More Harry Hogan stories!
Benny Stack walked across the parking lot of the police station just as newly-promoted Detective Bruce Parkins was coming down the steps.
“Hello, Benny. How are things?”
“Not bad I suppose, Detective. Been trying to clear all the winter debris from the garden.” Benny shifted from one foot to the other.
“Yeah, I know what you mean.” Bruce looked at him, frowning slightly. “But you didn’t come here to tell us that, Benny. What’s up?”
“I was wondering if you fellows had heard of any complaints about illegal garbage dumping.”
“Not that I’m aware of,” Bruce replied. “Why?”
“Well… my dog, Marvel, has been bringing bones home and leaving them on the patio. They’re covered in dirt and I don’t know where he’s getting them.”
“I see… how long has this been going on?”
“About two weeks, and I thought that’s where the bones might be coming from. I hope it’s nothing more than that,” Bennie said quietly, looking down at his shoes.
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, I don’t know… maybe vandalism in one of the cemeteries…”
Bruce shook his head. “Now that’s something we definitely would have heard about.”
“That’s what I thought.” Benny looked up. “So it might be just illegal dumping after all.”
“Unless someone’s been poaching and trying to hide the evidence. I’ll check into it and get back to you in a few days.”
“Thank you, Detective. Have a good day.” Benny waved and walked back to his car.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
A week later, Benny opened his front door and found the detective standing there. “Have you solved my mystery?” he asked.
“I’m afraid not, Benny,” Bruce replied. “We haven’t found anything suspicious near town at all, and I did check the cemeteries. We also had Wildlife checking for signs of poaching but they didn’t come up with anything either.”
Benny shook his head. “I don’t know what else it could be. If it wasn’t for my hip, I’d keep a closer eye on Marvel when he’s outside and watch where he goes.”
“Arthritis?” Bruce asked.
“The joys of growing old, I guess,” Benny said. “Some days are worse than others, but I can’t keep up with the dog anymore.”
Bruce chuckled. My mother calls it the ‘Rusty Years.’ Is the dog still finding bones?”
“Every couple days, at least,” Benny said, nodding. “They’re all in that wooden box there on the corner of the patio.”
Bruce walked over and bent down to look at the contents of the box. “Benny, do you know Harry Hogan?”
“I know him to see him, and say hello,” Benny replied. “Can’t say I really know the man. Why?”
“He might be just the man we need to figure this out.”
“You think so?”
Bruce nodded his head slowly. “Hogan specializes in things like this. He’s got a knack for thinking outside the box and… would you like me to contact him?”
“You wouldn’t mind?” Benny asked.
