A matter of time

1975

Old Man Railsback was prancing like a kid in desperate need of a visit to the bathroom. Cash didn't ask why. He had arrived fifteen minutes early, trying to beat everyone in. But Hank had gotten there ahead of him anyway.

"Come on in here, Norm," the lieutenant called from his lair.

Cash entered on tiptoe, perpetually poised to flee.

"Sit down. And settle down. The shit ain't going to hit the fan just yet." He shoved the door closed. "Purely business."

"Well?"

"First, soon as Gardner comes through with a warrant, we start taking the Groloch place apart. Brick by brick. I got a feeling we're in for some surprises." He kept fingering the edges of something that looked like a very old, hand-drawn, extremely complicated circuit diagram.

"Huh? Why?"

"Well, I not only got idiots in my squad, I've got them in my family. After we left for the fire, the old man tossed the place."

"But…" He wanted to ask why he hadn't been told last night.

"Yeah. After I warned him. After what happened to the Kid. After all the time he spent on the force. But he has a mind of his own. And he wants to help, you know what I mean? To be useful, to impress the rest of us. This time it paid off." He rolled his chair back, opened a side drawer, tossed two large, stringbound bundles onto the desktop. "He thought these might be important. He's probably right, but not as right as he wants to be. A few more nails in her coffin, maybe."

One bundle consisted of gold notes. Twenties. Cash suspected he knew the amount without counting. The second bundle, far larger, was made up of old letters still in their original envelopes. There were more than a hundred.

"The counterfeit?" The bills looked fresh, despite their age. Even if they were real, only a bank would accept them.

He picked up a handful of envelopes after Hank cut the string with his nail clippers. The lieutenant admitted that he had been through them already. Hadn't the man slept at all?

"A nice collection of covers." They sketched eighty years of turbulent postal history clearly, beginning with envelopes franked with stamps of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, then stamps of Austria and Hungary overprinted Czeskoslovenka, several dozen regular Czech issues of the prewar period, and, on the last few envelopes, Sudetenland provisional and stamps of the German puppet-protectorate, Bohemia and Moravia. Scattered among the predominate PRAGA postmarks were several indicating that Miss Groloch's correspondent had on occasion wandered into Germany, Poland, Hungary, Austria, and Romania.

"Nothing since the war."

"Since before we got into it, really."

A December 17, 1940, postmark was the most recent. The envelope had been rubber-stamped with censor marks and numerous backstamps indicating the circuitous routing followed by mail coming out of the Greater German Reich. The St. Louis backstamp, indicating date received, was March 6, 1942.

Cash opened that one.

"Your old man can read German, can't he?"

"Yeah. Only these aren't in German. I seen enough when I was a kid to know that."

Cash looked again. "You're right. Czech? Or Slovak?"

Railsback shrugged. "Whatever they talk over there, I guess."

"There aren't any American letters."

"From what Dad told me about the place he found these, there might have been. He said it looked like somebody had taken another bundle out of there."

"She took them with her." Cash smiled. "Because she didn't want to give Rochester away. She's crafty all right. Except that I've already got the angle on her there. I already know."

"Which probably means there's nothing in these we can use. Maybe she even left them to distract us." Railsback tried to put a rubber band around the envelopes. It snapped, stinging him. He cursed. Next try he broke the pile into several bundles. "I'd have you check those bills with your friend the hood, only I want you checking the airport, bus station, and what not."

"She went to Rochester."

"Maybe. Check it. Use Beth if you want. Smith and Tucholski are tied up with this fire thing."

"Hank, I want to go up there."

"Where?"

"New York."

"You've got to be shitting me."

"I mean it. She's old. She'll go by train. I could take a plane and be there waiting for her."

"And then what?"

He hadn't thought about it. "I don't know. Maybe bluff her…"

"Aren't you a little scared? I mean, she's burned seven or eight guys already."

"No." He said it with surprise. "No. You know, I think the house made the difference. I feel like I've won just by getting her out of it."

"Yeah? Well, get on the road. I want to know how she left and where she went."

"I'm going up there, Hank. If I have to pay out of my own pocket."

"Yeah. Sure. Meantime, get on the job I just gave you."

