Free Yesterday's News by Jeremiah Healy

out.”
    I thought better of asking if he meant out of his office or out of his town.
    I’d just closed the hallway door to Hagan’s office when I heard a gruff voice say, “Hey!”
    I turned. A monstrous uniformed officer was beckoning to me, so I walked toward him. The plastic name tag read “Manos.”
    He said, “Captain wants to see you.”
    â€œI just saw him.”
    The officer moved his hand toward a doorway at the end of the corridor. “Other captain.”
    â€œMy name is Hogueira. You’re Mr. John Cuddy, private investigator from Boston.”
    I shook his hand and we sat down, the uniform staying inside the office but at the door behind me. Hogueira was about five-eight, probably just over the minimum back before sex discrimination suits wreaked havoc with that requirement. Pushing fifty, mainly around the waist of his uniform pants and Sam Brown belt, he had the same black wavy hair as the desk sergeant downstairs, but with little sideburns and less mustache. His eyes were a warm, chocolate brown, like a particularly loyal and affectionate spaniel. Right.
    He said, “I’m told you’re looking into Ms. Rust’s death.”
    â€œIndirectly. She hired me on another matter.”
    He nodded solemnly, sympathetically. “A difficult situation for us all, Mr. Cuddy.”
    â€œHow’s that?”
    He spread his hands expansively. “We are a small city, sir. A poor one in many ways, rich only in our helping of each other. The several deaths weigh heavily in such a community.”
    â€œI had the impression Charlie Coyne might have been a tad light in the mourner department.”
    â€œMr. Coyne, who I remember well from his exploits as a juvenile, was not the most popular of individuals. Also, his employment environment was not conducive to long life and happiness. It is the circumstances prior to his death that concern me, however.”
    â€œThe allegations of corruption.”
    â€œYes, the ‘allegations.’ That is exactly how you should refer to them.”
    â€œThanks, but I’ve already heard that advice once this morning.
    â€œMy peer, Captain Hagan, advises you well.”
    I decided not to say anything, let him lead me.
    â€œYou see, it is good advice because there are many who would poison the community against the police force. There are enough in the minority community who already wish to do so, despite the fact that our present revered chief is himself of Portuguese descent.”
    â€œWould that part of the community be reassured by the appointment of a similarly descended successor when the current chief retires?”
    A small smile toyed with the corners of Hogueira’s mouth. “Many would be so, yes.”
    â€œAnd a provable corruption scandal on the plainclothes side of the hallway might substantially increase that possibility.”
    â€œVery likely.”
    â€œBut it also couldn’t look like the uniform side had given things a boost.”
    â€œOh no!” said Hogueira. “That would be unseemly.”
    â€œBut perhaps some information, civically shared with a concerned individual like myself …”
    â€œPerhaps in the form of more good advice.”
    â€œI’m always open to good advice.”
    Hogueira wiggled his rear end deeper into the chair. “There are several quite dangerous places to be avoided in the part of our city called, unfortunately, The Strip. An area of sex and sin which my uniforms patrol, but are discouraged from investigating. One such place is a theater called the Strand which shows unwholesome films. Another is a bar catering to voyeurs called Bun’s.”
    â€œLet me guess.”
    â€œThe management would say you were wrong. They would say they drew the title from the nickname of the owner, one Bernard ‘Bunny’ Gotbaum. But your guess about the quality of entertainment offered there would be distressingly