Kenny Whalen said, “Inspector, please, a moment of your time?”
“What’s the matter, Kenny? Still upset that I arrested you last week?”
“Price of the business I’m in, including paying for my bail. But please, a word in private?”
“Just for a minute. I’ve got to get back to my desk.” Sam led the forger down an alleyway and stopped by an overflowing trash bin. He said, “Kenny, I still don’t know why you were so stupid to forge those checks for your brother-in-law. The idiot tried to cash them at the same bank, all at the same time. He gave you up about sixty seconds after I arrested him.”
Kenny grimaced. “If one has a shrew of a wife, one does what one can to soothe the home fires.”
“All right, what do you want?”
“What I want… Inspector, you have me charged with six counts of passing a forged instrument. If I’m convicted on all six counts, I’m looking at five to six years in the state prison in Concord.”
“You should have thought about that earlier.”
“True, but if I may… if I were only charged with five counts of passing a forged instrument instead of six, then my charge would be of a lower class. If convicted on all five counts, I’ll be facing one to three years, and if I’m lucky, at the county jail across the street. Not the state prison in Concord. Easier for friends and family to visit, you understand.”
“I still don’t know what you’re driving at, Kenny.”
“You’re a man of the world, you know how things work. If, for example, one of the charges were to be dropped or forgotten, it would make a world of difference for me and my family. And in return, well, consideration could be made. Favors and expressions of gratitude could be expressed. And, um, so forth.”
“This is your lucky day. I’ve decided to review your charges, just like you’ve asked. And you know what?”
“What?” He asked it eagerly.
“I’ve decided not to charge you with attempted bribery along with everything else. Forget it, Kenny. Leave me alone.” He started out of the alley, and Kenny muttered something. Sam turned and said, “What was that?”
The forger looked defiant. “I said you’ve got a price, just like everyone else in that station! Least you could do is tell me what it is.”
“Wrong cop, wrong day. Can’t be bought.”
“Bullshit.”
“Yeah, take care of yourself, too, Kenny,” Sam said. “Drop me a postcard from Concord if you get a chance.” Out of the alleyway, the sunlight felt good as he went up the police station’s front steps. He should have felt a bit of pride for turning down a bribe—and this hadn’t been the first time on the force he had done that—but the small victory tasted sour.
The house, a voice inside him whispered, remember the house…
Up on the second floor, he saw a chilling sight: the city marshal sitting at Sam’s desk. Harold Hanson was leaning back, hands across his plump belly, looking up at him from behind horn-rimmed glasses. Mrs. Walton was at her desk, lips thin, no doubt distressed at seeing the order of the ages upended by the city marshal sitting at a mere inspector’s desk.
“Inspector Miller,” Hanson said. “There’s a gentleman from the FBI in my office, along with another… gentleman. They’re here to see you.”
“About what, sir?”
“I don’t know. What I do know is one of Hoover’s bright boys, with another bright boy accompanying him, are here. You’re going to use my office, talk to them, cooperate, and when they depart, I expect a full report.”
A voice inside him started to nag. Do it now, it said. Tell the marshal about your brother. Don’t try to cover it up. Give up Tony and you can salvage your career, your life, your future. You can tell the FBI you were surprised last night, which is why you didn’t give up Tony earlier. Now, the voice said, more insistent. Give him up now and maybe they won’t dig more, find out about the Underground Railroad station running out of your basement, and all will be good, and—
“I understand what you want, sir,” Sam said.
“Good. Now get your ass in there and do what you have to do so I can have my goddamn office back.”
Sam hesitated. Could he trust Hanson to contact Sarah, tell her to grab the boy and leave town before the FBI shipped them off to Utah in a boxcar? And if he asked his boss to do something like that, wasn’t he admitting he was guilty and—
Could he trust Hanson? Or anyone?
Sam walked to the door. He didn’t bother knocking. He just opened it and went in, keeping his head high.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
He entered the marshal’s office into a dense fugue of cigarette smoke. One of the visitors was sitting in Hanson’s chair. He was a ruddy-faced, large-framed man with dark wavy hair. He had on a loud gray and white pin-striped suit that said flashy big city to Sam, and his black wide-brimmed hat was on the marshal’s desk. Sitting in one of the captain’s chairs was a second man. His suit was plain dark gray, and his blond hair was fine and closely trimmed. Unblinking light blue eyes looked out from behind round wire-rimmed glasses. His own black hat was in his lap.
“Inspector Miller?” asked the man in the pin-striped suit. He stood up from Hanson’s leather chair, holding out a hand.
“That’s right,” Sam replied, feeling the strong grip as he shook the man’s hand.
“Special Agent Jack LaCouture, FBI, assigned to the Boston office.” LaCouture’s voice was Southern—no doubt Louisianan, for the Kingfish made sure a lot of his boys were sprinkled throughout the federal government.
“Glad to meet you,” Sam said, knowing his tone of voice was expressing just the opposite. LaCouture motioned to his companion, who stood up. Sam froze, knowing the mild-looking guy, who resembled a grocery clerk or something equally bland, must be with the labor camp bureau of the Department of the Interior. In a very few seconds, he knew, everything was going to the shits.
So be it, he thought.
But Tony wasn’t mentioned at all. Instead, the FBI man said, “Allow me to introduce my traveling companion. Hans Groebke, from the German consulate in Boston.”
Groebke gave a brisk nod, and his hand was cool as Sam did the usual grip-and-release. Sam made out the faint scent of cologne.
“A pleasure,” the German said in a thick accent, and he turned to LaCouture and rattled off something quick in German. LaCouture listened and said to Sam, “Hans says he’s glad to make your acquaintance and hopes you will be able to assist him in this matter. He also apologizes for his rough English. He doesn’t sprechen the King’s language that well, you know?”
They all sat down and Sam said, “What kind of matter are you interested in?”
LaCouture answered, “The dead man by your railroad tracks the other night. We’d like to know how your investigation is proceeding.”
“I’m sorry,” Sam said, feeling his head spin: the body, not Tony, not the Underground Railroad, that was why the FBI was here! “Why is the German consulate concerned about a dead man?”
LaCouture smiled, revealing firm and white teeth. “First of all, it appears your body may be that of a German citizen, perhaps here illegally. Second, the German consulate doesn’t give a crap about the body. But Herr Groebke does, as a member of the Geheime Staatspolizei.”