Beth had arrived while they were closeted. Cash whispered with her for a minute, then turned to Old Man Railsback, who was grinning. "Bad as me, eh?"

The elder Railsback chuckled.

"You're not doing anything this morning, you can do me a couple favors."

"Such as?"

"Make it down to St. John Nepomuk Church, Twelfth and Lafayette, and see if the priest can put you on to anybody who could translate those letters for us. Then take one of those bills down to the Feds and see if it's kosher. Only one. We don't want them grabbing the whole damned pile yet."

"Okay. It's something to do."

Damned but it was going to be rough learning to do without John. He was going to have to do his own leg work.

Cash followed his railroad hunch and visited Union Station first. And yes, the ticket agent remembered the little old lady with the foreign accent. But he didn't remember where she had gone. The Amtrak ticket records-of course-were screwed up beyond hope.

"That's what you get when you let the government fuck around with things," Cash grumbled as he walked back to his car, a rail schedule in hand.

She had pulled out Thursday morning. Assuming the usual foul-ups and delays, a plane should get him into Rochester well ahead of her.

He paused to call Beth. "Norm. Yeah. I was right. She took the train. No. Hold off telling him. I'm going to slide home and talk it over with Annie. And I've still got to tell John's wife. You make my reservation? Good girl. Talk to you later."

"You get suspended?" Annie demanded when he popped in. She had been watching Tran, who was to work the evening shift today, engage his elder son in a game of chess.

"No. I just snuck away. Wanted to tell you that I've got to go to New York."

"New York? When?"

"Tonight."

"What the hell for?"

"Because that's where Miss Groloch went. She took the Amtrak. I'm going to be in Rochester waiting when she gets there."

Annie's eyes narrowed suspiciously. Her mouth tightened into a severe little red scar. "This Hank's idea?"

"No."

"I didn't think so. Are you nuts? Just have the Rochester police pick her up."

"I know. I could. But I can't. It's something I've got to do. I don't know why. Call it an intuition."

"I'll call it what it is. It's a damned fool obsession is what, Norman."

"Look, dammit, that witch probably killed John. John Harald. Remember him? Michael's best friend? And it looks like she'll get away with it, just like all the others. Into her house and good-bye world."

"Calm down, Norm."

"No. I won't. I'm pissed. At me, at her, at a damned system that can't keep her from doing it again, at everything. John was my friend, Annie. The least I can do is save Carrie from having to go through the same shit as Nancy."

"Come on. Be reasonable. You can't go roaring off up there like some Wild West bounty hunter. They only do things that way in Clint Eastwood movies."

"I know. I know. Beth's making arrangements through Frank Segasture. The guy I met during the FBI course back when. You remember. We went clubbing with him and his wife after we graduated. The one who always talked about his uncle in Miami. I've got it all worked out."

"I'll bet. You're always jumping in without looking."

"I just wanted to tell you so you could get my things together: clothes; traveler's checks; my checkbook; some cash…"

"You've got it all worked out. Sure. Sometimes you're worse than a ten-year-old."

Oh, she sounds bitter, Cash thought.

"You bothered to tell Carrie yet? That's your job, you know."

"I haven't. Not yet."

"What about his girl friend?"

"Huh? What girl friend?"

"Don't be coy with me, Norman. I can still figure things out for myself sometimes."

"Yeah. Well."

" 'Yeah. Well.' We'll talk about it sometime. Right now you'd just better get back to work and forget about going anywhere."

The phone rang. Annie turned to answer it.

Cash headed for the door. This battle he would fight later, when the odds were better.

Tran followed him.

"Sergeant?"

"Uhm?"

"I wanted to tell you that I understand. About your need to go to this place Rochester. I'll try to explain if you like. And will go with you if you wish."

"What? Oh. Thanks. Don't bother. Nothing gets through when she's in that mood." He paused. Their eyes met.

Tran smiled. "I would pay my own way. I'm not destitute, just without possessions."

Yes, Cash thought. Like many of his compatriots, Tran had managed to bring some gold out. No great fortune, but a fair stake for the new life.

"Why?"

"Call it curiosity. This woman intrigues me. Your wife allowed me to read the papers you have here."

