Weird Detectives (52 page)

The Case:
An FBI agent, with troubles of his own, needs help uncovering a treasonous leak of secrets to the Nazis. He calls on an old friend for assistance . . . and gets far more than he bargained for.

Investigator:
Jake Steuben, a former deputy sheriff whose family—including cousins Vic, Rosalie, and Olivia—is particularly talented and quite used to saving humankind
.

SWING SHIFT

Dana Cameron

Jake Steuben knew it would be easy to find Harry amid the crowd at North Station. All he had to do was find the highest density of pretty girls; his friend would be within fifteen feet.

Sure enough, there he was, ten feet away from a group of secretaries by the newsstand, watching as they chattered about the stars on the cover of
Life
. Jake picked up his valise and edged his way through the crowd. He leaned over and whispered into Harry’s ear.

“If you get into trouble and you can’t get out, it’ll be because of a girl.”

“There are worse reasons.” Harry startled, his morose stare gone, and stood up to shake Jake’s hand. “Train was on time. Any trouble?”

“What trouble would there be? It was crowded but quiet; I stood in the vestibule most of the way.”

Harry looked askance. “No doubt the conductor made you stand out there—that’s the ugliest hat I’ve seen in quite some time, my friend.”

Jake took off his hat to look at it fondly. It was a little shiny, stretched, and the brim needed reblocking. “It’s just getting broken in.”

They walked out of the train station, past drunken sailors staggering to Scollay Square, then a few blocks to the Boston Common.

Harry said, “How’s the wife?”

“Sophia is fine, thanks. How’s the war effort in Washingt—?”

“And the baby’s doing well?”

Jake couldn’t help smiling. “Cutting his first tooth, so he’s a handful. Say, Harry, what is it you—?”

“Good, glad to hear it. And everyone in Salem?”

Jake looked around. There was no one to overhear their conversation, so why did Harry keep interrupting? Politeness was all well and good, but he had come to Boston on the double. “Real good,” he said slowly. “Thanks for asking.”

They settled on a bench on the Common. The leaves on the trees were starting to turn, and would soon fall, but for now, the sun was warm and high.

Harry looked around carefully, then sighed. He shoved his hat back, mopped his forehead with his handkerchief. He sat forward, clapped his hands together, but didn’t say anything.

Jake had had enough of waiting. “So, what’s the problem you couldn’t wire me about?”

Harry shifted uneasily. “I got a case I can’t crack. It’s a doozy. You’ve got a knack for getting into the tough ones, seeing angles I don’t.”

“Tell me.” They’d worked occasionally as deputies for the Essex County sheriff until Harry started with the Bureau, and Jake inherited his family’s farm near Salem.

Harry hesitated. “It’s not easy. You know I deal with . . . government secrets.”

“Are you sure you should tell me, then?” Jake enjoyed the sun on his face. His feet ached inside his shoes. The grass of the Common looked inviting.

“It’s okay,” Harry said, a little impatiently. “I cleared it upstairs. And got you clearance, too.” He took a deep breath. “It’s one of the research facilities, over in Cambridge. There’s a bad leak. I can’t pin it down.”

“And what do you think I can do that the FBI can’t?”

“I . . . I think I’m too close to it. You’re outside.” Harry looked up. “Like I said, you see angles no one else would. Remember the Beverly Slasher, how you knew he was the guy who found the first body? I wouldn’t ask, but we got two strikes, two outs, bottom of the ninth. I don’t find a DiMaggio soon, it’s gonna be my fat in the fire.”

“Sure, Harry. You know, I’ll do whatever I can.”

“Thanks, Jake.” Harry smiled for the first time since Jake had gotten off the train, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “The security is tight enough, I’ve been watching for weeks. I just don’t know how the information is getting out.”

“What do you think’s going on? They’ve somehow learned to walk through walls? Use
magic
to whisk the secrets away?”

“Stop razzin’ me, Jake.” Harry shook his head, dead serious. “You know the Krauts are involved with some pretty unsavory investigations into the paranokermal and mystical. The trips to Tibet, the archaeology, their obsession with skulls . . . don’t even joke about it. My boss, Mr. Roundtree, has stories that would curl your hair.” Harry shuddered. “Nope, I’m hoping like heck it’s good old human sneakiness and greed. I want you to get in there, see what I’m not seeing.”

