Larry had never gotten what he wanted, Sam thought. But Sam had gotten something else. Bloody hands and a memory that would never leave him.
Larry came in, dressed in a fine dark gray overcoat, looking pleased with himself. “Morning, Sam.”
“Hello, Larry.”
“I understand my daughter and grandson need some protection.”
“In a manner of speaking,” he replied.
“I thought that was your job.”
Sam felt his shoulders tense. “It is. Which is why I’m getting them out of town during the summit.”
“Maybe you’re getting them out of town, but I’m putting them up, driving up there and back, taking the better part of my workday. I hope you appreciate that.”
From the kitchen, Sarah came out, smiling. “Dad, thanks for helping us out.”
Toby was there, saying, “Grandpa!,” his face radiant.
Sam picked up the two suitcases. “Tell you what, Toby. You two get your coats, and I’ll put your suitcases out in Grandpa’s car. Okay?”
Before anybody said anything, he was outside in the blessedly cool and free air, carrying both suitcases.
Sarah said, “I’ll try to call you the moment we’re settled in if the damn phone’s working.”
He kissed her and said, “You sure you’ve got everything packed?”
She squeezed the back of his neck and whispered, “Not really, but I’m leaving all my frilly things behind for later… for another rain check.”
Another kiss exchanged. “When it’s all over, I’ll come up to fetch you. The city’ll owe me some time.”
Sarah got into the front seat of the Oldsmobile. “Dad could come get us.”
“I owe him too much already.”
From the rear seat, Toby called out, “So I can go swimming? Really?”
“If your mother says so.”
“Good,” his boy said, and then, “Dad? Make sure my models are okay, will you?”
“Sure, Toby,” he promised. “Nothing will happen to them.”
He closed both car doors and walked up to his father-in-law. “Larry, thanks. I mean it. Thanks.”
“Always nice to know I can fill in when you can’t. Just need to discuss—”
For the benefit of his wife and boy watching from the Oldsmobile, Sam smiled up at his father-in-law. “Let’s not keep my wife and boy waiting. All right?”
Lawrence said, “Just one moment, that’s all. Look, I understand you’ve taken my advice. To become more active in the Party.”
“Maybe, maybe not.”
“I see.” Lawrence’s voice turned frosty. “But I’ve been told you’re probably going to become more active under the sponsorship of Marshal Harold Hanson.”
“Look, can we get into this some other time, because—”
“No, we don’t have to go into it some other time. You’ve made your choice, and you’ll have to live with it. You’ve tossed your lot in with the marshal. That’s fine. And when budget time comes, don’t think you can come to me looking for help if your position in the police department is eliminated. When it’s eliminated.”
“Is that a threat, Larry? What, you think I’m your slave? Someone you can order around because I owe you?”
“Owe me? For what? Taking my daughter and grandson up to Moultonborough?”
“You know what I mean,” Sam said. “Everyone knows how I got my inspector’s job. You pulled some strings and talked to the Police Commission and—”
Lawrence laughed. “You stupid little dope. Whatever gave you that idea?”
“It was common—”
“Some smart inspector you are. I lobbied against you, you numbskull. Even knowing it might hurt Sarah. It would have been worth it to see you fail and stay a sergeant. Got that? And I still don’t want you to make it—a punk like you, son of a drunk and brother of a criminal, with my only girl. And having you active in the Party… besides everything else, I just wanted you somewhere I had you by the short hairs. That’s all. And now that you’re sponsored by that fool Hanson, I know you’re going to fail. I’m going to enjoy every damn second of it.”
Sam took a breath, thinking of the secret he knew about this man, the one he had pledged he would never divulge. “The only thing I’m looking for now is to see you get the hell off my porch.”
Sam went in and closed the door, then stood at the window to see the Oldsmobile back out of the driveway and head away. He watched until it made the corner, turned, and his family was gone.
He didn’t bother going to the police station after his family left. Instead, he headed straight to the Rockingham Hotel. Two army MPs stood at the entrance, clipboards in their hands. Their khaki uniforms were pressed and their boots and helmets gleamed. So did their Sam Brown belts and the holsters for their Colt .45 pistols. Their faces were lean and serious, as if they spent a lot of time saying no to people.
“Sorry, pal,” the MP on the left told Sam. “Place is closed for the duration.”
“I’m sure, but I’m here to see Agent LaCouture of the FBI.”
“Name and identification?” the MP on the right said.
“Sam Miller. Of the Portsmouth Police Department.” He showed his inspector’s badge, his police identification card, and just for the hell of it, his officer’s commission in the New Hampshire National Guard. All three were scowlingly examined by the MP on the right while his companion checked the clipboard and nodded. “Yeah, he’s on the list. ID check out all right?”
“Sure enough,” the other MP said, passing the identity cards back to Sam, who pocketed them. The lobby was chaotic, with piles of luggage, army and navy officers in full-dress uniform, and newsreel and radio reporters all thrust up against one another. He slipped through the crowd, went upstairs, and knocked on the door of Room Twelve.
Agent LaCouture opened the door, dressed for the day in shirt and tie and seersucker suit. Groebke was sitting at the room’s round table, a pile of papers in front of him. The Gestapo man was dressed plainly again, in a severe black suit with a white shirt and black necktie.
“Glad to see you, Inspector,” LaCouture told him. “You’re early.”
“Want to get a jump on the day,” Sam answered. The room smelled of cologne and stale tobacco and strong coffee. He wondered what the two of them talked about when they were alone together. Did they trade war stories about the Kingfish and the Führer?
LaCouture went to the desk, picked up a set of papers. “Here,” he said, handing them over. “Your task for the day. Here’s a listing of restaurants, hotels, and boardinghouses in your fair city. I want you to go to each of them, see how many people they can feed and house on a daily basis, get a master list together, and be back here by five o’clock. Got it?”
Sam looked at the papers. “This looks like something a clerk can do.”
“I’m sure, but this particular clerk I’m looking at is a police inspector and thereby knows everybody he’ll be talking to. And this particular clerk will know if someone is bullshitting him. So yeah, Inspector—a clerk can do this job, but I’m giving it to you.”
Sam said nothing, just folded the papers in half. The Gestapo officer was grinning. LaCouture said, “You don’t like it, do you?”
“I’ve had worse jobs,” Sam replied.