He had dinner in the hotel dining room, a thick steak with all the trimmings. The tables were covered with good white tablecloths, and the silverware was old, but kept clean. The room served the locals as well as the guests. Some of them were regulars there. He could tell by the way they looked at him, wondering who he was. In turn, he did not wonder who they were. He was satisfied that he could see them. He sat so he could see everyone in the room, knew where they all were. And he could tell who was armed, and who was not.
After dinner he went to the front desk and said he wanted to send a telegram.
“Our telegraph key opens at eight in the morning, sir,” the clerk said.
“That’s fine,” Roper said. “I can write it out now, and you can send it first thing.”
“Yes, sir, we can do that.”
The clerk supplied Roper with a pencil and paper, and the detective wrote out a brief telegram.
The clerk read it and said, “Sir, you’re sending this telegram right—”
“Yes,” Roper said, cutting him off, “right here in town. I should get a quicker response that way, don’t you think?”
“Well…yes, sir.”
“Fine,” Roper said. “Send it. If a reply comes in before I come down to breakfast, have it brought to my room.”
“Yes, sir.”
Roper went to his room, read some more Twain, and went to bed early.
He came down the next morning early for breakfast, wearing a suit, sans vest. He nodded to the clerk as he passed.
The dining room was full, but he managed to appropriate the same table as the night before. The diners eating breakfast were a different lot from those who had been having dinner. There had been more men the night before. This morning the men had women with them. Some of the tables held two or three women eating breakfast together. The women looked at him in a different way than the men had the night before. Still with interest, curiosity, but a different kind. When he caught them looking, he smiled, and they turned away, but did so with small smiles of their own.
While he was eating breakfast, a bellman came in with the reply to his telegram.
“When did it come?” he asked.
“Minutes ago, sir.”
“Thank you,” Roper said and tipped the man.
“Yes, sir, thank you, sir.”
He unfolded the telegram and read it. He had a ten o’clock appointment at a building on Dupont Circle. He poured himself some more coffee.
He presented himself at Dupont Circle at exactly 10 a.m. He stood in front of a large stone building four stories high, with no symbols on the building to indicate what—or whom—it housed.
“Talbot Roper,” he said to the soldier in the lobby.
“Yes, sir,” the soldier told him. “You’re expected. Please follow me.”
The building appeared to have been constructed only a few years before, and was equipped with one of Mr. Otis’s new steam-operated elevators. An operator took them to the third floor. Roper had been in elevators before, but still found himself holding his breath until the doors opened again.
Roper followed the soldier down a long hallway, past doors with names and titles on them, to a blank door.
“Inside, sir.”
“Do I knock?” Roper asked.
“No need, sir.”
“Thank you.”
The soldier positioned himself to the left of the door, and Roper was sure he would still be there when he came out.
He opened the door and entered. There was nothing in the room but a desk, two chairs, and a man sitting behind the desk. The man was in his forties, with black hair that came to a widow’s peak, and sparse eyebrows over intense blue eyes. He had a definite air of authority about him, even though he wore a simple blue suit with no insignia.
“Tal.”
“Donny.”
The man smiled. “I haven’t been called that in years. Everybody around here calls me Donald, or Mr. White, or sir.”
“I’ll call you whatever you like.”
Donald White stood up and smiled. “From an old friend, Donny is just fine.”
Roper approached the desk, and the two men shook hands warmly. They had worked together during the war under Pinkerton, both learning at the feet of the great detective. They were equals then, until Roper left to start his own agency. They had seen each other only sporadically since. In the meantime, White had worked his way up the government ladder and was currently the head of what was now called the Secret Service.
“Have a seat,” White said. “I can’t offer you anything because you’re not really here.”
“I understand.”
“What can I do for you?”
“Donny, I have a client who is a Medal of Honor winner.”
“Uh-oh.”
“What?” Roper asked.
“You heard about what the government is planning to do.” It wasn’t a question.
“So it’s true?”
“That the government has decided to rescind a large number of medals that were given out during and after the war? Yes.”
“Jesus, Donny—”
“I don’t know if you heard how many of the medals were presented erroneously, capriciously—”
“I heard about two hundred that were presented to men simply for re-upping.”
“Perfect example,” White said.
“That’s fine,” Roper said. “I can understand it in that instance, but what about some of the others?”
“I can’t really discuss this, Tal,” White said. “In fact, I’m not even involved officially.”
“I didn’t think you were,” Roper said, “but you were the person I thought I could get in to see the quickest.”
White spread his hands and said, “Obviously you were right.”
Roper studied his friend. Working in the government behind a desk had added some pounds to the man, but he still appeared to be in good shape. And he still seemed to have a mind of his own, rather than having become a government puppet, like a lot of the men Roper had known in the past.
“All right,” Roper said, “let’s talk about a specific case.”
“Your client.”