"She did, eh?" Cash shrugged. "You'd be wasting time and money. Annie's probably right. The whole idea is crazy."

"I don't think so. There are so many strange facets to the case. The denouement is sure to be interesting. And unexpected. I would like to be there when the pieces finally fall together."

"What about Le Quyen?"

"She will understand. She knows me. I won't be surprised if she packs for me without my saying a word."

"Norm, you'd better take this," Annie shouted from inside.

"Can't stop you from coming. You want to throw your money away, too, I'll be glad to have you. Folly loves company as much as misery does."

"Norman!"

"I'm coming. Who is it?"

"That flaky nun. She's been trying to track you down. I can't make any sense out of what she's saying. Something about teeth and the body wasn't her brother after all."

Cash took the receiver. "Sister? Sergeant Cash."

"Sergeant, it just came to me when Sister Magdalena said she had to go to the dentist because she had a toothache."

"What?"

"That dead man wasn't Jack. I know that now. What should I do?"

"Easy now. What made you change your mind? You were so sure…"

"I know. I was positive. Till I thought about teeth. I just remembered when Sister Magdalena said that. The dead man had perfect teeth."

"Yes?"

"Jack's were terrible. He had toothaches all the time. Lots of cavities. He always smelled like cloves. But he wouldn't go to a dentist."

Cash felt no elation. He no longer much cared about O'Brien. He was preoccupied with John and Miss Groloch.

"Thank you, Sister. My lieutenant will be glad to hear this. It's the kind of proof he's been wanting."

"But what should I do?"

"About what?"

"That man. I paid for his funeral. I had to borrow from the convent."

He didn't think there was anything she could do. She had claimed the body. "Let me ask some people who might know. I'll call you back as soon as I know anything."

Hanging up, he announced to no one in particular, "Back to square one. We don't know who the dead guy is anymore. Shit."

"Norman!"

"Get off my back, will you?"

Annie backed away. Cash seldom lost control. She didn't know what he would do.

"I'm going back to the station. I want my stuff packed when I get home."

He knew it would be ready. And he knew there would be a battle royal all the way to the airport. He left without another word.

Tran joined him. Cash said nothing, just waited while the man fastened his seat belt.

Beth raised an eyebrow when they marched in.

"Volunteer," Cash explained.

"Norm?" Railsback called.

"Yeah. What?"

"Want to come here a minute? Ah. Hello, Major. You get anything, Norm?"

"Like I said, she took the train."

"Where to?"

"The ticket records were screwed up."

"That figures. Let the government run something… I got about seventy leagues of legwork for you. We came up with something interesting from that fire."

"Fire? Shit. Let Smith and Tucholski handle it. I've got my own case."

"Looks like the same one now."

"What?" Cash slumped into the one extra chair.

"The coroner's office was on the horn while you were gone. They were raising hell about us trying to run the same corpse through twice."

"Huh?"

"One of those four bodies was in halfway human shape. The coroner claims it's the guy we already had so much fun with: O'Brien."

"Can't be. I was there when they planted him. I even got a look at him in the casket before they put him down."

"I know. And you're going to make sure nobody dug him up again. And then you're going to run down this list and find out how and why your doctor friend was spending so much money."

Cash accepted a wrinkled sheet of typing paper covered with tiny, difficult handwriting. Business names with dollar amounts beside them. Large dollar amounts.

"Looks like he had money up the yang-yang," Railsback observed.

"Yeah. I figured he had some. He had to be able to afford some of those stamps. But not where he could lay out a hundred grand in one chunk…Where'd you get this?"

"Some kid found it in the parkway. Must've blown out during the fire somehow. Kid tried to give it to Tucholski. Thought it might be important, on account of the numbers were so big. Tucholski did like he always does when the peasants get in the act. So Smith took it so the kid's feelings wouldn't be hurt. He got to thinking it might give us a clue after he looked it over."

"There's a pattern, I think. The places I know here all sell hospital stuff."

"That's what Smith thought. But what about the others? Can't figure out who half of them are."

Beth leaned in. "I just talked to Smitty. He's been digging around in the garage behind that place that burned down."

"So?"

"He found this thing he says would look like a zeppelin if you blew it up."

