‘Anyone who can drive a boat, and that’s everyone who lives around here, could borrow my ferry. It’s just tied up across the river.’
Williams pulled out a business card and handed it to him. ‘I’m not that worn-out policeman of yours,’ he said. ‘I’m the FBI. You think about this. I’m going to find out what you and Leroy loaded onto that ferry last night. There was another guy, too. You’d better wise up and tell me before I arrest you.’
Dennis tore up Williams’s card into tiny pieces. ‘It weren’t me last night,’ he said. ‘You keep out of my business. I got a right to protect my property, and I keep a loaded double-barreled shotgun on my boat.’
As if on cue, Dennis’s son appeared on the boat with the shotgun slung over his arm.
‘And I,’ Williams said, opening his coat and showing Dennis his shoulder holster, ‘carry a Colt .38 Super at all times.’
For just a second I saw Dennis’s eyes flicker, as well they might. The Colt .38 Super could shoot through a car door.
Williams closed his coat and buttoned it, signaling the end of the confrontation. He tipped his hat to Dennis. ‘I’ll be seeing you,’ he said. ‘Don’t take any vacations.’
He calmly turned, exposing his back to Dennis and his shotgun-bearing son, and we went back to our car.
I didn’t like Williams, but I had to admit the man was cool. Turning his back on Dennis was an impressive display of courage, but I didn’t see that he’d learned anything. We couldn’t prove that Dennis was running his ferry last night, and Williams had antagonized him to boot.
Back in the car, Williams started the engine. ‘Let’s go talk to the farmer who lives in that house that overlooks the road,’ he said. ‘Maybe he saw something.’
A woman answered the door at the white farmhouse on the hill. She had a warm and welcoming expression on her face until she took in Williams. The man’s suit told the people around here he was from the government. They didn’t want someone from the government to knock on their door. Damn the FBI and their bloody dress code!
Williams removed his fedora. ‘Good morning, ma’am,’ he said. ‘I’m Special Agent Gray from the FBI …’
Sure enough her eyes opened wide enough to touch her eyebrows and her hand gripped the doorknob. She’d been halfway to opening the door, but stopped. ‘What do you want here?’ she asked.
‘Just making routine enquiries,’ he said. ‘Nothing to be concerned about.’ He indicated my presence with a nod of his head. ‘This is my assistant, Mrs Pearlie.’
Soon there would be nothing left of my lower lip. So, Williams had abandoned our cover, but I was apparently still his assistant!
‘We need to ask you some questions,’ Williams said.
‘About what?’
‘May we come in, please,’ he said.
Reluctantly, she showed us into a warm sitting room heated by an ancient wood-fired stove. She gestured to a couch covered with a quilt. ‘Have a seat. I just fixed a pot of fresh coffee, can I offer you some?’
I hurried to accept, but Williams put a hand on my arm before I got the words out.
‘No, thank you, ma’am. Can I have your full name, please?’ Williams asked. By the look on her face her name would be about all he would get from her.
‘I’m Gladys Cooke,’ she said. ‘My husband Frank and I own this place.’
‘And the name of it is?’
‘What?’ she said.
‘The name of your farm,’ I said. ‘We just need to know for our notes.’
‘I don’t know why. Everyone around here knows us. This is Hilltop Farm.’
‘Where is your husband today?’ Williams continued.
‘He works at the naval station on Solomons Island,’ she said. ‘Has done since it was built.’
‘You can spare the time from the farm?’ I asked, trying to add some friendliness to Williams’ questioning.
She shrugged. ‘My husband felt like it was his patriotic duty. And the money is real good. We hired a colored man to help with the chores. What
Williams pulled out a business card and handed it to him. ‘I’m not that worn-out policeman of yours,’ he said. ‘I’m the FBI. You think about this. I’m going to find out what you and Leroy loaded onto that ferry last night. There was another guy, too. You’d better wise up and tell me before I arrest you.’
Dennis tore up Williams’s card into tiny pieces. ‘It weren’t me last night,’ he said. ‘You keep out of my business. I got a right to protect my property, and I keep a loaded double-barreled shotgun on my boat.’
As if on cue, Dennis’s son appeared on the boat with the shotgun slung over his arm.
‘And I,’ Williams said, opening his coat and showing Dennis his shoulder holster, ‘carry a Colt .38 Super at all times.’
For just a second I saw Dennis’s eyes flicker, as well they might. The Colt .38 Super could shoot through a car door.
Williams closed his coat and buttoned it, signaling the end of the confrontation. He tipped his hat to Dennis. ‘I’ll be seeing you,’ he said. ‘Don’t take any vacations.’
He calmly turned, exposing his back to Dennis and his shotgun-bearing son, and we went back to our car.
I didn’t like Williams, but I had to admit the man was cool. Turning his back on Dennis was an impressive display of courage, but I didn’t see that he’d learned anything. We couldn’t prove that Dennis was running his ferry last night, and Williams had antagonized him to boot.
Back in the car, Williams started the engine. ‘Let’s go talk to the farmer who lives in that house that overlooks the road,’ he said. ‘Maybe he saw something.’
A woman answered the door at the white farmhouse on the hill. She had a warm and welcoming expression on her face until she took in Williams. The man’s suit told the people around here he was from the government. They didn’t want someone from the government to knock on their door. Damn the FBI and their bloody dress code!
Williams removed his fedora. ‘Good morning, ma’am,’ he said. ‘I’m Special Agent Gray from the FBI …’
Sure enough her eyes opened wide enough to touch her eyebrows and her hand gripped the doorknob. She’d been halfway to opening the door, but stopped. ‘What do you want here?’ she asked.
‘Just making routine enquiries,’ he said. ‘Nothing to be concerned about.’ He indicated my presence with a nod of his head. ‘This is my assistant, Mrs Pearlie.’
Soon there would be nothing left of my lower lip. So, Williams had abandoned our cover, but I was apparently still his assistant!
‘We need to ask you some questions,’ Williams said.
‘About what?’
‘May we come in, please,’ he said.
Reluctantly, she showed us into a warm sitting room heated by an ancient wood-fired stove. She gestured to a couch covered with a quilt. ‘Have a seat. I just fixed a pot of fresh coffee, can I offer you some?’
I hurried to accept, but Williams put a hand on my arm before I got the words out.
‘No, thank you, ma’am. Can I have your full name, please?’ Williams asked. By the look on her face her name would be about all he would get from her.
‘I’m Gladys Cooke,’ she said. ‘My husband Frank and I own this place.’
‘And the name of it is?’
‘What?’ she said.
‘The name of your farm,’ I said. ‘We just need to know for our notes.’
‘I don’t know why. Everyone around here knows us. This is Hilltop Farm.’
‘Where is your husband today?’ Williams continued.
‘He works at the naval station on Solomons Island,’ she said. ‘Has done since it was built.’
‘You can spare the time from the farm?’ I asked, trying to add some friendliness to Williams’ questioning.
She shrugged. ‘My husband felt like it was his patriotic duty. And the money is real good. We hired a colored man to help with the chores. What
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