Tayte set his briefcase down as he and Mavro sat around one of the readers. ‘That’s right. We’re specifically interested in employee records.’
‘Know the fella’s name?’
Tayte shook his head. ‘That’s just the thing. We have a name, but you won’t find it in your records. We were hoping to find him via his date of birth, and we also know he was an engineer working out of the DC branch.’
Guthrie twirled his moustache as he gave it some thought. ‘A large number of payroll records were transferred to microfilm back in the 1960s, covering the years from 1905 to 1971. They hold the information you’re looking for, but they’re not complete by any means.’
‘This man we’re trying to identify,’ Mavro said. ‘We believe he worked for the B&O Railroad when he disappeared in 1910, so we only need concern ourselves with the first five years of those records.’
‘That’ll help narrow the search down, that’s for sure. The records were stored by their creation date, being the individual’s date of employ, give or take. Sit tight there while I go see what I can find.’
‘Before you do that,’ Tayte said, ‘does any of this sound at all familiar to you?’
‘How do you mean?’
‘I mean, it’s possible that someone else has been here recently, looking for the same information—someone with a French accent, perhaps.’
‘Canadian?’
‘No, not Canadian. I was just wondering whether our research enquiry rings any bells?’
Guthrie sucked his teeth and drew a long breath. ‘Nope. I can’t say it does. We get plenty of folks drop by, though, and contrary to how it may seem, I’m not always here. Maybe your friend was helped out by someone else.’
My friend, Tayte thought, almost smiling at the grossly incorrect assumption. ‘That’s probably it,’ he said. ‘Thanks anyway.’
When Guthrie left them, Tayte turned to Mavro and said, ‘That’s too bad. I just thought the Genie might have come here looking for answers when he was setting this puzzle. If nothing else, it would at least have told us we’re on the right track. Still, I have a good feeling about this.’
‘I’m glad to hear it,’ Mavro said, ‘because right now we don’t have much else to go on.’
‘It all stacks up too well. The company uniform, the lack of a birth or death certificate in Benjamin Kirkland’s name. If that was his real name, I’m sure I’d have found something. This could take a while, though. We need to inspect every payroll record this research library holds over a period of five years.’
Guthrie was gone several minutes. When he returned he produced a roll of 35mm film and held it up. ‘If we have a payroll record for the man you’re looking for, he’ll be on this roll of microfilm. It covers the earlier years, from 1905 onwards. It’s a great pity they’re not digitised or we could easily have searched for that date of birth you’re interested in.’
‘That’s okay,’ Tayte said. ‘I knew what to expect.’
Guthrie loaded the film carefully into the reader. ‘Know how these things work, or would you rather I manipulated the dials? They can be a mite tricky to get the hang of at first.’
‘No, I’ll be just fine,’ Tayte said, ‘but thanks for offering.’
Guthrie nodded and stood back. ‘Well, just you holler if there’s anything you’re unsure of. If you need anything, I’ll be in back.’
Tayte and Mavro both smiled at the kindly man as he left them to it. Then Tayte sat forward and began to work the reading machine’s controls. Looking at the first record, he saw that these payroll cards contained all kinds of useful information pertaining to the job. They showed the person’s name, date of birth, job title, division, department, station, and any changes in the employee’s job or salary, including the date of retirement, where applicable, as well as resignations and dismissals. As he scrolled through the records he saw that many also contained salary information, and in some cases the employee’s date of death, which he thought could prove very useful.
His eyes quickly grew accustomed to singling out the employee’s date of birth, and he kept Kirkland’s in mind as he scrolled through the records looking for a match. Mavro scanned the information along with him—two pairs of eyes definitely being better than one in this case—but even so, he had to take it slowly because the handwriting was often faint, and every now and then he would have to stop altogether for a closer inspection, particularly whenever he saw the word ‘May’ or the year ‘1870’. An hour quickly passed, at which point Tayte sat back and pinched his eyes.
‘You okay?’ Mavro asked. ‘Wanna take a break?’