"A zeppelin? What the hell does that have to do with anything?"

"You're the lieutenant. I guess he figured you'd know what he was talking about. He didn't tell me."

"I know," Cash declared.

"So spill it," Railsback grumbled.

"Oh, no. It's so simple it's beautiful. So simple we never thought of it. You figure it out for yourself. When you do, you'll have a big chunk of the original puzzle." He slipped the list into a shirt pocket that still felt empty without its pack of cigarettes. "I'm on my way to the cemetery."

"Bastard."

"Not anymore. Mom and Dad got married last week."

Tran followed Cash. In the parking lot he asked, "It was a zeppelin?"

"Or something enough like one to make no difference."

"One rational explanation, then. Perhaps more will follow."

"I hope."

The grave hadn't been disturbed.

"Well, I expected it. This thing always seems to take the least likely alternative," Cash grumbled. "One mystery solved, so we get a bigger one."

He began his rounds of the identifiable businesses on the list.

Again and again people made him wait. Once, for an hour. The records, where they existed at all, were buried deeply.

Smiley had made the most of his purchases during the period 1957-1964.

Yet the noted pattern proved out. Medical supplies, advanced surgical equipment, life-support systems, big stuff, expensive.

"What the hell does a retired doctor do with an electron microscope in his basement?" Cash asked at one point.

Tran could suggest no reasonable answer. The saleswoman just looked blank.

Yet Cash began to suspect something underneath, began to catch whiffs of the spoor of a quarry that was a shaggy old beast his detective's nose just couldn't identify. Vague sketches of its silhouette formed and unformed in the cutting rooms of his mind. Something Annie had talked about? Something from an article he had read? The harder he chased it, the more easily it eluded him. This was going to be like foxhunting without hounds. The only way he was going to catch it was come stumbling over it accidentally, when he was looking for something else.

But he couldn't ignore it. It lured him on, capturing his imagination the way that one special perfume does when worn by the right woman.

It was getting near shift's end when they returned to the station. They ran into Hank outside.

"Got any thing?" Railsback asked.

"Nothing to take to court. I don't think. Just about every outfit I could track down sold him stuff that had to do with medicine, surgery, biochemical research, like that. Except this tent and awning company. That must have been the balloon. And this electronics supply outfit. The entry there has to be a long-term sum. They didn't keep records, but the guy knew Smiley when I described him. Said he's been coming in for twenty years. But he didn't know what Smiley was up to. Thought he was some kind of crackpot inventor trying to build a perpetual motion machine or something."

"Yeah," Railsback grunted. "Smith has a nut theory… Tucholski found out from Arson that they think the guy torched the place himself. He bought gas and gas cans right there at that station by your place. Meaning he didn't give a damn if we found out. Meaning getting whatever got burned up burned was more important than having us after his ass for arson."

"Hard to burn a body bad enough so nobody'll know it was one."

"I've been thinking about that. A doctor would know that, wouldn't he? Wouldn't that mean he was trying to cover up on something else? Anyway, we got some more on the bodies. Except for age, they could all be the same guy."

"No." That nagging scent again, that glimpse of the shaggy beast rustling the brush in the distance.

"Everything says so. A fingerprint, teeth, bones… None of them guys ever broke a bone."

"Teeth. That reminds me. I talked to that nun this morning. She called me. She said she just realized that the dead man couldn't be her brother after all, because her brother had rotten teeth. The dead man's were perfect."

"They all have perfect teeth. That's got the coroner's office wondering too. Four guys, all alike, and none of them ever had a cavity."

"Maybe they were brothers. Maybe it's heredity. I knew a guy in the army… Look, you think there's any way Sister Mary Joseph can get her money back from the city?"

"For what?"

"For burying the wrong man."

"Shit, Norm."

"I didn't think so."

"She shouldn't have claimed him. She should've known better. It's her own fault."

"Okay. You don't have to get hostile."

"I'm heading for the Rite-Way. You want anything?"

"I'll grab something when I get home."

"Home? Who's going to have time to go home? We're staying on this till-"

“But I've got to catch a plane.”

"Yeah?" Railsback turned and trotted into the street, dodging the afternoon traffic.

