The Bessie Blue Killer. Richard A. Lupoff

another business card. Latasha looked at it for a long time. Then she sat on the couch. Lindsey slipped the card back into his pocket. The Reverend Johnson sat on a reversed, chrome-and-plastic kitchen chair. Lindsey looked around, found a faded, overstuffed easy chair and settled uneasily on it.

      He said, “I was very sorry to learn of Mr. McKinney’s demise. He was your grandfather, then, Miss Greene? By ‘Grandpa’ you didn’t just mean—?”

      “He was my Grandpa.” Latasha nodded. “What happened to you?”

      Lindsey said, “I fell. Nothing serious.”

      Latasha said, “Grandpa had insurance?”

      Lindsey said, “We have to find out. Under the circumstances of his death, I don’t know whether he was covered or not.”

      Reverend Johnson said, “Now wait a minute, mister! You mean you’re trying to weasel out of paying off?”

      Lindsey said, “Not at all. We just have to ascertain.… You see, Mr. McKinney was not directly covered. But there’s an umbrella policy, we may be able to.…” He let it go at that. He hated to mislead them. It wasn’t his job to pour out International Surety’s funds, but to preserve them. He clenched his jaw to keep from saying the wrong thing.

      Johnson said, “Just what do you need to know?”

      Lindsey turned to Latasha. She had lifted the bottom of her Black Bart tee shirt and was nursing her baby, watching the baby with a look of unreadable concentration. Lindsey said, “I’m trying to find out something about Mr. McKinney. What kind of person he was. What kind of life he led.”

      Johnson said, “I don’t see why you need to know that to pay off his insurance.”

      Lindsey said, “I’m sorry. He didn’t have any insurance. At least, not with our company. I thought I’d made that clear. But if we can find some way to get benefits under the umbrella.…”

      Johnson frowned.

      Lindsey turned back to Latasha. He managed to catch a portion of her attention and smiled encouragingly, willing her to talk to him.

      She said, “My Grandpa was a great man. He was a hero.” She looked away from Lindsey, back at her baby. She smiled at the baby. The baby’s eyes were closed but it was making little smacking sounds with its mouth. Lindsey lowered his eyes to his notepad.

      “He was a war hero. He killed a whole machine-gun nest of Japs in the Philippines. And he saved two Americans. He was a pitcher, too. He should have been in the major leagues but he never got a chance. And he ran a nightclub. He made people famous and rich and he never got nothin’ for it.”

      Lindsey was trying to keep track, jotting notes as fast as Latasha spoke. He wished he had a tape recorder. Maybe he’d buy one of those little portables, charge it to SPUDS. Richelieu was going to buy him a new pair of pants after today, he might as well spring for a piece of necessary field equipment. He said, “Pardon me, please slow down. You say your grandfather was a war hero?”

      She nodded.

      He jotted, “Verify military service record—Dept. Veterans Affairs.”

      She carried her baby out of the room. While she was gone, Lindsey looked over his notes. Reverend Johnson said, “How much is your company going to pay?”

      Lindsey said, “I don’t know that we’re going to pay anything. That’s why I have to get all the facts.”

      Johnson said, “This is a very needy family. I should think that a certain humane consideration would be involved.”

      Lindsey said, “Insurance companies don’t work that way.” He couldn’t think of anything else to say.

      Latasha Greene came back into the room. She’d left her baby elsewhere. She resumed her seat on the couch. She looked past Lindsey and fixed her eyes on the TV screen.

      Lindsey said, “About Mr. McKinney’s military service.…”

      Latasha said, “He was in the Marines. He fought all over the Pacific. He was on Iwo Jima. He hurt his hand there. He was working in an ammunition bunker, and a Jap fire-grenade landed and it would have blown up the ammunition and killed everybody. Grandpa grabbed the grenade and threw it back at the Japs and it wiped out a whole machine-gun nest of Japs but it burned up his hand so bad, it was never any good again. It was so ugly, it was like a claw. I used to be afraid of it when I was little and I always made him cover it up when he came on my bed or I’d start to scream.”

      Lindsey said, “I never heard of fire-grenades.”

      Latasha said, “You don’t know anything about it. My grandpa told me. He used to sit on my bed at night and tell me stories. After he hurt his hand he still dragged two men to safety who would have died. He saved their lives. He was a hero.”

      She set her jaw angrily but her mouth was quivering and her eyes looked wet.

      Reverend Johnson said, “I heard those same stories, Mr. Lindsey. I knew Leroy McKinney for many years. Latasha isn’t making them up.”

      Lindsey said, “I wasn’t suggesting—”

      Latasha said, “I even have a picture of him. And a newspaper.”

      She brought a tattered San Francisco Call-Bulletin from the other room, and a yellowed snapshot with edges that looked as if they’d been made with a pair of pinking shears.

      Lindsey said, “May I take these with me? I’ll photocopy them and return them to you.” He waited until she nodded absently and then he put the newspaper and the photograph in his attaché case. Latasha’s eyes were fixed on the silent TV set. Lindsey said, “Do you have his Marine Corps discharge papers? Or any of his military records? Did he go to a Veterans’ hospital at any time? Was he receiving a disability pension?”

      Latasha was staring at the TV screen. Even though there was no sound, she must have recognized the video they were showing because she was moving her lips silently to the unheard lyrics and swaying to the silent beat.

      Lindsey looked questioningly at Reverend Johnson.

      Reverend Johnson said, “I asked Leroy about that. Many times. He never got anything from the government. There was some mix-up with his records. He never did get his discharge papers, disability payments, anything. He never got anything at all. I urged him to take it up with our Congressman but I could never get him to do it. He was a very embittered man. He’s in his glory now. Even if there’s no justice in this world, there surely must be in the next, and Leroy is in his glory now.”

      Latasha Greene was involved with her TV. Lindsey said, “I guess I’ll be going now. I’ll send back the newspaper and the photograph. Or maybe bring them.” He started for the door.

      Reverend Johnson said, “I was just leaving myself.”

      CHAPTER SEVEN

      Once they were outside the house, Reverend Johnson’s mien brightened. He stopped Lindsey before they reached the sidewalk. He put his hand on Lindsey’s elbow. He said, “What really happened to you?” He nodded at Lindsey’s torn trousers.

      “Some kids.” Lindsey looked around. They were nowhere in sight. “Neighborhood kids. I thought they were going to kill me. Boy had an Intratec 9S.”

      Johnson’s eyebrows bounced up. “You know your weapons.”

      “At first I thought he was going to rob me. Then I thought he was going to kill me. But all he had was a toy. A water-gun. It looked real but it was just a water-gun.”

      “Won’t be that much longer before he has a real Tec. Or something equally bad. Guns are flooding into the community, Mr. Lindsey. Who’s pumping them into the community and why, do you have any idea?” He cocked his head inquiringly. Lindsey wasn’t sure whether he was really asking a question, or making a hard point.

      “I don’t know who’s doing it, Reverend.”