effective. The mere sight of Hanson's massive paws clenching and unclenching was enough to make a person feel very confessional.
The third man in the room, Smokey, was twisting his faded, blue baseball cap in his hands as if it were something alive he was trying to strangle. He was sitting in a hardback chair, slightly slumped forward, legs spread defensively. He looked up at Hanson with rheumy eyes; milky swirls crowding blue, a white man's eyes in a black man's face.
34
"I knowed I'd been better off to let that 'ho lay," Smokey said.
Hanson, standing, hovering over Smokey like The Sword of Damocles, said, "Nobody's hasslin' you. Start over."
"Man," Smokey whined, "I done told you."
A little less patient than before, Hanson said, "Start over. I've known your sorry ass all my life, Smokey. You ain't worth a damn and you know it, I know it, and anyone that's ever heard you run your mouth long as five minutes knows it. But I don't think you killed Bella. That take a load off your mind?"
"But I look good for it, don't I, Cap'n?"
"That's lieutenant, not captain. And no. You don't look good for it. If you'd cut that gal like Higgins says she was cut, you'd have ..."
"You ain't seen her?" Smokey interrupted.
Hanson shook his head. "I was assigned to this case, instant like. A phone call and Higgins says the Captain wants me on this one. So I'm on it. That's all I know. Higgins said it was messy. Okay, Smokey? All your questions answered? I'm supposed to ask the questions here. Got me?"
Smokey nodded.
Hanson took a bulky King Edward from his coat pocket, fired the cigar with a paper match and sucked smoke, blew it out his nostrils lazily. "Like I said, it doesn't look like you did it, but ..." Hanson paused and made a production of puffing his cigar.
"But what?" Smokey asked dryly.
Hanson leaned down close to Smokey's face, smelled the rotten teeth and stale wine breath. "You could be made to look good for it. I mean if you don't give us all you know, and give it straight, it could really start to look bad for you, Smokey. Beal bad. Savvy? Now let's run through this one more time, and you answer my questions straight and don't try to con me, 'cause you ain't got the good sense to con me . . . and don't think them rubber hose days are completely behind us. You've heard what happens to folks that want to get smart with us. Haven't you, Smokey?"
"Yeah, I heard."
Clark could just manage not to laugh. It was a cruel trick for Hanson to play on the old man, but it was one that would garner immediate results. Because, unfortunately, the Houston Police Department had a reputation for following up threats.
"You understand what I'm saying?" Hanson asked Smokey.
"I get your drift."
"You're going to tell it straight?"
"I'm going to tell it straight, Mr. Hanson."
"That's nice. I thought you were," Hanson said standing upright, removing the King Edward from his mouth and holding it cupped in his huge, bear-like paw. "I never thought differently. Not for a minute. Not for a second." Hanson turned to Clark, said, "Turn on the tape recorder, Joe."
"Ready?" Clark asked Smokey. It was one of the three words he had said during the entire interrogation. The other two words had been, "Sit down."
Smokey nodded that he was ready. He gave the twisted ball cap a breather, put it on his knee and looked down at it like he had just discovered it perched there.
Clark turned the recorder on.
Hanson said, "State your name, please."
"Smokey."
"Your full name, please."
"Clarence Montgomery. My daddy gave me that name Smokey and that's what folks call me mostly."
"Tonight you claim to have found a body. A woman you knew named Bella Louise Rob- bins. Could you tell us where that occurred?"
"I don't claim nuthin'," Smokey said. "I did find fella all cut up..."
"Could you tell us where?" Hanson interjected.
"Hell, Mr. Hanson, you know where."
To Clark, Hanson said: "Will you turn off the tape recorder, please."
Clark turned off the tape
The third man in the room, Smokey, was twisting his faded, blue baseball cap in his hands as if it were something alive he was trying to strangle. He was sitting in a hardback chair, slightly slumped forward, legs spread defensively. He looked up at Hanson with rheumy eyes; milky swirls crowding blue, a white man's eyes in a black man's face.
34
"I knowed I'd been better off to let that 'ho lay," Smokey said.
Hanson, standing, hovering over Smokey like The Sword of Damocles, said, "Nobody's hasslin' you. Start over."
"Man," Smokey whined, "I done told you."
A little less patient than before, Hanson said, "Start over. I've known your sorry ass all my life, Smokey. You ain't worth a damn and you know it, I know it, and anyone that's ever heard you run your mouth long as five minutes knows it. But I don't think you killed Bella. That take a load off your mind?"
"But I look good for it, don't I, Cap'n?"
"That's lieutenant, not captain. And no. You don't look good for it. If you'd cut that gal like Higgins says she was cut, you'd have ..."
"You ain't seen her?" Smokey interrupted.
Hanson shook his head. "I was assigned to this case, instant like. A phone call and Higgins says the Captain wants me on this one. So I'm on it. That's all I know. Higgins said it was messy. Okay, Smokey? All your questions answered? I'm supposed to ask the questions here. Got me?"
Smokey nodded.
Hanson took a bulky King Edward from his coat pocket, fired the cigar with a paper match and sucked smoke, blew it out his nostrils lazily. "Like I said, it doesn't look like you did it, but ..." Hanson paused and made a production of puffing his cigar.
"But what?" Smokey asked dryly.
Hanson leaned down close to Smokey's face, smelled the rotten teeth and stale wine breath. "You could be made to look good for it. I mean if you don't give us all you know, and give it straight, it could really start to look bad for you, Smokey. Beal bad. Savvy? Now let's run through this one more time, and you answer my questions straight and don't try to con me, 'cause you ain't got the good sense to con me . . . and don't think them rubber hose days are completely behind us. You've heard what happens to folks that want to get smart with us. Haven't you, Smokey?"
"Yeah, I heard."
Clark could just manage not to laugh. It was a cruel trick for Hanson to play on the old man, but it was one that would garner immediate results. Because, unfortunately, the Houston Police Department had a reputation for following up threats.
"You understand what I'm saying?" Hanson asked Smokey.
"I get your drift."
"You're going to tell it straight?"
"I'm going to tell it straight, Mr. Hanson."
"That's nice. I thought you were," Hanson said standing upright, removing the King Edward from his mouth and holding it cupped in his huge, bear-like paw. "I never thought differently. Not for a minute. Not for a second." Hanson turned to Clark, said, "Turn on the tape recorder, Joe."
"Ready?" Clark asked Smokey. It was one of the three words he had said during the entire interrogation. The other two words had been, "Sit down."
Smokey nodded that he was ready. He gave the twisted ball cap a breather, put it on his knee and looked down at it like he had just discovered it perched there.
Clark turned the recorder on.
Hanson said, "State your name, please."
"Smokey."
"Your full name, please."
"Clarence Montgomery. My daddy gave me that name Smokey and that's what folks call me mostly."
"Tonight you claim to have found a body. A woman you knew named Bella Louise Rob- bins. Could you tell us where that occurred?"
"I don't claim nuthin'," Smokey said. "I did find fella all cut up..."
"Could you tell us where?" Hanson interjected.
"Hell, Mr. Hanson, you know where."
To Clark, Hanson said: "Will you turn off the tape recorder, please."
Clark turned off the tape
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