His fingers stopped, surprised, at the tab with Rosemary’s name on it.
“Subject (real name Risa Meyer) raised CP household. Father (Jacob) arrested NYC 1933 strike action, later official ILGWU. Mother (Irene) seamstress, also ILGWU. Both CP 1927–1939, membership on record. Resignation 1939. No evidence subsequent membership but source (G) believes remained socialist. Subject attended Pine Hill, Monticello, NY, children’s summer camp known for CP indoctrination. No known official CP affiliation, but background suggests further investigation.”
Attached were supporting documents, even a camp roster, a list of her magazine subscriptions-obtained how? — SAG membership date, a copy of the police report of her father’s arrest, none of it important or secret, yet sitting in a file, available. He looked at it again, feeling squeamish, as if he’d opened a lingerie drawer, a private place where he wasn’t supposed to be. No K source, at least. He’d reported on Ostermann, on friends. Why not jottings after a weekend at the Biltmore? But he wouldn’t have, one fine line he wouldn’t have crossed. As if Ben knew any longer what he wouldn’t have done.
He came back to her again after he’d checked more names off the list. Had Rosemary known? He thought of her at the party, enjoying her moment, not meeting Liesl’s eyes. Suggests further investigation. What if that had been Danny, listening closely?
The click of the key in the door startled him. He looked up, frozen, at Minot coming in, his hand still on the door, even more surprised. For a second neither of them moved.
“What are you doing?” Minot said finally, his voice flat, waiting to hear. He was in black tie, evidently on his way home from a formal evening.
“Checking files,” Ben said, trying to sound calm. “Riordan had to leave.”
“An eager beaver,” Minot said, squeezing out a small smile. “Dennis shouldn’t have done that.” He went over to his desk and took an envelope out of his in-box. “The files are private.”
“I was just checking my brother’s reports.”
“No offense.” He stopped, taking in the stack in front of Ben. “You understand, we promise people, when they help us. Well, like yourself. You wouldn’t want everyone-”
“The sources are coded.”
Minot nodded, his eyes darting involuntarily toward the bottom drawer, a quick check to see if it had been opened.
“But not impossible. To guess, I mean. We need to protect them. You’d want that, wouldn’t you? Your brother was very particular on that point. And even so. Well, it’s late. Need a lift? I’ve got a car waiting downstairs.”
“I’ll just put these back.”
“No, leave them,” Minot said firmly. “Sally can get them in the morning.”
He was moving to the door now, opening it, expecting Ben to follow.
“Anything for us yet?” he said pleasantly.
“No. I was hoping-” He opened his hand to the files.
“I think you’d find it easier with someone around. Help you navigate.” He switched off the light, closing the door behind them, testing the knob to make sure it had locked.
“What did you mean, even so?” Ben said. “About Danny. You said, ‘and even so.’ “
“Oh. Well, you know things happen. Even when you’re careful. Your brother was very careful. I don’t think anybody ever knew-that he gave us information about them. But somebody did find out. I can’t even remember how-Dennis, I suppose. Your brother chewed him out for it. Said it cost him a job.”
“Who found out?”
Minot slowed, looking at him. “Oh, I see. No, it’s not what you’re thinking. No grudges.”
“But if the guy-”
“It wouldn’t be,” he said evenly. “He became a friend of ours.”
“ After Danny-”
“A friend,” Minot said, cutting him off. “Like you. We trust our friends.” He glanced over. “Be a hell of a world if we didn’t, wouldn’t it?” He waved to the night watchman, his tone suddenly genial. “Frank, where’ve you been keeping yourself?”
“Right here. Not out on the town like some people,” the guard said, smiling at the tuxedo.
“Well, somebody’s got to do it. How’s the wife-better?” A politician’s memory, better than a room of files.
“Like new. I’ll tell her you asked,” he said, pleased, taking in Ben now.
Minot handed him the envelope from his in-box. “Somebody’ll be by for this. Sorry about the hour.”
“I’m here anyway,” Frank said, propping it on the fire extinguisher while he opened the door for them.
Outside a car was waiting, the driver idling the motor. Ben caught a glimpse of a woman’s crossed leg in the backseat, patient Mrs. Minot.
“Sure I can’t give you a lift?”
“No, my car’s over there,” Ben said, nodding to the dark parking lot.
Minot reached out for the door handle then hesitated, turning. “Have you seen Kaltenbach?” he said, lowering his voice. “I keep hearing things. We don’t want to have to move too early, tip our hand. One subpoena too soon, it’s like scaring birds, they start flying all over the place. You want to get the timing right.” He hesitated again. “I’d appreciate it if you spent a little time with him. I know you’ve got something else on your mind and that’s fine, but right now we could use someone inside. I’d think of it as a favor.”
Ben watched his car go, then started over to his own, thinking. A friend of ours. But how willing? Danny said it had cost him a job. He looked toward the dark building then suddenly, with a wheel click, he was back on the Chief. Something that hadn’t worked out. Sol couldn’t remember why.
Frank looked up from a magazine when Ben tapped on the glass.
“Like a dummy, I forgot something and Ken took the key. Do you have a pass? Take me a second.”
The first name did it. A man who’d asked about his wife. Frank led him down the hall and found the key on his ring.
“Thanks. Appreciate it,” Ben said, but Frank stayed with him, just inside the door.
He went over to the bottom drawer and flipped through the tabs. There might have been other jobs, not necessarily- But there it was, Jenkins, so thin he almost missed it. He slipped the file under his arm.
“I owe you one,” he said to Frank, putting on a relieved expression, his homework safe in hand.
In the car he flicked on the overhead light. A studio bio sheet, innocuous, presumably there for reference, and a single report sheet.
“Subject JENKINS attended discussion group 1940, CP Westwood, guest of J. MacDonald.”
Source initial K in the margin. One meeting. Not enough to suggest any serious political window shopping, much less something to use against him later. Maybe it had been nothing more than a courtesy drop-in for MacDonald’s sake. Why even bother to keep the report, now that he was a friend? But why look for logic in any of it? Why report that Kranzler had asked a GI up to his room, that Brecht had arranged trysts at Salka’s, that Rosemary read Collier’s? The peeping, like any compulsion, was an end in itself. No information was useless if the point was the gathering. A brief word from Danny, now permanently on file. To hold over Bunny’s head, keep him friendly? But Bunny had reasons of his own to get close to Minot. Why would he care about this?
Still, he had-enough to be angry with Danny. Maybe it was nothing more than the startled, uneasy feeling of someone who realizes he’s being watched through the window, anger a natural reflex. Maybe it had to do with MacDonald, a name to check the next time he got into the files. But not angry enough to kill. A job denied, no more. I knew who he was, he’d said to Ben. No explanation necessary when Riordan asked him to make the call. Maybe even a touch of satisfaction, bringing source K to an end.