Read Online Yesterday's News by Jeremiah Healy - Free Book Online Page A

Personally, face to face. Even with her ‘distance specs,’ she couldn’t tell me how many arms I had.”
    “She told me she heard car doors slam. Two different cars, two different times.”
    “The house is in a neighborhood, not the sticks, for chrissakes. She keeps her windows open and ears cocked, she’ll hear David Letterman swing by, she stays awake late enough.”
    I tried a different tack. “I understand you and a man named Schonstein were partnered a while ago.”
    Hagan got his back up a little. “You understand correctly.”
    “It’s Schonstein’s son that supposedly was on the take from the porno peddler, right?”
    “That’s right. And you be real careful to say ‘supposedly’ or ‘allegedly’ every time you ask about that around here, because Coyne and Rust were both full of shit about Mark.”
    “Mark’s the son?”
    “That’s right. He’ll never be the cop his father was, but then nobody will. Schonsy was a god around here, buddy. The kind of cop doesn’t just keep the order, he makes the order. He trained every cop in this department’s any good at all, including me, from the ground up.”
    “Mind telling me where young Mark was the nights Coyne and Rust died?”
    Hagan ground his teeth. “I hope that’s your last question, because it’s the last one I’m going to answer. Mark was here, in the station, both nights. Doing paperwork in front of six other officers because his partner was home, sick. Now get 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.”
    “I just saw him.”
    The officer moved his hand toward a doorway at the end of the corridor. “Other captain.”

    “My 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.”
    “Indirectly. She hired me on another matter.”
    He nodded solemnly, sympathetically. “A difficult situation for us all, Mr. Cuddy.”
    “How’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.”
    “I had the impression Charlie Coyne might have been a tad light in the mourner department.”
    “Mr. 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.”
    “The allegations of corruption.”
    “Yes, the ‘allegations.’ That is exactly how you should refer to them.”
    “Thanks, but I’ve already heard that advice once this morning.”
    “My peer, Captain Hagan, advises you well.”
    I decided not to say anything, let him lead me. “You 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.”
    “Would that part of the community be reassured by the appointment of a similarly descended successor when the