‘No, I’m good. We don’t exactly have time for breaks, do we?’
Another thirty minutes flew by, then both Tayte and Mavro sat up together and pointed at the screen.
‘There’s a match,’ Mavro said, narrowly beating Tayte to it. ‘May 1st, 1870.’
Tayte nodded, scanning the rest of the information on the record. His nod quickly turned to a shake of his head. ‘Same date of birth, but neither the job title nor station matches.’
‘That’s too bad. I thought we had him there for a minute.’
‘Yeah, me too.’
At that point Guthrie came back into the room. ‘Would you folks like me to see if I can rustle up some coffee? The vending area’s all locked up now, but I’ll see what I can do.’
‘That would be wonderful,’ Tayte said. ‘If it’s no bother.’
‘No bother at all. I’m about finished back there, and I could use a hot drink myself. Are you getting anywhere with those payroll records?’
‘Nothing yet. We’re up to 1907, though, so we shouldn’t be too much longer.’
‘Take all the time you need,’ Guthrie said as he made for the door they had previously entered by. ‘Police work’s important business.’
‘And it doesn’t get any more important than trying to save someone’s life,’ Tayte mumbled to himself as he turned back to the microform reader.
He began scrolling through the records again as the payroll dates crept closer and closer to 1910. By now it was clear to him that if Benjamin Kirkland had worked for the B&O Railroad under another name, then he hadn’t worked there long before his disappearance. The minutes continued to slip by, and Tayte barely noticed Guthrie come back into the room fifteen minutes later and set a Styrofoam cup of black coffee down at his elbow. Another half an hour passed in silence after that, with Tayte’s eyes glued to the blur of records that were passing before him. Then he saw another matching date of birth. It was on a payroll record dated August 1908, and this time both the job description and station tied in with the information they had gleaned from the newspaper report in Tayte’s file.
‘Got him!’ Tayte said, his face cracking into a wide smile. He noticed his cup of coffee then and drained it back. It was cold, but he didn’t care. ‘There he is,’ he added. ‘William H. Durant, Engineer. Born May 1st, 1870. That has to be him.’
‘Look, there’s a date of death,’ Mavro said. ‘Wouldn’t that suggest he died in service?’
‘Yes, it would, and look at the date. May 2nd, 1910—the day after his birthday, which was the same day his wife reported him missing.’
It was close to nine and dark outside as Tayte and Mavro crossed the railroad museum car park and got back into the car. Having thanked Guthrie for his time, Tayte was keen to get on the road again and continue the research he hoped would save Lauren Emerson’s life.
‘At least the traffic should be lighter heading back,’ he said as Mavro turned the key in the ignition. ‘We should be in DC around ten.’
‘Then what?’ she asked. ‘What’s our next move?’
‘Well, first we need to prove that William H. Durant is our man. Right now all we have is a probable match, but we need to be absolutely sure. If he is, we need to find out where he died.’
Mavro pulled out on to the main road, heading back to the I-95. ‘It’s a pity there wasn’t more information about his death on that pa
yroll record.’
‘That’s the thing with genealogy. You rarely find all the information you’re looking for in one place, if ever.’ Tayte tapped the notebook inside the breast pocket of his jacket. ‘I’ve written down all the information there was on Durant’s payroll record. We can use it to confirm that he and Benjamin Kirkland were the same man, and hopefully we can then learn more about him, but to do that we need access to Durant’s vital records.’
‘We’re going to the Department of Health? At this hour?’
Tayte nodded, taking his phone out. ‘I don’t want to wait until morning unless we have to. I’m going to call Reese. Maybe he can get someone from the Vital Records Division to meet us there.’
Tayte dialled SAC Reese’s number. It went straight to voicemail, so he left a message, letting him know what they needed from him and why. ‘Fingers crossed he picks it up soon,’ he said to Mavro as he ended the call.
They made good progress to the I-95, where Mavro picked up the pace. ‘So what do you make of this fella we’re looking into? If it’s the same man, he was employed by the railroad company as William H. Durant, yet his wife knew him as Benjamin Kirkland. He had to be lying to one of them.’
