Gatling shook his head. “Randall set Eppleworth up to fail, spectacularly. But why?”
“Not Eppleworth. He just happened to be the last mark still making money. The target was Jake.”
“Why?”
“Because Jake killed Randall.”
A pause while Gatling thought it over. “Gunshots, yeah, same as Eppleworth upstairs this morning, I could see that. But if that was true, why would Randall come back to Jake-and why in the world would Jake believe anything from the guy he’d just murdered?”
“Because Jake must have hired the thugs who kidnapped Randall. It really happened the way he said-fingernail pulling, the bank password, the garbage scow. Only when he was on the other side did Randall have time to figure it out. He set this whole elaborate scheme up simply to ruin Jake-and Jake went along with it, because he assumed Randall didn’t know what actually happened.”
We stood in silence for a moment. Outside, the coroner’s van finally drove away.
“You’ll find the motive if you look,” I said. “My guess is Jake wanted the whole pie for himself-and the three mil from the sweep account was just a lagniappe.”
“You’re probably right.” Gatling put his notebook away. “Let’s do the formal interview later, after I check into it.”
“Sure.”
We walked toward the door. Sunshine spilled across the lobby’s polished floor.
“Good thing New York doesn’t have the death penalty,” Gatling said. “I’m sure your new pal Jake wants a word with you, but he’ll have to wait, oh, about forty years.”
“Yeah.” I sighed.
“What?”
“Ernest,” I said. “He’ll probably be visiting me tonight.”
Swing Shift by Dana Cameron
Jake Steuben knew it would be easy to find Harry amid the crowd at North Station. All he had to do was find the highest density of pretty girls; his friend would be within fifteen feet.
Sure enough, there he was, ten feet away from a group of secretaries by the newsstand, watching as they chattered about the stars on the cover of Life. Jake picked up his valise and edged his way through the crowd. He leaned over and whispered into Harry’s ear.
“If you get into trouble and you can’t get out, it’ll be because of a girl.”
“There are worse reasons.” Harry startled, his morose stare gone, and stood up to shake Jake’s hand. “Train was on time. Any trouble?”
“What trouble would there be? It was crowded but quiet; I stood in the vestibule most of the way.”
Harry looked askance. “No doubt the conductor made you stand out there-that’s the ugliest hat I’ve seen in quite some time, my friend.”
Jake took off his hat to look at it fondly. It was a little shiny, stretched, and the brim needed reblocking. “It’s just getting broken in.”
They walked out of the train station, past drunken sailors staggering to Scollay Square, then a few blocks to the Boston Common.
Harry said, “How’s the wife?”
“Sophia is fine, thanks. How’s the war effort in Washingt-?”
“And the baby’s doing well?”
Jake couldn’t help smiling. “Cutting his first tooth, so he’s a handful. Say, Harry, what is it you-?”
“Good, glad to hear it. And everyone in Salem?”
Jake looked around. There was no one to overhear their conversation, so why did Harry keep interrupting? Politeness was all well and good, but he had come to Boston on the double. “Real good,” he said slowly. “Thanks for asking.”
They settled on a bench on the Common. The leaves on the trees were starting to turn and would soon fall, but for now, the sun was warm and high.
Harry looked around carefully, then sighed. He shoved his hat back, mopped his forehead with his handkerchief. He sat forward, clapped his hands together, but didn’t say anything.
Jake had had enough of waiting. “So, what’s the problem you couldn’t wire me about?”
Harry shifted uneasily. “I got a case I can’t crack. It’s a doozy. You’ve got a knack for getting into the tough ones, seeing angles I don’t.”
“Tell me.” They’d worked occasionally as deputies for the Essex County sheriff until Harry started with the Bureau, and Jake inherited his family’s farm near Salem.
Harry hesitated. “It’s not easy. You know I deal with… government secrets.”
“Are you sure you should tell me, then?” Jake enjoyed the sun on his face. His feet ached inside his shoes. The grass of the Common looked inviting.
“It’s okay,” Harry said, a little impatiently. “I cleared it upstairs. And got you clearance, too.” He took a deep breath. “It’s one of the research facilities, over in Cambridge. There’s a bad leak. I can’t pin it down.”
“And what do you think I can do that the FBI can’t?”
“I… I think I’m too close to it. You’re outside.” Harry looked up. “Like I said, you see angles no one else would. Remember the Beverly Slasher, how you knew he was the guy who found the first body? I wouldn’t ask, but we got two strikes, two outs, bottom of the ninth. I don’t find a DiMaggio soon, it’s gonna be my fat in the fire.”
“Sure, Harry. You know, I’ll do whatever I can.”
“Thanks, Jake.” Harry smiled for the first time since Jake had gotten off the train, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “The security is tight enough, I’ve been watching for weeks. I just don’t know how the information is getting out.”
“What do you think’s going on? They’ve somehow learned to walk through walls? Use magic to whisk the secrets away?”
“Stop razzin’ me, Jake.” Harry shook his head, dead serious. “You know the Krauts are involved with some pretty unsavory investigations into the paranormal and mystical. The trips to Tibet, the archaeology, their obsession with skulls… don’t even joke about it. My boss, Mr. Roundtree, has stories that would curl your hair.” Harry shuddered. “Nope, I’m hoping like heck it’s good old human sneakiness and greed. I want you to get in there, see what I’m not seeing.”
Harry pulled an envelope out of his jacket and handed it to Jake. “Your credentials, the location of a boardinghouse, description of your job. And a new name; we’re not going to suddenly introduce a new guy with a German name. No offense.”
Jake nodded. “Where will I be, and what will I be doing?”
“Janitor at a computational research lab. We want someone who will blend in, who no one will take too seriously. It’s all in the file.” He stood up, began to pace. “I should get going.”
Jake was surprised. He wondered when his friend last slept through the night, ate a square meal, or bathed: his aftershave was faintly, nauseatingly sweet. “Hey, wait a minute! What do you think will happen, someone will go ‘Psst, hey bud, want some government secrets?’ You’re gonna have to give me a few more-”
“Look, it’s all in the file!” Harry said. “Wise up! I called you in because I need help. I can’t sit around babysitting you; I got a job to do, an important job. There’s a war on.”
He mopped his face again. “Sorry, Jake. The pressure’s killing me. I’ll stop by your room in a couple of days. We can talk then. Okay?” Harry stood and held out his hand. Jake stared at his friend, nodded slowly, and shook. He was genuinely worried now. His friend wasn’t telling him the entire truth. “Yeah, sure. Don’t take any wooden nickels, Harry.”
LATER that night, Jake sat on the quilt-covered bed in his rented room, reading the file. Harry was right. He’d covered all the bases-waste disposal, deliveries, repairs-and checked some less obvious ways. Harry was a good agent for the same reason he’d been a good deputy: he had a mind like a criminal, and though he went to extremes, he was thorough. Harry had already followed several of the potential suspects: The secretary who’d been complaining about the rationing complained about everything else. The technician who seemed to have an unlimited supply of gasoline for a car with an A sticker was found to be siphoning fuel from his brother’s trucking business. No one was obtaining the information any way he could see.