CHAPTER 11It was a civil ceremony in a funeral chapel on the South Side. It was neither public nor closed. Byron Dillon was there, without his friend. Dr. Kramm was there. I was there, and so was Sergeant Saunders. The sergeant had a couple of bruises on his face, but otherwise he looked healthy enough. We examined each other at some length, but I couldn’t tell whether he laid the mugging attack to me or not.
There were many flowers. Lorrie King’s mother, in a thick black veil, sat up front with several others whom I took to be members of the family. Dillon and Dr. Kramm sat farther back, at opposite ends of a long row of seats. The sergeant was behind the doctor. I got there at the last minute and sat in the back row.
It didn’t take long. An organ played some slow music. A man in a blac