‘I don’t think he was lying to the railroad company about who he was. I think it’s more likely that he was lying to his wife, which again explains why I couldn’t find his birth or death certificate. Just a marriage certificate.’
‘You think he was a bigamist?’
‘Yes, I do. We know he was with Dorothy Kirkland née Valentine the day he left for work, never to return. If we’re right about who Kirkland really was, we also know why he never made it back. He died at work that day, but rather than reporting his death to Dorothy Kirkland, whom the railroad company knew nothing about, they informed his legal wife, Mrs Durant. It fits well enough.’
Mavro agreed. ‘Which is why Dorothy Kirkland reported her husband missing, and why the police couldn’t make any progress finding him.’
‘Exactly. Benjamin Kirkland, who’s supposed to have been born on May 1st, 1870, didn’t exist. And how do you find someone who doesn’t exist? The records could prove it. The 1910 census would tell us who Durant was living with when he died, but we’re not interested in proving whether or not the man was a bigamist. When we get to see Durant’s vital records, I expect we’ll find his birth certificate, his legal marriage certificate to someone other than Dorothy Valentine, and his death certificate, which will hopefully shed more light on how, and perhaps even where, he died. That’s what we’re interested in.’
‘Why don’t you try Reese again.’
Tayte made the call, and this time Reese picked up. Tayte put him on speaker so Mavro could hear.
‘Mr Tayte, I was about to call you back. I got your message. It’s going to take a while, but we’re all set. A woman called Pamela Bryant is going to meet you at the Department of Health in about an hour. She’s authorised to give you access to anything you need to see. If you get there ahead of her, just wait with security. They’re also expecting you.’
‘That’s great,’ Tayte said, recalling that they had met Pamela Bryant on their visit to the Vital Records Division two days ago. ‘I’ll let you know how it goes.’
With that Tayte ended the call and said to Mavro, ‘We can’t be more than half an hour away now. Let’s grab a bite to eat somewhere nearby while we wait for her.’
They found an all-night diner not far from North Capitol Street where they were heading. It was just after ten as they sat down and ordered. Tayte asked for steak and eggs to go with his coffee, and Mavro opted for salmon cakes. The interior was long and narrow, like a train passenger carriage, with a counter that ran half the length of the diner. To the other side, by the windows, was a line of faded red leather booths, which was where Tayte and Mavro were seated. The place was warm and smoky from the grill area behind the counter. Being busy, it was relatively noisy, although not to the extent that you had to raise your voice to hold a conversation.
‘I’m curious,’ Mavro said as they waited for their meals to arrive. ‘Just how does someone get away with bigamy?’
Tayte turned away from the multi-coloured neon sign he could see over the tops of the parked cars outside the window. ‘Actually, it’s a lot easier than you’d think, and the further back in time you go, the easier it was to get away with. Back in the early 1900s, of course, they didn’t have the electronic communications we take for granted today. There was no Internet or social media, such as Facebook, to catch a person out. Even today, depending on which state you live in, a previously married person isn’t always required to prove they’re no longer married before they can marry again. That’s if they admit to being married in the first place, which is unlikely if they’re planning to marry illegally. To commit bigamy, all a person has to do is lie about their marital status and claim they’re not already married.’
‘So, no one runs a check to see that both parties are legally allowed to marry?’
‘No, it’s not possible. There’s no central US marriage register to check. Bigamists are often only discovered by chance, which, as I’ve said, is more likely these days than it used to be. If we’re right about the man we’re looking into, his bigamous marriage has gone undiscovered right up until now.’
Their coffees arrived, and Tayte sat back and turned his head to the window again as a white police cruiser pulled into the parking area. ‘Our city’s finest on their Twinkie break,’ he said with a grin as two bulky police officers climbed out of the vehicle.
Mavro grinned back at him. ‘Yeah, all cops eat Twinkie bars on their breaks, and I suppose you think the FBI really does have an X-Files unit.’
