a younger version of his father. The resemblance was not merely physical but in his easy grace and friendly manner. He arrived in the restaurant as Karen and the retired lieutenant were finishing dessert, and his entrance was greeted with smiles and waves from many of the diners. Small island, Karen thought as he made his way over to their table.
    “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lieutenant,” Karen said as they shook hands.
    “Hello, Ms. Tyler. Thank you for entertaining my father. He was really looking forward to this evening.”
    “So was I,” she replied, settling the bill as the younger man helped his father to rise and retrieve his cane. They made their way up the stairs to the hillside road. When they reached it and the elder Mr. Faison was ensconced in the passenger seat of his son’s car, with many repeated thanks for the dinner, the current lieutenant turned to her.
    “Allow me to walk you to your car, Ms. Tyler.”
    “Karen,” she said automatically.
    He smiled. “Then you must call me Junior.” They walked up the road lined with the parked cars of the other diners, and Karen looked out at the stunning nighttime view, a thousand lights under a thousand stars.
    “Dad told me a little about your articles,” he said as they arrived at her rental car. “Something about a witness to the Harper/Anderman business. Does this have to do with that movie that opens Friday?”
    “Yes,” she said. “Is it opening here as well?”
    He nodded grimly. “You’d better believe it! The Council on the Arts is having a benefit premiere party. Dad will be there, along with some people who worked on the film. Extras in crowd scenes, mostly, but they hired a few local actors to play small roles. They even had a young native guy playing Dad.”
    “Yes,” Karen said. “I saw a trade screening in New York two weeks ago. Your ‘dad’ is in several scenes, and he’s very good. It’s a remarkable movie.”
    “Hmm. Well, I was glad when they’d finished filming—it was a nightmare, all those lights and cameras being lugged up and down these hills, and helicopters for aerial shots. Not to mention the curious locals and tourists who followed them everywhere, and the infernal press—begging your pardon.”
    Karen was curious. “I get the impression you don’t approve of the movie.”
    Lieutenant Faison shrugged his wide shoulders. “It’s not a question of that. The movie might actually boost tourism. Lots of great footage of the island, like an expensive travelogue. But that case still affects Dad. He got that limp in a shootout with a nineteen-year-old drug smuggler. He killed the kid, and it