Sam was silent, thinking about how tired he was.
“If you write a story about a suppressed group of knights who are working hard to overthrow a king from a swampland who has usurped the throne from the rightful king, who was murdered before his time, and how this swamp king has put his lackeys into places of power around the kingdom… and how they fight to return the kingdom to the old and free ways… then it’s just a fantasy. A tale that no overseer or censor will worry about… a tale that won’t get the author into trouble.”
“Or into a labor camp.”
“Exactly,” Walter agreed, dropping the magazine back on the table. “Speaking of labor camps, how’s your brother?”
The second mention of Tony in one evening. Must be a record. “Got a postcard from him last month. Seems to be doing well.”
“Glad to hear it. And I’m glad he has a brother who’s handy with tools.”
“I’ve got to get going. Remember, no potato peels in the sink.”
“Duly noted. No peels in the sink. Thanks again, Inspector.”
“You’re welcome. And make sure that you—”
“Yes, yes, I know. The rent on the fifteenth.”
Outside, the night air was damp and chilly. The lights from the shipyard reflected yellow and white against the low clouds, and he could now make out the faint sounds of workmen putting together the latest class of navy submarines. He stood there, seeing a place that had built ships for a century and a half, a place his father had worked after his service in World War I and a place his brother, Tony, had worked until… Sam again felt that flush of embarrassment of a law officer having a brother who had been arrested three years ago and charged with illegally trying to unionize the shipyard workers. A quick star-chamber-type trial, and now Tony was serving a sentence at a federal labor camp near Fort Drum, New York. Besides the shame and concern for his older brother, there was also anger, for he was certain his brother’s arrest had very nearly sidetracked his promotion to inspector.
The crack of a gunshot down the street startled him, the hollow boom echoing and re-echoing about the frame houses. He didn’t move. Another example of what was called by his fellow cops “a shot in the dark.” Like the gunshot at the railroad tracks, these firearm discharges—scores being settled, somebody being robbed, an argument ending—were ignored unless they were officially reported. Not a way for a good cop to respond, but he had no choice. Besides, he had his hands more than full with a corpse, the pile of paperwork on his desk, and his convict brother.
One could pick one’s friends, but one could never pick one’s relatives. Or in-laws. And both were giving him a headache.
At the bottom of the steps, he tripped over a small shape. He turned on the back porch light and stooped to see what had tripped him.
By the steps were three rocks piled on top of one another.
Three rocks.
He was positive they hadn’t been there when he had gone up to Walter’s apartment.
He bent down, picked up the rocks, then tossed each as hard as he could out into the darkness. Two fell within the yard, and he had a moment of satisfaction as the third splashed into the Piscataqua River.
The radio was off, as were most of the lights, and he moved through the silent living room and into the kitchen and to their bedroom. The only light came from the bedside radio, which was on. Sarah liked to fall asleep to the sound of the radio, music or news or a detective tale. He, on the other hand, couldn’t fall asleep if the radiator was ticking.
Sarah had laid his pajamas out on his side of the bed. He changed clothes and slid in under the sheets. Sarah murmured and he leaned over and pressed his lips against her neck. “Sorry,” she murmured. “I know you had something in mind tonight… I just couldn’t stay awake…”
“Don’t worry, dear, I’ll take a rain check—if you offer one.”
She sighed, took his hand, and placed it on her breasts, the soft lace of the nightgown pressing against his palm. In the darkness, he smiled. Sarah could stretch a food budget or a utility budget, but she never skimped on nighties and lingerie. She called them her tools for keeping Sam in place, and he had to admit they did a very good job of at least keeping him in bed.
“Rain check offered, then,” she murmured. “Just make sure you use it and don’t lose it.”
He moved up against her, his hand on the softness of her flesh and the delicacy of the lace. “Rain check accepted, and it won’t be lost. Not ever. Good day at the school department?”
“Not bad. Getting ready for another round of budget cuts.”
“Anything I should know about?”
He felt her tense under his touch. “The usual.”
“Sarah…”
“I’ve been careful, honest. Nothing going on just right now, though we’ve heard rumors of a refugee roundup sometime soon. Have you heard anything?”
“No. But watch yourself. Leaflets stuck under windshield wipers, registering new voters, dropping off pamphlets at the post office at night. That’s one thing for you and your fellow revolutionaries.”
He waited for a reply and heard nothing but cold silence from her and soft music from the radio. He gave her a squeeze and said, his voice a low whisper, “But Sarah… being a stop on the Railroad, that’s another. We’ve got to close it down. Now. Besides the marshal dropping that big-ass hint to me earlier, we’ve got Long’s Legionnaires in town, watching things. I ran into two of them tonight, at the Fish Shanty. Two losers and they made everyone in the restaurant freeze in their seats, scared out of their wits.”
Unexpectedly, she turned her head and kissed him, hard. “Sam… I don’t know what I can do. There’s one in the pipeline coming to Portsmouth in the next couple of days. I just got word this afternoon.”
“Can you delay it?”
“I don’t know. I can try, but sometimes it’s hard letting the right people know.”
“You’ve done enough already. Time for somebody else to take up the burden. We can’t take the chance, Sarah. We’ve got to close it down.”
She sighed. “Sam, I said I’d try. It’s not like I can make a phone call and stop it cold. And look, we’re just a bunch of schoolteachers. And secretaries. That’s all.”
“There’s a whole bunch of schoolteachers from Hyde Park in New York, breaking rocks in the Utah desert because they were suspected of harboring FDR’s widow, Eleanor. Your pretty hands and face won’t last long in the desert.” He heard the cruelty in his voice and winced. “Look, Sarah, I worry about you. We need to think of Toby.”
She moved some, and he thought she was rolling over in anger, but she surprised him again by raising up her face and giving him another, deeper kiss. “All right, Sam, I’ll be careful. I’ll try to stop the visit here. You be careful, too, Inspector.”
“I’m always careful.”
“If you’re right about what the marshal said and those damn Legionnaires being in the area, then I don’t know. Even the careful ones can get into trouble.”
Sam lay there, blankets and sheets pulled up to his chest, as his wife’s breathing slowed. The radio was on his side of the bed, the shallow glow of light from the dial reassuring. He could reach over and shut it off, but instead, he listened. It was the top of the hour, and time for the news. He closed his eyes, started to feel himself doze away, while the headlines droned on through the static.