Cash watched, temper rising. Who the hell did Hank think he was shoving around?… He stamped into the station.

"What's the word, Beth?"

"Your wife called. She said to remind you to go see Carrie Harald. Hello, Major."

"Ah, shit. I keep forgetting. Now I'm going to be late to the airport. She's going to carry on all night, and make me feel like shit every time I try to leave."

"Wasn't going to be any trip anyway."

"What?"

"Hank made me cancel it."

"He what?" He was shouting. "Sorry. The son of a bitch."

"He made me do it. Made it an order."

"Annie have anything to do with it?"

"I don't know."

She was lying. He could tell.

"I'm getting goddamned tired of people deciding things for me. It's been a long time since me and Hank had a knockdown drag-out."

"Better be careful. He can have your badge any time he wants. Anyway, I made new reservations for Sunday. At four-twelve in the morning. I'm sorry. That was the best I could do."

His anger weakened. "Okay. Thanks. At least I've got you on my side. What's been going on?"

"He's got a whole mob of volunteers coming in. He isn't fooling around. He's out for blood."

Old Man Railsback came in. He looked dead on his feet.

"Sergeant," said Tran, "I have to go. Since we're not going to Rochester, I'd better go to work."

"Sure. Give me a couple minutes, then I'll run you out."

"No need. I'll call a cab. You have too much to do here."

Cash felt obligated to argue, but couldn't work up much fight. He had too much on his mind. He forgot Tran the moment the door closed behind the man.

Norm wheeled on Old Man Railsback. "What have you got?"

The man heaved a sigh, opened one eyelid. "You were right. The money was homemade. The priest says he'll dig up somebody to read the letters. They are in Czech. And the house looks clean. So far."

"House?"

"Henry's got me over there as ramrod emeritus. We ain't found much, except that she was awful interested in doctoring. There're medical books and journals tucked away all over the place. They go back a long time."

"More medicine? That the connection with Smiley?"

"Got me. I've got the feeling the answer's there, though. If we recognize it when we run into it. I guess with fifteen, twenty experts tearing the place apart, somebody is bound to."

"Hank's pushing awful hard, isn't he?"

"Can't blame him, can you?"

"Guess not. Beth, can you get me the Post classified department? Ask for Teri Middleton. And tell Nosey Parker it's police business."

"Right."

As she dialed, Cash added, "When you get a minute, hon, see if you can add another reservation to mine. Major Tran wants to go with me."

For an instant she looked shattered.

What the hell? he thought.

Lieutenant Railsback backed through the door, arms full. "Dinner on the boss," he announced, dumping his load atop Beth's work. "Got at least one of everything here. Grab whatever you want. How'd it go, Dad?"

"Not much yet. But we haven't really gotten going."

Beth offered Cash a phone as he was about to jump Hank for having messed with his reservations.

"Teri? Sergeant Cash again. I know you haven't seen him. Look, can I see you after you get off? Yeah. It's important. No. No problem. My lips are sealed, as they say. Okay. I'll pick you up then."

In the background, Hank was telling Beth, "You'd better go home, Tavares. Get a good night's sleep. I want you to come in tomorrow, and it might be a long day."

"I want to go with Norm to see John's wife. It'd help to have a woman there."

"Suit yourself." Railsback was too preoccupied to growl about being contradicted. "Dad, I don't like it when my people get shit on."

Cash hung up, grabbed something from the food heap, slipped into his own cubicle to ponder how best to break the news to Carrie and Teri.

"Henry, you can't drop everything because John disappeared." To Cash this sounded like the resumption of an interrupted argument. "You know there's a chance he just took off because he's having trouble with his wife."

That old man sees and hears a lot, Cash thought. And it's hard to tell what he knows. He just sits there like he's sleeping, and never says anything.

"You said that before. And you told me about the girl, too. And she ain't got nothing to do with it. You heard Norm talking to her."

"Maybe. And maybe she lied."

Cash took a savage bite from a cheeseburger. Suddenly, everybody seemed to know everything about everybody else's business. What do they have on me? he wondered.

Just thinking about it made him feel naked.