Tayte laughed. ‘I’ve never seen the X-Files, so I can’t comment.’
‘Well, let’s see if you’re right. If either one of those police officers orders a Twinkie bar, I’ll get the check. Otherwise, it’s all yours.’
Tayte took the bet. He reached across and shook Mavro’s hand on the deal, and then he turned around to get a better view of the two officers as they walked into the diner. One of them, a bald man with a hard face, was looking right back at him. Tayte saw him nudge his partner, who was a shorter, older man with salt-and-pepper hair and a moustache. Then they both looked at Tayte, and Tayte thought their pace quickened as they seemed to recognise him. They didn’t go to the counter at all. They made straight for Tayte and Mavro’s table.
‘Jefferson Tayte?’ the shorter, older man said.
‘Yes, I’m Tayte. What can I do for you, officer?’
The bald man spoke next, but not to Tayte. Instead, he turned to Mavro. ‘Franchesca Mavrothalassitis?’
‘What’s this about?’ Mavro asked, her eyes narrowing as she spoke. ‘How do you know who I am?’
‘We spotted that silver Jeep Cherokee parked outside. We ran a check on the licence plate and your name came up.’
Mavro asked the obvious next question. ‘And just why would you run a check on my vehicle?’
‘Because this man sitting opposite you is wanted for questioning in connection with an assault at the National Archives Museum earlier today, and he was seen leaving afterwards in your vehicle. That’s how come we knew who you had to be.’
The shorter man spoke again then. ‘Mr Tayte, I need you to come with us. If you resist, you’ll be placed under arrest and taken into custody. Forcibly if necessary.’
Tayte stood up, but he wasn’t ready to leave. ‘This is ridiculous! I barely touched the man. He was faking it.’
‘Mr Levant is currently walking on crutches, thanks to you,’ the bald man said, punctuating his words with a stab of his forefinger. ‘He checked out of the hospital with a knee injury and a cut above his left eye, so don’t stand there and give us your “I barely touched him” speech. We’ve heard it too many times before. He’s almost seventy years old. You should be ashamed of yourself.’
Mavro stood up. She had her FBI badge out, which she offered up to the two police office
rs. ‘This man is assisting the FBI on federal business. A woman’s life is at stake, and—’
The shorter officer cut in. ‘Look, lady, we’re just doing our job. If you’ve got a problem with that, you can take it up with the Station Supervisor. No one’s above the law. I don’t care who he is or what he’s doing. I have my job to do, just as you have yours. If you persist in trying to get in the way of mine, I’ll take you in, too.’
Tayte was aware that the whole diner had gone quiet around them as conversations fell to whispers. Just about everyone was looking at him. ‘How long will this take?’
‘That all depends on you,’ the shorter officer said. ‘Right now you’re wasting time standing here talking. The sooner you come with us, the sooner you’ll be able to get back to whatever it is you and your FBI friend are in the middle of.’
Tayte reached into his inside jacket pocket, and as he did so both officers stepped back. At the same time, the bald officer reached a hand out towards Tayte. With his other hand he covered the sidearm on his hip, ready to draw it out. ‘Don’t move!’
‘It’s just my notebook,’ Tayte said, freezing.
‘Let me see your hands. Real slow.’
Tayte took his hand out from his jacket again and raised both hands level with his head. The shorter of the two officers stepped closer and patted down Tayte’s chest. Then he reached inside Tayte’s jacket and took his notebook out.
‘See. It’s just my notebook.’
The officers relaxed again and Tayte was handed his notebook back. He stepped out of the booth, and as he did so he gave the notebook to Mavro.
‘The details on William Durant are in there. Go ahead and meet with Pamela Bryant as planned. Give her all the information we have and ask for copies of Durant’s vital records—everything she can find. We’ll go over them once all this is straightened out.’
Mavro nodded. ‘Try not to say anything to incriminate yourself. I’ll call Reese. I’m sure he can help.’
Dying Games (Jefferson Tayte Genealogical Mystery Book 6) Page 18
