They finally let me have the package because they knew I wasn't leaving without it, and it was closing time. The best way to win an argument with a government employee is to do it just before quitting time. I filled out another special form and departed with the box, which was only as big as a pack of cigarettes. It had been opened, and the post-office people had not opened it. The letter carrier had found it, as is, in a letter box near the old factory. It could have been there all weekend. The mouth-piece was there, in perfect condition. They had never seen the other caller at the post office, nor had he left any phone number or address. One thing for sure: he knew where to find me.
But he didn't even wait until I got home. At the third light I knew the dark-blue Olds behind me wasn't there by coincidence. I did a double cloverleaf on and off of 495 and he was still on my tail. He was following me, as Brian Hannon might say, like stink on a skunk.
South on Route 3 he sped up, swerved to the left-hand passing lane, and tried to come alongside. But I swerved left too and blocked him. He tried to pass on the right and I blocked him again. Then I pulled out the light switch while I tromped on the gas pedal. He braked hard when he saw the rear lights flash on, and I had the edge for a few seconds, but it didn't work and I wasn't surprised. An International Scout is no match for an Olds sedan on the highway. He tried the passing routine again and this time I let him. But as he passed me he tried to run me off onto the shoulder. And we weren't alone on the road, either. My mystery friend wanted that cardboard box pretty badly. When he tried to head me off I got a little belligerent and swerved right into him. Ka-whunk! Our fenders banged and shrieked, and I even saw sparks. A Scout may not be fast, but it's heavy-duty and good on the body punches… just like Dempsey. I had bloodied Blue Olds's nose a bit and he backed off.
I couldn't see the driver clearly at all. He had no front plate, either. I guess I was a little heated up by this time and didn't care what happened to the Scout's body. I wanted to put Mystery Man into the opposing lane, right smack into a Peterbilt or a Mack. But I think he sensed this, and stayed back. He got no closer than a hundred feet but stayed with me like an echo. We crossed the Bedford line, then on into Concord. I went along to the town and hit Walden Road. Half a mile along it I swerved into a parking lot and Mystery Man followed me in. But he did a three-sixty right away and barreled out of there on two wheels. And as it was, it was lucky for him he wasn't tagged right then and there. I went inside and told the desk sergeant to follow that car. Then I went upstairs to Brian Hannon's office.
"Smart thing, coming to the police station," he said as he ignited a Lucky and waved out the match. "Usually crooks feel unsafe around them."
"Except for this one."
"Your comedy is not appreciated, Doctor Adams. I'll have you know that the people of Concord, and of the Commonwealth, depend on me and my staff to-"
"Listen to this. I want to tell you what's been happening lately. Maybe you can help me figure it out."
"Maybe I can, maybe not. I'm very busy right now."
"So I see," I said, pointing at the unfinished crossword puzzle on his desk.
He frowned and squinted at me and leaned back in his chair, blowing smoke rings. When I finished he scratched the side of his balding head. Then he spoke.
"What happened was, they went through the pouch in the room at the factory, okay? They not only opened it there; they went through the contents. The empty envelope from the Boston library proves this. They sorted through the papers and discarded the envelope. They opened your box from the lab and decided they didn't need it. So on their way home one of them, who decided to do his good turn for the day-"
"God bless him- he saved me weeks of work."
"Uh-huh. He drops your box into the nearest mailbox so you'll get it back. So then afterwards, when they've gone through the Sacco and Vanzetti stuff real carefully, they realize something's missing. So they think, where could this thing be? They knew Robinson had it on his person. It turned up missing from the bundle, so the first place they look is back in the pouch."
"But they never got to the pouch… or the envelope. I think they thought Johnny hid the thing in my box to throw people off if by chance they snagged the pouch. Right?"
"Yeah. That's it. But you say somebody was looking for the pouch too- tearing up that old wall. I think that either there are two rival groups after this thing, or else the original outfit is searching everywhere they can, covering all the bases."
"Whatever it is, Brian, it's small."
"'Yep. Sounds like negatives to me. Either microfilm, microfiche, or plain old thirty-five-mil. negs. They're all small and potent."
We ambled over to the tiny lab and I produced the cardboard box and the piece for them to examine. We watched them work on it for half an hour, slicing away at it with scalpels, shining bright lights through the cardboard, dipping shreds of the cardboard in solutions and dyes. Nix. Plain cardboard box. Containerus cardinarius.
We went back to Brian's office where I called the Boss. She told me Joe was looking for me. I called him at his office and found him in. He was glad to hear about my find in Lowell."Got some interesting stuff from the lab. One: the cigarette butts' snubbed ends contain residues of human flesh, burnt blood, epidermal tissue, and fat."
"They did it up there. They tortured Andy up in that room where nobody could hear him scream. The bastards."
"Right. And what they did was, they tied him to that big old desk. Remember the scrape marks? They dragged the desk over to the wall so they could stand on it to reach the gash in the wall. They went up there tippy-toe and dropped the pouch and the envelope inside. Then they dragged it back and tied Andy to it. Get this: fibers from the suit coat he was wearing were found on the floor. Likewise, the old oil and dirt on the floor match the smudges on his coat. No doubt about it then."
"Anything on the pouch or envelope?"
"Nothing. Pure blank."
"Then they'll keep looking."
"Think so?"
"Know so. Whatever the hell it is, they want it bad."
"You're right. Don't you see too how the evidence proves that the pouch and the packet didn't yield what they wanted? Because, see, if they moved the desk back from the wall to torture Andy, it was done after they discarded the pouch."
"Yeah… they tortured him hoping he could tell them where the thing was when it wasn't where it was supposed to be. After all, it was impossible to ask Johnny; he was dead."
"I told you so… I told you so," sang Brian as he swiveled in his chair, exhaling smoke. "Torture is performed for three reasons: revenge, information, or verification. They wanted information from Andy and the poor guy didn't have it."
"Who's that?" asked Joe.
"Brian, in the background."
"Put him on a sec."
After they talked. Brian and I chatted a little. I was hoping he'd get a call from a cruiser saying they'd snagged the blue Olds, but none came in. This bunch was tough and slippery. I didn't like it: I asked Brian how the bad guys didn't know that the object wasn't in the hands of the police, now that we'd recovered the pouch.
"They don't. They only know that Robinson had the item when he left the library, and that sometime between then and when he arrived home to meet his death it disappeared. Andy I must have told them that before he died. Therefore they're desperately concentrating their efforts to uncover every possibility within that time gap. And one of the leading figures in that gap, Doc, is you."