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IN YELLOW SPRINGS WE SLIPPED INTO THE HOSPITAL ENTRANCE lane and slowed over the speed bumps. Nosed around to the lot in back. Parked near the morgue door. I didn’t want to go inside. Joe was still in there. I started to think vaguely about funeral arrangements. I’d never had to do it before. The Marine Corps handled my father’s. Joe arranged my mother’s.
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“What was his background?” he asked. “Was he in the service too?”
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“OK,” I said. “You ever heard of Blind Blake?”
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“Easy,” I said. “You’re a smart guy, right? Educated in Boston, you told me. But when you were college age, Harvard wasn’t taking too many black guys. You’re smart, but you’re no rocket scientist, so I figure Boston U. for the first degree, right?”
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“Looks that way, I guess,” I said. “But it proves Teale himself is on board. Teale’s their replacement, so Teale’s their boy.”
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We looked it over very carefully. Wasn’t much left to see. It was totally burned out. Everything that wasn’t steel had gone. We couldn’t even tell what make it had been. By the shape, Finlay thought it had been a General Motors product, but we couldn’t tell which division. It had been a midsize sedan, and once the plastic trim has gone, you can’t tell a Buick from a Chevy from a Pontiac.
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