Free Yesterday's News by Jeremiah Healy Page B

smaller towns, but you don’t get much involved in Boston. That’s about it.”
    â€œRight as far as it goes. Problem for us is political.”
    â€œThat’s a surprise.”
    â€œYeah. Everybody starts in uniform on highway patrol. You request investigation, maybe you get assigned to the Bureau of Investigative Services, and maybe, if a DA wants you, you get assigned to a CPAC unit—that’s Crime Prevention and Control —in a DA’s office.”
    â€œI’m with you so far.”
    â€œWell, in case you haven’t been doing a lot of highway driving lately, there ain’t a fuck of a lot of troopers of color on the roads. So when I requested investigation, where you figure I’d be assigned?”
    â€œSomeplace there are a lot of people of color, where a black face on a cop might make a real difference in whether the jury gets to hear the witnesses who saw things go down.”
    Cardwell canted his head, reassessing something. “Instead I’m down here. Know why?”
    â€œPolitics.”
    â€œGood guess. The DA down here is on the outs with the current administration. That means every time one of his investigators gets good enough, the trooper or corporal gets promoted and finds himself riding a sergeant’s desk in a barracks someplace, rearranging patrol patterns instead of looking into homicides and related major action. Guy I replaced seven months ago’s doing that, and if I get good enough, same thing’ll happen to me, unless I decline the promotion.”
    â€œSounds pretty counterproductive.”
    â€œIt is. But it helps you appreciate where I stand. And where you stand.”
    â€œAnd where’s that again?”
    â€œI stand where allegations of police corruption in local departments that support the DA don’t get taken at face value, and you stand somewhere out by Montana unless the Nasharbor force tells me to cooperate with you.”
    â€œWhat if I don’t ask to read the paperwork or anything. What if I just want to talk a little about the crime scenes themselves?”
    Cardwell used a strong hand to rub on his chin. “Try an easy one first.”
    â€œYou see Coyne before they took him away?”
    â€œNo. Nasharbor covered that. I came on it the next morning.”
    â€œAnything about it trouble you?”
    Cardwell shook his head. “Coyne was small time. Delivery boy for dirty pictures, videos, and like that.” Without changing his neutral tone, Cardwell said, “Mostly kiddie porn. You want to see some of the shit we caught him with?”
    â€œNo thanks.”
    Cardwell dipped his chin to his chest. “Good. Makes me sick to think about it.”
    â€œYou think the movies got him killed?”
    â€œDoubt it. Most you could make of it is he steps in something, don’t know enough to wipe his shoes before walking through the house, somebody decides he don’t get to walk no more. And that’s if he was hit on purpose. More likely, it’s just bum sticks bum.”
    â€œYou talk to any witnesses?”
    â€œNo. One of Hagan’s detectives took a statement from a derelict in the alley. Miracle anybody saw or remembered anything. Statement made things sound pretty typical.”
    â€œYou see Jane Rust?”
    â€œYeah. Walked through the place with Hagan himself. No sign of forced entry, struggle, even anybody else being there. Cocoa in the mug, some ground up pills in another one, some—”
    â€œWait a minute. Two mugs, one with cocoa, and one with the pills?”
    â€œYeah. Like she used the one to drink from and the other to grind them up. You got a problem with that?”
    â€œRust told me that afternoon she couldn’t abide pills. I guess I can’t see her being that methodical about them. Seems to me she’d just grind up a couple in a mug, then run the cocoa right in on top. One mug, not two.”
    â€œAssuming she was just trying