“You can’t. She’s under protection. Even
“On the basis of what was known then. Things have happened since.”
Krestinski shook his head. “Out of my hands. Try another subject.”
Hudson looked out the doors. Two birds were enthusiastically attacking Wally’s feeder, spilling more on the snow than they got in their beaks. “What do they do with someone like Sturgis who may have had a contagious disease? Just bury him?”
“He’s being cremated today.”
An FBI man beckoned from the kitchen. Krestinski went to talk with him. The two then went out the back door. Hudson stood at the window for several moments, looking out but seeing nothing in front of him. The situation here was absurd; the complete advantage with the enemy to attack at the time and place of their choosing. Next time Cilla might not be so lucky. He caught himself about to slap his arms to his sides. That’s it, he thought, it was
He mounted the stairs to Wally’s room. Carver was stretched out on top of his bed reading. He peered over his glasses as Hudson swung the door open.
“Do you have a copy of Sturgis’s will?”
“Yes. There’s not much in it. He didn’t
“Instructions on the handling of his body?”
“Cremation and quick service. I gave them to John yesterday.”
“Funeral where?”
“O’Connor in Marblehead tomorrow.”
“Publicized?”
“It’s in the Boston papers. What’s on your mind?”
“What do they do with the ashes?”
“His daughter is his heir.” Carver looked inquiringly.
“I want to talk with her. John can’t or won’t let me.”
“They’re not questioning her?”
“They did. But that was before a lot of what’s gone on. John says he doesn’t know where she is, and I believe him; they’re big on that need to know stuff.”
Wally studied him. “You think she’ll be at the service?”
“I don’t know, but
The old man wrinkled his forehead. Then Hudson saw the corners of his mouth dip, as they did the two times Wally managed checkmate against him. “Do you want to be his executor?”
“Just like that?”
“After he heard about the attack at your house, Sturgis gave up on life, wanted someone else to take responsibility. I had some blank forms. He signed them; I never got around to filling in my name, so we’ll use yours.”
“Witnesses?”
“I’ll get them. You’re not going to defraud the man’s estate.”
“No, just pay my respects. And see who else does.” Through a front window he could see John Krestinski talking with two of his men. “Think they’d be listening in if I used the telephone?”
“A tap goes on later today, I’m told.”
“They tell you why?”
“You know the answer to that. `Standard procedure.’”
Hudson shook his head and pulled out his cell. Information gave him the number of the O’Connor Funeral Home. He rang it.
“This is Josiah O’Connor.”
“What time is the Sturgis funeral tomorrow?”
“Ah...are you a member of the family?”
“His executor. My name is Hudson Rogers.”
“Mr. Rogers, the...ah, family has requested a private service here in our chapel.”
“Excellent. That was his wish. What time should I come by to take care of the bill?”
“The service is at ten. But I understood the financial arrangements will be taken care of by, ah...a federal agency.”
“I know Mr. Sturgis would have wanted you to be paid promptly. With federal bureaucracies, it might take...”
“Yes, yes I know what you are saying. It will be a pleasure to see you tomorrow.”
Hudson turned to his former father-in-law. “You go for the newspaper early each morning, don’t you?”
“Seven-thirty, why?”
“Are agents following you?”
“Yesterday they were practically in my trunk. I stopped a few times, making them pull over in awkward places. They got the idea and this morning stayed back out of sight. They were there, though. Caught up with me at the store.”
“I think my car needs work. Can you follow me down to Bill’s Garage?”
“Now?”
“Yes. Then on your paper run tomorrow I’ll be under a blanket in the rear seat. You can drop me at Bill’s and keep going.”
“That’s not a bad idea. To keep going.”
“Run them around the Valley?”
“To Boston. You’re right, it’s time we carried the fight to the bastards who’ve got us cooped up here. ”
Hudson looked at the old man with amusement. “Going to take your shotgun?”
“Going to renew old acquaintances. Spend a little time in the city.” He turned to look at Hudson. “At one time I was rather involved with the movers and shakers of Boston, such as they were.”
“And now?”
“I’m going to spend a quiet day at my club.”
“Didn’t know you’d kept a membership in one.”
“Until today I didn’t know why I did. It’s where I met Preston Sturgis as a matter of fact.”
“And that is?”
“The Onyx Club, where an employee died after contact with him.”
The chapel was just another room in the big old Atlantic Avenue house. In a pinch it might seat thirty, Hudson guessed, though for this particular event such capacity was wasted. As he peered around the corner of the door, he could see but one figure. It was a woman, and she sat in the front row. Josiah O’Connor had greeted Hudson in his low key manner and, after viewing the documents Wally had provided and had witnessed the night before, been pleased to accept Hudson’s check. The actual cremation, he said, had taken place the previous afternoon, and the woman had presented him with a letter from Miss Sturgis authorizing her to accept the ashes. No name was requested or offered
“Mr. Rogers?” Josiah O’Connor was at his elbow. “I’m getting forgetful in my old age. There is one more paper.”
Reluctantly, Hudson allowed himself to be led down a long corridor to the little office where business matters were handled. Here he was seated while the funeral director rummaged through a pile of papers.
