“How so?”
Doolittle’s fedora sat two inches taller than Boggs’s. From what Boggs had heard, most FBI agents were in fact desk men, glorified attorneys despite the Hollywood image of intrepid derring-do, but this fellow looked like someone you’d want on your side when you had to knock down a door. “How do you fellows get along with the white cops?”
“We keep to our territory, and they’re supposed to keep to theirs.”
Doolittle grinned. “You have a lot of territory for ten men.”
At least he hadn’t said boys. “We manage.”
“I’ll bet. You ever bump up against a white cop named Gene Slater?”
He’d turned to face Boggs when he asked this. They were waiting at the Five Points intersection now, where a streetcar had inexplicably stopped in the center of the street and was now enduring the wrath of horns in all directions.
“Not personally, but I know who Slater is.” No need to say more. Boggs knew that white people had little tolerance for criticism of other white people—even someone they loathed—if it came from a Negro.
“Isaiah Tanner was the ringleader of a smuggling operation that had been running for at least two years before we shut it down. And when I say ringleader I mean he was the head Negro, operating with the tacit permission of the Atlanta police and possibly some Atlanta businessmen. He and his accessories, including his younger brother, had legitimate jobs at the rail yards, and they used their access to take what they wanted. With all the rail lines coming into Atlanta, this city is as good a smuggling hub as any landlocked city could possibly be.”
The streetcar finally moved, and they crossed the street.
“They started stealing from cars headed to army camps. Normally, I could care less about small-time crime like that. But we were tasked with protecting and enforcing the law at all factories, plants, ports, and rail yards that were associated with the war effort, and that made it our job to shut down little scammers like the Tanners.”
“APD made the first arrests and then called you in, right?”
Doolittle laughed. “No. I don’t think APD had much incentive to do that. They were getting a cut from the smugglers and looking the other way. Until we came in. I personally made the first arrest, of Isaiah Tanner’s best friend. But not such close friends that he didn’t spill that first night, telling us everything about their operation—everything except the name of the officer who kept it in business. He claimed that only Isaiah knew that.”
The APD file had claimed that Slater had made the first arrests. Doolittle didn’t seem to be lying, so the files were wrong. Boggs had long known that paperwork left behind by white cops was as dishonest as the men themselves, but still the experience was frustrating, like constantly being handed maps to streets that didn’t exist.
“We moved quickly to arrest everyone else, including Jeremiah, who wasn’t even eighteen at the time. He’d lied about his age to get the job. We couldn’t find Isaiah, though; he seemed to have vanished for a couple days. And then we found him, in the backseat of a Ford parked in an alley in Darktown, shot three times in the chest.”
“Shot in the Ford or dumped there?”
“Dumped there, with a blanket covering the corpse. Probably killed two days earlier. The car was registered to a deaf old Negro lady who lived two blocks from the Tanners. She’d never seen the Ford in her life.”
They stopped at the next intersection. Above them, billboard pasters were applying a new Coca-Cola ad on top of an older Coca-Cola ad. Boggs asked, “Would you mind if I looked at your files?”
“You still haven’t told me why you want to know any of this.”
“Jeremiah Tanner just got out of Reidsville and he’s already caused some trouble. We want to know who we’re dealing with. And I was wondering if there was any chance that he killed Isaiah.”
Doolittle shook his head. “I don’t see it. From what I could tell, Isaiah was in charge and Jeremiah was his loyal assistant, who wouldn’t have dreamed of hurting his big brother. I honestly liked him; he was this meek, scripture-quoting kid, far from the surly type. APD tried to get him to confess to the murder—and I mean they really tried,” and in those three syllables Boggs glimpsed the shadows of batons, rubber hoses, brass knuckles, “but I personally put a stop to that. Besides, they had no evidence.”
Boggs wasn’t sure if he should feel relieved or disappointed.
“So who did you like for Isaiah’s murder?”
Doolittle grinned. “Here we are, federal agents trying to close down a threat to army supply lines, a smuggling operation that we had every reason to believe was sanctioned by Atlanta police, and right then is when Isaiah gets himself killed? Far be it from me to impugn the reputation of an Atlanta policeman, but doesn’t it sound to you like maybe one of your fellow officers killed Isaiah to keep him from talking?”
He never thought of the white cops as his fellow officers. “Of course it does,” Boggs said.
In fact, it was exactly like what had happened to Thunder Malley. A dirty cop helps protect a smuggling racket, and when an outside force—the FBI in ’45, Negro cops today—moves to stop it, the Negro atop the chain is killed before he can inform on the corrupt cop.
“I’d love to see those files,” Boggs said as they stopped in front of an office building.
“I’ll see what I can do.” Which seemed to be his polite, WASP way of saying, No.
“Did you look into Slater?”
“Again, it was our charge to defend America’s war-industry rail yards against all sabotage, including theft. We did that. Drawing up a sting to root out corrupt municipal police wasn’t on the table.” He put his hands in his pockets, perhaps embarrassed to admit the G-men’s inaction.
“Were any women involved? Did you ever talk to someone named Julie Cannon?”
