When we’re through here, I’ll type up my notes, give you a copy, send a telex to the state police. Tomorrow I’ll check in with the medical examiner.”
Another nod. “Good. We’ll talk again tomorrow. And Sam? If it’s just an untimely death, if there’s nothing to indicate foul play, drop it.”
Sam shifted in his seat. “But… it might take some time. Blood work from the ME, looking for witnesses, getting him identified—”
Hanson’s lips pursed. “I meant what I said. Drop it. You’ve got enough on your plate with the car thefts, the amount of bad paper that’s been passing lately in town. Not to mention the store break-ins, for which your father- in-law continues to ride my ass. So if that dead guy is just a dead guy, you drop it. Understand?”
“Yes. I got it.”
“Good. Now here’s something that just came up…” Hanson touched a slip of paper and grimaced. “I just got back from a state Party meeting in Concord. We’ve been directed to look for any evidence of an Underground Railroad station in town. There have been reports of people passing through the Canadian border who’ve been sheltered here in Portsmouth.”
Sam made sure his hands stayed still in his lap. “Sorry… Underground Railroad? I know Portsmouth was a stop back in the Civil War, but now?”
Hanson dropped the paper, annoyed. “Yes, now. Dissidents, protestors, Communists, Republicans, all heading north to Canada so they don’t get tossed into a labor camp, where they belong. So if you see anything suspicious, people who don’t belong, word that there’s human smuggling going on, check it out. Report it to me immediately. The Party is really pressing me on this.”
Sam fought to keep his voice even. “I would think that checking in to an Underground Railroad station here would belong to the FBI. Or the Department of the Interior.”
Hanson said, “Yeah, you would think. But they’re stretched thin, and stuff like that is getting tossed to the local departments. And speaking of stuff being tossed our way, when you go home, I need you to make a delivery for the DOI. They have a prisoner over at the county jail, and he’s due to head out on a train later tonight. Their Black Maria broke down again, so I said we’d do them this favor.”
“And nobody from the patrol division is available?”
“Well, I understand two are performing a canvass on your behalf, which leaves two others, and there’s a brawl being broken up on Hanover Street as we speak. So no, Sam, nobody’s available.”
“It can’t wait?”
“No, it can’t wait. And I want you to do it. Don’t worry, it’s not some hobo. A well-dressed fellow. I’m sure he won’t piss in the backseat of your car. Get going so you can go home to that pretty wife of yours.”
Sam got to his feet, feeling his face flush at being made into a delivery boy. As he turned toward the door, Hanson said, “Oh, one more thing,” which Sam had expected. Nobody got to leave the city marshal’s office without a “one more thing.”
“Sir?”
Hanson leaned back in his chair, the wood and leather protesting. “The Party meeting tomorrow tonight. Make sure you attend, all right?”
“It’s a waste of—”
His boss raised a hand. “I know you think it’s a burden, not worth your efforts, but in these times, it’s necessary for all of us to sacrifice a bit, to get along, to keep things on an even keel. So. To make myself very clear, Probationary Inspector Sam Miller: You will attend the Party meeting tomorrow night. Have I made my point?”
Once upon a time there had been two political parties, the Republicans and the Democrats. But when Huey Long was elected back in ’36… well, now there was pretty much one political party in the country.
“Sam?” Hanson pressed.
“Absolutely. But it’s still a goddamn waste of time. Sir.”
“It certainly is, but you’ll be there. And I’ll be thankful for it. And so will your father-in-law. Now get going.”
Sam went out. He slammed the door behind him.
CHAPTER FIVE
At his desk outside the marshal’s office, Sam carefully slid three sheets of paper, separated by two sheets of carbon paper, into the Remington. Before he started to type, he allowed himself a quick shake, a quiver of nerves. The Underground Railroad in Portsmouth. Holy Christ. He shook his head and got to work.
At 1910 hours on 1 May 1943, INSPECTOR SAM MILLER was notified of a possible homicide victim located near the B&M railroad tracks west of the Fish Shanty parking lot off of Maplewood Avenue. MILLER arrived at the scene at 1924 hours and met with PATROLMAN REARDON and PATROLMAN GRAY, who pointed out the location of the body. Said body was discovered at approximately 1800 hours by LOUIS PURDUE, age 50, of Troy, N.Y., currently residing at an encampment off of North Mill Pond. PURDUE said he discovered the corpse while walking the tracks.
Sam paused in his typing. No point in saying what Lou Purdue was doing, for he was sure that in addition to retrieving lumps of coal, Lou was also checking out how strongly some of the B&M boxcar doors were locked, up at the collection of sidings just over on the other side of Maplewood Avenue, near the B&M station. Let the B&M cops handle it.
The body is that of a white male, approximately fifty to sixty-five years of age. There is no apparent sign of trauma. There is also no apparent cause of death. A preliminary search of the body revealed no possessions save for clothing and no identification. The tattoo 9 1 1 2 8 3 was found on the man’s wrist. Photographs of the scene were taken by photographer RALPH MORANCY, on contract to the Portsmouth Police Department. The body was placed into the custody of DR. WILLIAM SAUNDERS, Rockingham County Medical Examiner’s Office, and was removed by attendants of the Woods funeral home.
A teletype with the dead man’s description has been transmitted to N.H. state police headquarters in Concord.
Sam read and then reread the report after taking the sheets of paper from the typewriter. He signed each sheet and put one sheet in a folder for this case, gave another to the department’s secretary. The third sheet he placed in Hanson’s mailbox. He looked at a clock on the far wall, shook his head, and left to play errand boy before getting home to Sarah and Toby.
As his boss had promised, the prisoner was well dressed, a tall man with a fleshy face and wavy hair. The left leg of his fine trousers was torn open, exposing a bloody knee. His hands were cuffed in front of him and his eyes were unfocused, as if he couldn’t comprehend what was happening to him. He kept silent as Sam bundled him into the rear seat of his Packard, ducking down from the continuing onslaught of heavy rain. The prisoner’s paperwork was tucked inside Sam’s coat, unread, since he had no interest in knowing why this guy had been arrested. All Sam cared about was getting this piece of crap work done as soon as possible.
Sam started up the Packard, and as he backed out into the street, the man said from the rear seat, “Are you FBI? Or Interior Department?”
“Neither.” Sam switched on the wipers, wondering why it was his luck to be out tonight in such a nasty downpour. “Local cop being a taxi driver, that’s all.”
“What’s your name?”
“Miller.”
“Mine’s Lippman. Ever hear of me?”
“Nope.”
“I’ve written some books, used to be a newspaper columnist down in New York… hell, even worked for