“Howard Westover.”
White frowned. “I don’t know the name.”
“I have to admit I don’t know exactly why he received his medal,” Roper said. “It wasn’t a question I wanted to ask his wife, under the circumstances.”
“What are the circumstances?”
Roper told Donald White about Westover’s condition, how he was wounded in the war and had continued to deteriorate over the years, to the point where he was now in a wheelchair.
“That’s unfortunate,” White commented. “What do you want me to do, Tal?”
“For now I’d just like you to look into the circumstances of Westover’s medal. Let me know how and why he was awarded it, and whether or not he’s in danger of losing it.”
White sat back in his chair and regarded his friend for a few moments. “I suppose I can do that. You’re at the Georgetown?”
“Yes.”
“Then I’ll look into it and get back to you tomorrow,” the man promised.
“Should I come back here?”
“No,” White said, “I’ll come to you.”
“At my hotel?”
“Tomorrow night I’ll pick you up for supper,” White said. “I’ll take you to my favorite restaurant. Six o’clock.”
“Right out in the open?”
“Why not?” White spread his arms. “Just two old friends having dinner.”
“Well, that’s fine with me,” Roper said, standing, “as long as the government is paying.”
White smiled. “Naturally.”
12
When Roper came out of White’s office, the soldier was still standing there, as expected.
“Done, sir?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“This way.”
The soldier showed him back to the main door.
“Thank you,” Roper said.
“No problem, sir.”
Outside, Roper walked to the corner, where he was able to wave down a passing cab. He told the young driver to take him to the Georgetown Hotel. After five minutes he sat forward, took his cut-down Colt from his holster, and pressed it to the back of the man’s neck.
“This isn’t the way to the Georgetown.”
“No, sir.”
“Where are you taking me?”
“Somebody wants to see you, Mr. Roper.”
“And who might that be?”
“Colonel Adam Sanderson.”
“Sanderson,” Roper said, sitting back.
“Yes, sir. He ordered me to pick you up and take you to him.”
“You one of his men?”
“Yes, sir. Corporal Tom Prince.”
“He tell you who I am?”
“Yes, sir, and what you look like.”
“When did you get these orders?”
“About fifteen minutes ago, sir.”
Roper put his gun away. The last time he had seen Sanderson, the man was a captain.
“How many birds has he got?”
“Two, sir,” Prince said. “Word is the third one is on the way.”
“He must be…what? Sixty?”
“The colonel is in excellent health, sir.”
“I’m sure he is,” Roper said.
“We’re almost there, sir,” Prince said. “Do you want me to turn back?”
“Do I have that option?”
“Oh, yes, sir. The colonel told me you’d tumble to what I was doin’ right away. He said if you wanted me to turn back, I was to do so. It was up to you.”
“Did he also tell you I might kill you?”
“Uh, yes, sir,” Prince said.
“And still you agreed to pick me up?”
“I didn’t agree, sir,” Price said. “I wasn’t given a choice. I was ordered.”
Roper thought a moment. He hadn’t been in Dupont Circle long, but someone had gotten the word to Sanderson and he’d acted quickly.
“No, that’s okay, soldier. Keep going.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. And thank you for not shooting me.”
“You’re welcome, soldier,” Roper said. “You’re very welcome.”
The man was standing on the banks of the Potomac, staring out at the water. He was in full uniform. If his back had not been to Roper, the detective would have seen his eagle insignias shining in the sun.
“There he is, sir,” Prince said, reining the horse in.
“I see him, soldier.” Roper looked around, didn’t see anybody else. “He’s covered, isn’t he?”
“No, sir,” Prince said.
“You sure?”
“The colonel told me it would be just you and him,” Prince said. “He even said I was to drive away and come back in twenty minutes.”
“Twenty?”
“Yes, sir.”
“All right.” Roper stepped down from the cab.
“Sir?”
“Yes?”
“Your gun?”
Roper turned to look at Prince. The man was pointing a .45 at him.
“What are your orders, soldier?”
“To relieve you of your weapon, sir.”
“And if I don’t give it up?”
“You don’t get to see the colonel.”
“He’s the one who wants to see me.”
“These are not the colonel’s orders, sir.”
“Whose then?”
“His aide, Captain Morressy.”
Roper did not know that name, but it appeared the man was only trying to safeguard his commanding officer’s life.
“Yeah, okay.” He handed his weapon over. Prince holstered his own .45.
“Thank you, sir.”
“Sure, soldier. Thanks for not shooting me.”
Prince smiled, turned, picked up the reins, and shook them at his horse. The cab started off. Roper waited until it had driven out of sight, then turned and walked toward the river’s edge, and the colonel.
13
Roper walked to the colonel, who continued to stare out at the running river.
“It’s beautiful,” he said.
“Yes, it is.”
Sanderson looked at Roper over his shoulder.