“None were charged, no. We interviewed some relatives, but I don’t recall that name.” Doolittle paused. “So tell me, what did your sergeant say when you asked him about the case?”
“I haven’t asked him yet.”
Doolittle watched Boggs for a moment, and Boggs wondered if he’d made himself look amateurish with that admission. “Probably a good idea not to.”
“Why is that?”
Doolittle smiled. “He was Slater’s partner.”
29
JULIE WAS READYING for bed when the phone rang.
“I’m sorry I yelled at you,” Lucius said.
They hadn’t spoken in days. That wasn’t so unusual, as their incompatible work schedules made even brief phone calls a challenge during the week. But this particular silence had felt all the more chilled given their last talk, her admissions to him, his storming off afterward. “I know I didn’t handle that as well as I could have.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you the truth,” she said.
Silence for a few seconds. “I just wanted you to know, we’re going to keep our eyes out for him, and we’ll keep our eyes on your place. Another officer, Champ Jennings, is going to drop by later to get an additional statement from you.”
“Why?”
“It’s standard. We need a report that this man has been hassling you, and that can justify certain things on our part.”
“What are you . . . ?”
“I thought you wanted us to protect you and Sage.”
Us. That word had never seemed so distant, so exclusionary. As though he were calling on behalf of the Atlanta Police Department, not himself. “I don’t think he wants to harm us, Lucius. He wants . . . He wants to turn back the clock.”
“Just answer Officer Jennings’s questions when he comes and we’ll take care of the rest.”
“Okay.”
“Julie. You neglected to mention that Jeremiah’s brother was killed.”
What to say?
“And that it was never solved. I asked you specifically if you thought Jeremiah was violent, and you said no. Do you think there’s any chance he did it?”
“No. No cha
nce. He never, ever would have done that.”
“Why didn’t you at least tell me?”
So the conversation had begun with him apologizing, but the focus again was on all that she had done wrong. That she’d grown used to this didn’t make it any more pleasant.
“Everyone says the cops did it. They tried to pin it on Jeremiah.”
“So that’s the new complete truth, as of this evening. What’s the new complete truth going to be tomorrow?”
She sighed. “Jeremiah made some bad decisions. When we started seeing each other, he had a job at the rail yards. He had money, but not so much that I thought he was mixed up in anything bad.” She remembered their Christmas together. He’d actually bought her a dress. Who bought his girlfriend a dress? But he’d had two sisters, and the money, so apparently they’d all gone to one of the downtown department stores. Yellow cotton with short sleeves, lace trim on the collar and hem, not right for the season at all, and dressier than anything she’d ever owned, but she wore it as many times as she could the next spring, until he was arrested.
She went on, “First he told me how his brother and some friends were stealing from trains, but he wasn’t. I told him to stay out of it, told him theft is theft. He had a decent job and should be happy with that. He told me he wouldn’t get involved.”
“So what happened?”
“He went along with his brother, I guess. One day I’m at Jeremiah and Isaiah’s place and they have some friends over telling stories, and I put one and one together. I mean, Lucius, I was seventeen. I wasn’t going to jump up and confront him in front of all those people. But later, when we had a chance to talk alone, I told him I was upset. Told him I might not even want to see him if he kept up with that. I didn’t want to be with a criminal.”
“What did he say?”
“He apologized. Said he’d back out, but he wasn’t sure how. He couldn’t afford to leave his job, and he felt . . . beholden to his brother. And intimidated by him.”
“So when did you . . . find out about Sage?”
He could be so awkward sometimes. “I didn’t know for sure that I was in the family way ’til he’d been arrested.”
He seemed to think about something for a moment. “Did you ever meet a white man, a police officer, named Slater? Or McInnis?”
“Meet a white cop? No.”
“Did Jeremiah ever talk about them having help from the police? A cop at the top of the pyramid, calling the shots or keeping them from being arrested?”
She sighed. “I didn’t ask for details about what they were doing—I didn’t want to know. You’re making me feel like I’m being interrogated all over again.”
“Police questioned you?”
“Yeah.” He was infinitely more polite and gentle than the cracker cops who’d terrified her back then, who’d made jokes about Jeremiah, who’d grabbed her ass when they’d escorted her into their dimly lit room and had given her every indication that they’d take advantage of her sexually if she didn’t cooperate. She remembered those two cops quite well, not their names but certainly their faces, and it wasn’t until an older cop had shown up that the two dropped the suggestiveness and stuck to the facts, though they remained plenty hostile. “They asked what you’re asking, and I told them I had no idea.”
“I’m sorry, I just . . .” He sighed. “I have to handle so much, Julie. I can’t handle all the lies on top of it.”
“Sometimes people lie because they have good reasons for it.” She didn’t want to rehash this, didn’t even want to remember it. It wasn’t a part of her anymore. That was one of the many reasons she was with Lucius, so that time in her life could officially be over. Yet he seemed to enjoy reminding her of all her mistakes.
“I’m sorry you went through that. It must have been hard.”