Harry pulled an envelope out of his jacket and handed it to Jake. “Your credentials, the location of a boardinghouse, description of your job. And a new name; we’re not going to suddenly introduce a new guy with a German name. No offense.”

Jake nodded. “Where will I be, and what will I be doing?”

“Janitor at a computational research lab. We want someone who will blend in, who no one will take too seriously. It’s all in the file.” He stood up, began to pace. “I should get going.”

Jake was surprised. He wondered when his friend last slept through the night, ate a square meal, or bathed: his aftershave was faintly, nauseatingly sweet. “Hey, wait a minute! What do you think will happen, someone will go ‘Psst, hey bud, want some government secrets?’ You’re gonna have to give me a few more—”

“Look, it’s all in the file!” Harry said. “Wise up! I called you in because I need help. I can’t sit around babysitting you; I got a job to do, an
important
job. There’s a war on.”

He mopped his face again. “Sorry, Jake. The pressure’s killing me. I’ll stop by your room in a couple of days. We can talk then. Okay?”

Harry stood and held out his hand. Jake stared at his friend, nodded slowly, and shook. He was genuinely worried now. His friend wasn’t telling him the entire truth.

“Yeah, sure. Don’t take any wooden nickels, Harry.”

Later that night, Jake sat on the quilt-covered bed in his rented room, reading the file. Harry was right. He’d covered all the bases—waste disposal, deliveries, repairs—and checked some less obvious ways. Harry was a good agent for the same reason he’d been a good deputy: he had a mind like a criminal, and though he went to extremes, he was thorough. Harry had already followed several of the potential suspects: the secretary who’d been complaining about the rationing complained about everything else. The technician who seemed to have an unlimited supply of gasoline for a car with an A sticker was found to be siphoning fuel from his brother’s trucking business. No one was obtaining the information any way he could see.

It was time to call in reinforcements, Jake decided. He went down to the drugstore and called his cousin Vic, arranging to meet him at the boardinghouse in two hours.

When Vic arrived, the cousins set out for a walk along the Charles River. Jake explained everything, not sparing the details. “I want you to follow up on what Harry started. You and Rosalie tail the employees, sniff around, see what you turn up. It can’t be magic that’s getting those secrets out.”

“Hey, there could be vampires,” Vic said. He waggled his fingers, widened his eyes. “Turning into mist and going under the doors.”

Jake shot his cousin a dirty look. “Stop clowning.” Then he began to worry that Vic might not be too far off the mark.

Vic nodded. “Okay, you want Rosie’s sister—you remember Olivia?—to cuddle up to anyone? She’s got a real knack for making men want to please her.”

Jake thought about it. Olivia might get Harry to reveal what he hadn’t told Jake. As badly as he wanted to know, he shook his head. “No, thanks. Best not to raise our profile, now of all times, if we can avoid it.”

After confirming their plans, Vic left for downtown, and Jake went about assuming his new identity.

Every day for two weeks, Jake—wearing Coke-bottle-bottom glasses and coveralls—swept, emptied the trash, and did odd jobs at the research facility. Even though he had access to almost everyone and everything, he still couldn’t figure out how the information was leaving the lab. Rosalie and Vic had no better luck.

After two weeks working the day shift, Jake switched to the swing shift. The second night, he was mopping up in the office area when he heard a hiss from the doorway to Section Sixteen.

“Psst! Hey, buddy!”

Half convinced Harry was playing a joke on him, he looked up from the bucket to see a stacked redhead in a white lab coat beckoning to him. He recognized her as one of the computers, the women who operated the large, impossibly complicated analytical machines that were behind the locked door.

He made a point of looking over his shoulder, turned back, and raised his eyebrows—surely
she
couldn’t mean
him
? She nodded vigorously, waved at him to hurry. He could barely believe his luck at this break. Supposedly, all the computers, mostly women, had the highest clearance, but maybe—

“Hey, I’m not trying to borrow money,” she whispered. “I just need someone with good, strong hands.”

Jake knew what she meant, but stayed in character. He backed away a step or two, holding his hands up. “Sister, I may be on the dumb end of the mop, but you move too fast for me.”

The redhead blushed six different shades of mortified. “I . . . I didn’t . . . I never . . . oh, golly, I just need you to help me fix something, and quick!”

“I’m not supposed to go in there,” Jake said. No sense appearing too eager. “I don’t have clearance.”