“It’s a famous river, the Potomac, but then I’ll bet you’ve seen many famous rivers. Your work takes you all over the country.”
“I have. The Hudson, the Mississippi, the Missouri, the Colorado…”
The colonel turned to face Roper. Sixty had been a kind guess. The man looked to be in his late sixties—gray, dry-skinned, wrinkled, he also looked tired. Very tired. Roper wondered how much clout the man really had anymore.
“What brings you to Washington, Roper?” he asked.
“Why do you want to know, Colonel?”
“It’s my job to safeguard this country.”
Roper laughed. “From me?”
“From anyone.” The colonel frowned at Roper’s suit jacket. “Did he disarm you?”
“Yes.”
“I told him not to.”
“He had orders.”
“Not from me.”
“You were willing to trust me this close to you with a gun?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because you know I’m more in hell alive than dead,” the colonel said. “You were there, during the war. You saw me, you know that I reveled in it. I’m a fighting soldier, Roper. And when I’m not fighting, I’m in hell. I’m…dying here in Washington. Dying…you know it.”
“I’m not here about that.”
“Then what?”
“I’m trying to find out about the government’s plan to recall certain Medals of Honor.”
Sanderson frowned again.
“Why would you care about that?” he asked. “You never got one.”
“This isn’t about me,” Roper said. “I have a client.”
“That’s right,” Sanderson said. “You’re some kind of detective now, aren’t you?”
“A private detective, yes.”
“Like Pinkerton.”
“I’d be lucky if I was as good a detective as Allan Pinkerton was.”
“An egomaniac, that man,” Sanderson said with a faraway look in his eyes. “He was given too much authority during the war. It went to his head.”
Roper didn’t rush to Pinkerton’s defense. That wasn’t why he was there either.
“What were you doing at Dupont Circle?” the colonel asked. “Who were you seeing?”
“I can’t say, sir.”
“Confidentiality?”
“Yes, sir.”
Sanderson studied Roper for a few moments, then turned and looked out at the river again. Roper moved up next to him and also took in the river. It was blue, bluer than most rivers he’d seen—the Mississippi and the Missouri were muddy brown—but they all ran the way the Potomac was running today.
“When did we last see each other, Roper?” the colonel asked.
“Allan Pinkerton’s funeral.”
“That’s right,” the soldier said. “What a farce. To die from biting your tongue.”
It was an odd way for a man like Pinkerton to die, biting his own tongue in a fall and then succumbing to infection. His sons, William and Robert, took over the agency then.
“We didn’t talk much then, did we?”
“Well, sir,” Roper said, “we’ve never talked much. You never did like me.”
“Yes, you’re correct,” Sanderson said. “And you? How did you feel about me?”
“I respected you, sir,” Roper said, “and I still do.”
“But you didn’t like me?”
Roper hesitated, then said, “Well, you never gave me much reason to like you.”
“It was never you, Roper,” Sanderson said. “It was your methods. I’ve always thought they were…dubious at best.”
“But effective.”
&nb
sp; “Yes, there was that.”
“We were at war, sir,” Roper said. “You and I have never agreed on the rules of war.”
“That’s correct,” the colonel said. “I believe there are rules, and you do not.”
Roper had nothing to say to that. There was no argument there.
“I’m getting old,” Sanderson said after a few moments. “As a result, I believe I’m mellowing.”
“That couldn’t be,” Roper said.
Sanderson smiled. “I heard you were here, at Dupont Circle, and I had a knee-jerk reaction. I brought you here—you came here willingly once you knew it was me, is that correct?”
“Yes, sir.”
Sanderson looked at him. “You’re still a young man with a lot of life ahead of you.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I envy you.”
Again, Roper had no reply.
“Young Prince will be along soon to take you to your hotel,” Sanderson said. He took a deep breath and lifted his chin. “I still have a lot of influence in Washington, Roper.”
“I don’t doubt that, sir.”
“Whatever you’re doing, if I can help, don’t hesitate to call on me.”
Stunned, Roper said, “Thank you, sir.”
Roper heard the carriage behind him. The colonel seemed to have nothing more to say. He was engrossed in whatever he saw out on the river.
Roper turned and walked back to the carriage.
14
On the ride back, Roper asked, “How long has he been like that?”
He thought Prince might respond, “Like what?” but the young man was better than that.
“It’s been a while, sir,” he said. “The captain looks after him pretty well, makes sure he doesn’t get himself in trouble.”
“I see.”
“The captain would like to see you before you leave,” Prince said.
“Is this up to me again, Corporal?” Roper asked. “Or a command?”
“No, sir,” Prince said. “The captain just said to let you know.”
“Well, why not?” Roper asked. “All I’m doing is having supper with an old friend tomorrow. I’m free all day today.”
Bullets & Lies (Talbot Roper 01) Page 5