He had no idea, Julie thought. To have your own man put away like that, and you can visit him but on the other side of bars, can’t even hug him, and you have to listen to all the guards’ comments when you see him, such disgusting things you decide you can’t go back there again. So you feel guilty for not seeing him. This was all before the trial—she never dared visit him once he was convicted. Lucius didn’t know what it was like for everyone to say the people you love are mixed up in that, that they’re dirty criminals, and you probably are, too. He didn’t know what it was like to lose a job or cause your family to get thrown out of an apartment because no one likes to see an unmarried girl who’s expecting. Come home one day and all your things are on the sidewalk, not even in boxes, just tossed there, and your daddy’s pleading with a stranger and Mama’s crying and there’s nothing you can do. He didn’t know what it was like for most of your friends to turn their backs on you.
She said, “I’m sorry, too. Look, I can’t promise to let you in my head all the time. Sometimes there are bad things in there.”
“I thought I was clear that I loved the whole you. Whatever else you’re carrying inside.”
Perhaps she was overthinking, but why had he said loved instead of love? “I guess I was afraid to put that to the test,” she said.
“Well . . . life has a way of testing us anyway. Look, I need to go. Good night.”
And that was it. No love you, no explanation about what this meant for them, whether there even still was a “them.” She had no idea who they were to each other anymore. She knew only that it was late and she was alone.
“I’ve got a problem with Julie,” Boggs finally told Smith, unable to keep it inside any longer.
“You’d best get used to that, once you’re married. Can’t walk away from those problems no more.”
That’s how easy it must be for his partner, Boggs realized. Win a woman, take what you want, enjoy it for as long as it goes, and, once she’s “a problem,” drop her for the next one.
Smith’s response almost made him reconsider saying any more. Yet he told his partner what he’d learned: about Jeremiah, about his criminal past and involvement with schemes overseen by Sergeant Slater, about all Julie’s lies.
“I don’t know what to do. My father nearly disowned me for proposing to her. Thinks I’m crazy to ‘trade down’ like this. If he finds out Sage’s father is back in town . . .” He shook his head. “She’s humiliated me, Tommy. I don’t think I can just let that go.”
“A man needs an audience to be humiliated. She laughing at you?”
“Of course not.”
“Anyone else know?”
“Not yet, but if the father stays on the scene, it’s only a matter of time.”
“Then you need him escorted off the scene.”
“You mean, arrest him again? For nothing?”
“If he’s threatened her, we can get him for that, right?”
Boggs couldn’t tell if he was being indecisive and weak to equivocate like this. But it felt wrong to use their position this way. It wouldn’t solve any problem other than Jeremiah’s physical presence, when the problem felt so much larger to him.
Smith said, “You’re overthinking. As usual.”
“I’m wondering if this is a sign. That our whole relationship’s been a mistake. That I was a fool to let it go this long, and Jeremiah showing up like this is a second chance God is giving me to make right, just in time.”
“Well, that’s different, then. I was going off the assumption you cared for her.”
He felt that like a slap. “I do. But that’s not the point.”
“Then what the hell is the point? What are we talking about? You don’t care for her, you leave her. Let her get with that other follow. What’s the problem?”
The problem was whether he could ever trust her again. She was giving him every sign that she was bad news, hardly a woman to marry. Was marital strife inevitable with a woman like that? As much as he loved her, and cared for Sage, didn’t he need to walk away from her, to spare himself—and them—further harm down the road? Or was he being too proud and unforgiving, too much his father’s son?
None of
that entered Smith’s thinking, apparently. Boggs shook his head, marveling at his partner’s straightforwardness. “Things are so simple for you, aren’t they?”
Smith’s chin dropped. “Yes, suh, things is mighty simple with me. Not as complicated as you high-rollin’ Negroes, suh.”
“I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Then how did you mean it? I don’t come from your home-owning family with all those big expectations on your shoulders? I don’t have a reverend father to disown me for marrying a maid? You got any idea how many maids I’ve known?” A cocky grunt. “In the biblical sense?”
“I didn’t mean to insult you, all right? I’m sorry. I figured you’ve been in all kinds of messes with women and would have some advice.”
“I can’t tell you how to feel, man. But if I loved a girl, and another man tried to get in on the scene?” Another grunt. “I would remove that problem right quick.”
Boggs looked into his partner’s eyes, trying to sift through the layers of meaning there, which was difficult when the look in those eyes was so hard, so definitive. He wondered what he could do, what he was capable of, reeling at the array of possibilities he’d never before considered.
“There’s a few other things,” Boggs said. He explained how the FBI file, a copy of which Doolittle had indeed sent over, listed Lester Feck as a past associate of Isaiah Tanner. Feck had once worked at the rail yards with Isaiah; the feds believed he may have once been a part of the smuggling ring and had even questioned him when they made the other arrests, but by that point Feck had had a falling-out with the Tanners and bought his club. Feck, whose nightclub Smith seemed to frequent, hadn’t given them any dirt on Isaiah, and they’d never had enough evidence to arrest him for what he may have done in the past.
And Boggs explained how McInnis had once been partners with Slater, the crooked officer who’d been involved with the smugglers.
“I don’t . . . I can’t see it,” Smith said. “McInnis is clean. He’s never struck me as the type to take bribes; he even led that anticorruption thing awhile back.”
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