'What did you do?'
'We…I went lookin' for him. Asked everybody. You ask them, they'll tell you.'
'And then…?'
'We couldn't find him. So I called the cops.'
'What time was that?'
'I dunno…maybe midnight.'
The 911 call had been logged at 3:28 a.m.
'Where was Emerson?'
'Emerson don't stay here, mistah.'
'Where was Emerson that night?'
'He wasn't here. I tole the cops. He wasn't here.'
She wasn't going to tell us anything. Years of dealing with Welfare and Child Protective Services had perfected the sullen-hostile-stupid routine. The cops had already threatened her with a murder rap if she was shielding Emerson. She didn't look afraid of anything society had to offer.
'You got a silencer for that pistol?' I asked Clarence.
'I got this, mahn,' he ice-whispered, taking a straight razor from his pocket.
'That'll do. Start on her arms— it'll just look like more tracks when they find the body.'
She was off the bed, opening her mouth to scream as Clarence slammed her back down, driving his shoulder into her chest, stuffing a handful of the ratty bedspread into her mouth. He pinned her flat with one knee. The razor gathered light as if it were a crystallized gem, waving hypnotically before her eyes. Snot bubbled in her nose as she fought for breath.
I leaned over her. 'You want to tell us, now? Before we start cutting?'
Her head nodded hard enough to snap her neck. Clarence pulled the bedspread from her mouth, shifted his hand to the back of her head, pulling hard on the hair to expose her throat. The razor was ready.
'You scream, it's your last one,' I said.
'Emerson took him— I didn't do nothin'.'
'I know. Tell me what happened.'
'Derrick was bad. Emerson and me was…in the bed. Derrick wouldn't be quiet, so Emerson picked him up to give him a slap. Derrick wet on Emerson and Emerson punched him in the chest. When we got done…in the bed, Derrick, he was still layin' there. We couldn't do nothin' with him. Emerson put him in one of the bags.'
'What bags?'
'Over there,' she said, gesturing with her eyes. In the corner, a box of green plastic Hefty bags.
'Then what?'
'Emerson, he went out.'
'What did he say when he came back?' I asked her, guessing.
'He say, nobody ever find Derrick. It's okay.'
'How long was he gone?'
'I dunno.'
Her theme song— but I believed her this time.
'Why'd you call the cops?'
'SSC was comin' the next day. To check on the baby. They took him away before.'
'And cut your check, right?'
'Yeah.'
'Does Emerson have a car?'
'No, he ain't got no car. He had a car, but…'
'Never mind. He calls you, right?'
'I ain't got no phone here.'
'There's pay phones downstairs.'
'He don't never call me. Sometimes, he come by.'
'On check day?'
'Yeah.'
I signaled to Clarence. He stepped away from her, wrinkling his nose at the smell.
My eyes caught a color photograph on the dresser, propped up in a goldtone frame. I walked over to it. The woman, standing next to a tall, sheik-handsome man with a mustache, wearing a cream-colored suit, panama hat.