“I’ve hidden all the sensitive material,” she said, bouncing a little with impatience. “Unless you think a bearing that’s come out of a rotor is top secret. And you’re cleared to be
here
, right? I need to finish this set of calculations tonight, mister! Please?”

Jake shrugged. “You’re the boss.”

When he entered the long, wide room, the racket almost floored him. One side of the room were rows of shelves of electronics, bulbs and dials like ten thousand radios. The other side, a spaghetti mess of wires, all the way down the wall. The heat from the analytical machines was oppressive; a few curls stuck limply to the redhead’s cheek.

“It’s over here,” she said and handed him a screwdriver. “If you could get that bearing back on track, I’d owe you.”

Jake saw the problem right away. He grimaced; his hand was too big to fit comfortably, but she was right. All it took was brute strength to get the bearing reset. When it snapped into place, the woman’s face lit up.

“Oh, thanks a million! I’d just gotten the—well, I can’t really say. But if you hadn’t been there, a lot of hard preparation would have gone down the drain, and some of our boys would have been in a real jam.” Satisfied the machine was in order, she ushered Jake back to the administrative area.

The door safely shut behind her, she exhaled. “Phew! Thank goodness you were there. Those machines are so twitchy! Anyway, thanks.”

“My pleasure.” An idea blossomed. “Say, how do you manage when I’m not here?”

“Oh, I’m usually on the day shift. There’s a supervisor to help out then. And funny, they don’t think they need one after five o’clock. Sometimes the fireman on duty—you saw how hot it gets? Sometimes he helps me.” She stuck out her hand. “I’m Ginny.”

Jake shook her hand, being careful not to crush her delicate fingers. “Stuart.” He grinned. “Call me Stu.”

“Well, Stu, I’d be happy to buy you a cup of coffee. I’ve got a ten-minute break coming up.”

Good thing he’d hidden his wedding band under the lining of his bag at the boardinghouse. “Why, thanks, Ginny. That sounds fine.”

They drank the coffee, didn’t even miss the sugar. Ginny unwrapped a piece of newspaper, offered Jake a molasses cookie.

Sighing deeply, Jake said, “I sure am glad we met! What a treat.”

Suddenly shy, Ginny said, “I’m covering for my friend Ida. Her boyfriend got the night off. They went to see Duke Ellington at the Roseland. And tomorrow, they’ll see Sabby Lewis at Le Club Martinique.”

Jake perked up; he was a fan of jazz and the local bands. “The boyfriend’s either missing a leg, an eye, or is about a hundred and forty-seven.”

Ginny laughed. “It’s not that bad. He tried to sign up—three different recruitment stations—but they all caught on to his gimpy leg and marked him 4-F. But we can use every pair of hands we get. This place is always humming, always something new. Eddie—that’s the boyfriend—he’s the head of grounds services, here.” She smiled, compressing her lips hard together. “So many boys gone . . . if a gal gets the chance to go on a date, you help her out.”

There was such a wistfulness in her voice, Jake asked, “And your young man?”

“It shows, huh?” She nodded. “Italy. Or last I heard, two months ago.”

“That’s tough. War won’t last forever, though.” Jake thought a minute. “Ida and Eddie must get to take lunches, breaks, together, though. He helps her out with the, er, machinery in there?”

“Oh.” Ginny looked around, nervously. “That’s how they met, actually. And that’s why they keep it quiet. We’re supposed to be really strict about access.”

“Mum’s the word,” Jake said. He mimed turning a key in front of his lips, then throwing it away.

“But you and he couldn’t even be in this building if you didn’t check out, right?” she said, now obviously wondering whether she’d made a mistake. “And I’m usually pretty good at telling the good eggs from the bad.”

Jake believed her; he was good at reading people, too. He laughed. “I got more papers than a show dog, and to do what? Push a broom, wash windows. Even with these cheaters, I can barely see three feet in front of me. Nah, just be careful with everyone else.” He stood up. “Thanks for the coffee, Ginny.”

“Thanks for the company,” she replied. Then she winked. “And the help.”

Jake finished his shift, then went back to the boardinghouse. He had warmed-over dinner—meatloaf and green beans—for breakfast, went up to his room, took off his shoes, and stared at the peeling paint on the tin ceiling. After about an hour, he thought he had it pretty well figured out.