Even after three decades in law enforcement, Casem is easily moved to tears. Some people call him Huckleberry Hound, which is shortened to Huckleberry or just Huck. This is what they called him back in the ‘90s at an apartment complex called Wyndhurst, where a lot of fatherless young men sold crack. For some reason Casem fit in at Wyndhurst, despite all the crime, possibly because he’d once been a juvenile delinquent himself, possibly because he knew the young crack dealers were only trying to buy food and clothes, and possibly because, after a while, the people at Wyndhurst started to like him. He just kept showing up, even when there was no emergency. Especially when there was no emergency. Was he a white man? Most people would have said yes, despite his Filipino lineage, but that mattered less than the way he treated people. He walked around, sat and talked, bought ice cream for children whose mothers didn’t have a quarter to spare. One time a guy was causing a disturbance, and he wouldn’t listen to reason, and finally Casem had to put him in the patrol car. And someone said, “Huckleberry, that’s Mrs. Barnes’s kid.” Casem found Mrs. Barnes, and Mrs. Barnes asked Casem to let him go, because she was going to take care of him, whatever that meant. Casem let him go, and his mother did the rest. Twenty years later, long after Wyndhurst was demolished, a former resident named Heather Dixon still remembered what Casem did there.