Sin in Their Blood by Ed Lacy

Author:Ed Lacy [Lacy, Ed]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: mystery
Amazon: B002LE787G
Goodreads: 8274506
Publisher: Grotto Pulp Fiction
Published: 1952-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

THURSDAY

It was nearly noon when I was outside Mrs. Samuels' house. When I rang the bell she answered the door, said, “So you're the one who called. Yes, I remember you.”

“Glad of that.”

“You're late,” she said impatiently. “I've no time to wait around and gossip. I have to look for work.”

We went into the only free room in the house—outside of the John—the community kitchen, and as we sat down I asked, “Anybody around? What I have to say is strictly private.”

“Everybody is where a body should be, working or calling for their kids at school. Or calling for some white woman's kids.”

“I'll pay you for the day you've lost,” I cut in. “Now...”

“What kind of policeman are you? Paying for my time.”

“I'm not a cop. I'm... a... a friend. I need your help.”

“For what?”

“I want to know William Saxton's reasons for killing the Wilsons.”

She stared at me for what seemed a long time, her dark brown face rigid as a mask. Only her eyes moved, or seemed to move as they cut through me. Finally she said, “You're not a cop?”

“No. I used to be and.... Look, I know he killed them, and I think you do too—knew it when you took your time calling the police. Tell me why he did it and I can send him up. I think you want that, too.”

“Don't be foolish, son. You'll never send Mr. Saxton up, not in this town. My, listen to me, even now I call him mister!”

“Why not? You said that once before, in the Wilson kitchen, that's why I'm here.”

She didn't answer. We sat there for a moment, the quiet of the kitchen heavy upon us, broken only by the ticking of an old wall clock. I sat there, waiting, smelling the stale odors of recent meals, as she decided whether to trust me or not. She asked, “You hate Sax-ton real bad?”

“It isn't hate. I'm fed up with his kind, that's all.”

Her eyes studied mine and I tried not to look away, began counting the wrinkles around her eyes. I said, “Why not tell me what you know, Mrs. Samuels, let me decide if I can convict Saxton?”

She said softly, “You keep calling me Mrs. Maybe you will do something. It was a lynching.... Henry Wilson was a colored man.”

“What?” I must have shouted my surprise, the kitchen filled with the sound, echoed it.

“I shouldn't have told you, you act like it was a crime,” she said.

“It's... it's something I never thought of. You sure of this?”

“Sure I'm sure, sure as can be. Henry was one of these very light ones, more white in him than colored. See him around whites and you'd never think of him being colored. But see him around Negroes and you just naturally knows he's colored. Henry was passing. Well, that was his little red wagon and he was pulling it. I don't blame nobody for trying to escape. Me, I'm too dark to run from that old jim-crow bird. So I tries to live the best I can.

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