Free Mucho Mojo by Joe R. Lansdale Page B

said.
    Hanson shrugged again.
    “A friend of ours thinks Chester may have had Alzheimer’s,” I said.
    “Could be,” Hanson said. “But Chester said there were child murders, and now there are. One, at least.”
    “Didn’t you guys check into what he said?” I said. “You do that sort of thing, don’t you?”
    “When we’re not at the doughnut shop. . . . All Chester said was there were child murders going on in the black neighborhood, and that no one outside of the neighborhood gave a damn.”
    “Was he right?” I asked.
    “There were reports over the years of missing children.”
    “How many years,” I said.
    “Ten at least. And according to the files all those cases had been looked into, but nothing had been solved. According to written remarks made by a couple of officers no longer on the force, they felt the parents had done the children in because they were too much trouble to care for, but they couldn’t prove it, and they didn’t give a damn. In fact, written at the bottom of one report was ‘One less nigger won’t hurt anything.’ That was just ten years ago. Civil rights is sinking in slow here. At least in the area of law enforcement.”
    “There’s always a difference when a crime is a black crime,” Leonard said, “especially if it’s against another black and done in the black section. Black man killed a white, cops’d be on the case like hogs on corn. Listen here, Lieutenant, this lunch is scrumpdillyicious and all, but you’re trying to be too clever. You’re talking, but you’re not saying anything. You’re trying to see if I’ve got any strings you can play, aren’t you? Think maybe I’m holding something back, something could help your case?”
    “Could be you’ve forgotten something,” Hanson said. “Could be you know something about him from the past might have something to do with now, the murders.”
    “Knew anything, I’d tell you. Him being my uncle or not. Maybe ’cause he is my uncle. You don’t have to burger-and-coffee me to find things out. I told you about the keys, the coupons, the paperback of
Dracula.
Turned the skeleton in, didn’t I?”
    “That’s what you’re doing?” I said to Hanson. “Trying to see if Leonard knows more than he’s told?”
    “He ain’t hip,” Leonard said to Hanson. “He can’t see the signs they’re on his face.”
    “Yeah, hip’s a problem,” Hanson said. “But you may not be so hip yourself, Leonard. I’m merely being polite here. Getting you away from that place, feeding your face and your partner’s too. I mean, I got a few questions, but they’re all routine.”
    Leonard smiled at Hanson.
    Hanson smiled back.
    A couple of sharks trying to outflank one another.
    Leonard said, “Why don’t you run your program by me one more time, and you can leave out the cryptic stuff that’s supposed to scare me, stuff where I’m supposed to think you know more than you know, so if I know more than I’m letting on, I’ll get scared and go all to pieces and spill the beans.”
    Hanson said, “All right then. The bare bones. Your uncle said there were child murders. There was no evidence of that. Just evidence that over the years children had come up missing. It wasn’t a case I was familiar with. I gave the file notes on missing kids in the black section a once-over. It didn’t look good, but there wasn’t anything there to go on. What your uncle wanted was for us to give him a team, some men to work with, and he was going to solve the case.”
    “He said that?” Leonard said.
    “Said he and his associate would prove to us something was happening and who did it.”
    “Who was his associate?” I asked.
    “He wouldn’t name him. Said it was best he kept his man on the outside. Said he wasn’t willing to turn it completely over to the department because it would be swept under the rug. Said he needed our facilities. Maybe he didn’t even have an associate. Maybe he did.”
    “You mean maybe it was