"Look," Railsback continued, "I ride these guys like a bronc-buster. And they put up with it because we get results. That makes me feel like I've got obligations to them. I've got responsibilities."

His father chuckled. "And that's why the captain calls you The Prussian. You think these are the Middle Ages? Noblesse oblige, and all that? One of your tenants is in trouble, so you drop the king's business while you save his ass? John's past saving, Henry. He's just another piece of the king's business now."

"Who taught me?"

"Touchй. But I'm just a burned-out old has-been. You ought to know better."

"Pop, I can't call it off now. We've come to the narrow passage. We can't turn back."

"I know. And I'm proud of you. But somebody has to play Jiminy Cricket around here."

"And somebody has to do the tilting at windmills. Norm can't carry that load by himself anymore."

"I just want you shouldn't forget what happened when Pandora opened that box."

"Sure. There's going to be a stink. Bleeding hearts up the yang-yang. The inspector's office on us like a snake on shit. Well, I'll give them something to sink their teeth into. I just hope those guys who make careers out of handcuffing us get an idea how hard they make it for us to protect them."

"They won't even see it."

"Yeah. I know."

Poor Hank, Cash thought. His city, his empire, is under siege. He's just like poor old Belisarius, rushing hither and yon in a frenetic, foredoomed effort to beat off the barbarians. And he doesn't doubt for a minute that his Justinian, the public, will reward him as kindly for his faithful service.

The Emperor had had Belisarius's eyes put out and had left him to beg at Constantinople's gates.

And John and I, his centurions, have been wasting ourselves for months, chasing Miss Groloch. What harm could one little old lady have done the general welfare? If we had left her alone, John would be here now…

We just had to keep on till it caught up with us, didn't we?

"What do you think really happened to the Kid, Pop?"

"The truth? I think he's dead."

"Why?"

"Because he wasn't the first. Otherwise, I'd put my chips on the girl friend."

The phone rang. A moment later Beth announced, "Sergeant Kurland says there's a man from the government on his way up here."

"What kind? "Hank asked.

"He didn't say. Except he wants to talk about Dr. Smiley. And he doesn't look like he's from the FBI."

"Shit, what're we into now?"

"No imagination, that man," Harald had said of his boss. But he had been wrong. Dead wrong.

Henry Railsback's problem, in Cash's opinion, was a surfeit, not a paucity, of imagination. Norm had been acquainted with the man since high school, when Hank had come in with one of the police public relations teams. Norm had expressed an interest in getting into police work. Hank had taken him around on a few of his patrols.

Cash knew things he had never told John.

Hank's hadn't been a happy youth. His mother had been a violent alcoholic. His father, so much like the man he himself had become, had been too timid to spend much time in the bitter trenches of the home front.

It had taken the death of Abigail Railsback, in a wrong-way auto crash, to bring father and son together, watering a grave with tears, raising a late-blooming relationship.

The boy Henry, even as a young officer, had hidden in the worlds of comic books, pulp magazines, serial movies, and daydreams. He had gone adventuring across landscapes of illusion because, for him, reality was a colorless desert. By taking to wife the first woman willing he had firmly established a marriage that soon had become a Sahara of misery.

He had dreamed great dreams then, had Henry Railsback, and within his mind he still conquered nations and continents, pitched no-hitters, outdrew the fastest guns… Though now he now longer possessed a shred of hope that such things could come to be. Time pulled down hopes and optimisms like wolves coursing round the flanks of the herd.

And in real life he seldom risked his precious self by testing the limits of his competence. He feared it would not measure up even to his low expectations.

Cash knew, and understood. Because Hank's story was not much different from his own. Just longer and a little more up and down.

In externals Hank had learned to cope by becoming an arch-conservative, a champion of null-change, a messiah of don't-rock-the-boat.

He didn't want challenges. He was afraid he couldn't handle them.

But he could face them when he had to, or when he became angry enough.

He was angry enough now. Harald's disappearance had set him to flailing out in every conceivable direction, to calling in favors due, to pursuing every theory, no matter how much it might pain his prejudices and preconceptions.

It was, in great part, an overresponse to years of frustration.

The "government man" arrived, after having wandered half the station in search of the Homicide office.

XXIV. On the X Axis;