The Hunt

yourself in his place. What would he do next? See what I mean? I can’t take a hand in this, y’unnerstand, with the feds in on it and all.”

“Sure.”

“You got my nose up, though. I hope you make this bird.”

“I’m going to make him.”

“Uh huh. I think I believe you there, Frankie Kee. Just outa curiosity, how bad you really want this guy?”

“I want to make a spot on the Street out of the son of a bitch.”

Tangier chuckled in his icy undertone. “Well, look, you run up a blind alley, you got my number, gimme a ring.”

“Thanks, Eddie.”

“Sure. Where the hell’s my steak, they have to kill the cow?”

At three AM, the phone jarred him out of a deep sleep. He groped for the instrument in the dark, finally got his hand on it and answered sleepily.

“Yeah?”

“It’s Eddie again.”

“What time is it?”

“Who cares. Listen, I been thinking about this problem of yours. A couple more things occur to me. First, if he come from across the pond, he had to have a passport from wherever he come from. Could be somethin’ there. Two, he woulda gone for his new ID quick, he wouldn’t wander around with a passport lookin’ in cemeteries.”

“I get your point,” Keegan said sleepily.

“I figure he probably hit the East Coast because he would do this fast when he got here,” Tangier continued. “If I was guessing, I’d say he got the name somewhere in north Jersey or eastern Pennsylvania, outa the Manhattan area but close enough by. Then he’d want to put some distance between him and wherever he picked up his ID so my guess, you look out in the middle of the country someplace, leastways for starters. So now you’re lookin’ for a case happened during those three, four months somewheres out West. See what I mean, I know it ain’t much but it’s better’n goose eggs.”

“I appreciate your help, Eddie,” Keegan said.

“You wanna give this thing up, I’d say you got good reason. But I just got the impression there, talkin’ to ya, this was a big thing with you.”

“It is a big thing with me.”

“Then don’t crap it up. You can find this guy. But I think you’re gonna need some help from the G-boys, looking for what screwed this bucko up back in ‘34. If the guy disappeared it’s gotta be on the books somewheres.”

“Easier said than done.”

“Think about this. What would be the perfect way to disappear? So they’d stop lookin’ for ya?”

Keegan lay in bed staring at the shadowy ceiling for a few seconds then it struck him.

“Dead. Hell, he’d die.”

“The perfect cop-out, pal. If he faked his death it would stop right there. He’s out clean, comes back later and starts over. Pull all your strings, Frankie Kee. Nothin’ comes easy.”

“I hear you. Thanks, Eddie.”

“Keep in touch.”

Keegan lay in the dark for several minutes. Pull all your strings, Tangier said.

He only had one string left to pull.

But it was a good one.

Keegan turned off the main highway just before he got to the city limits of Princeton and drove about four miles to the tiny village of Allamuchy. It was dark and the misting rain that had plagued him all the way from New York had turned to fog. He might have missed the railroad station completely had he not been stopped a hundred yards from it by four cars blocking the road.

A tall, gaunt-faced man with his hat pulled over his eyes emerged from the fog and shined his flashlight in the car.

“Excuse me, sir, can I help you?” he said in a flat, no- nonsense voice.

“My name’s Keegan. To Visit Car C.”

“May I see some identification?”

Keegan handed him his wallet and his passport. The agent checked the license signature against the name in the passport. He flashed the light in Keegan’s face again, then back down to the passport photo.

“Very good, sir. Mr. Laster will drive down with you if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.”

Laster was a handsome, pleasant man impeccably dressed, although soaking wet. He shook the rainwater off his hat before he got in.