The terrible twosome were just about ready to dash off to the Sojourner Truth School, where they were taking morning advanced classes. They looked like a pair of shiny angels. I didn’t get to feel this good very often, so I was going all the way with it.

“How was your date last night, Daddy?” Jannie said, making her biggest goo-goo eyes at me.

“Who said I had a big date?” I made room for her on my knee. She ate a bite of the humongous sweet bun Nana had set on my plate.

“Let’s just say a little birdie told me,” she chirped.

“Uh-huh. Little birdie makes good sticky buns,” I said. “My date was pretty good. How was yours? You had a date, right? Didn’t sit home alone, did you?”

“Your date was pretty good? You came home with the milkman.” Jannie laughed out loud. Damon was giggling, too. She can get us all going when she wants to; she’s been that way since she was a baby.

“Jannie Cross,” Nana said, but she let it go. There was no use trying to make Jannie act like a typical seven-year-old at this point. She was too bright, too outspoken, too full of life and fun. Besides, we have a philosophy as a family: He or she who laughs, lasts.

“How come you two don’t live together first?” Jannie asked. “That’s what they all do in the movies and on TV.”

I found myself grinning and starting to frown at the same time. “Don’t get me going on the silly stuff they do on TV and in the movies, little girl. They always get it wrong. Christine and I are going to get married soon, and then we’ll all live together.”

Everybody was chattering for several minutes about our future life with Christine, until Jannie finally said, “I have to go to school now, Pa-pa. I wouldn’t want to disappoint Mrs. Johnson by being late now, would I? Here’s your morning newspaper.”

Jannie handed me the Washington Post, and my heart jumped a little in my chest. This was a good day indeed. I saw Zachary Taylor’s story at the bottom right of the front page. It wasn’t the banner headline it deserved to be, but he’d gotten the story on page one.

POTENTIAL SCANDAL OVER UNSOLVED MURDERS IN SOUTHEAST D.C.
POSSIBLE RACIAL BIAS SEEN IN POLICE ACTIVITY

“Potential scandal indeed,” Nana said, and squeegeed her lower face. “Genocide always is, isn’t it?”

Chapter 41

I ENTERED THE STATION HOUSE at around eight, and Chief Pittman’s assistant-lackey came scurrying up to me. Old Fred Cook had been a bad detective once, and now he was an equally bad and devious administrator, but he was as smooth a butt-kisser as could be found in the department or anywhere else in Washington.