is this all about?’
‘Last night late a truck drove by your house, stopped at that old tobacco barn on Battle Creek Road,’ Williams said, ‘and loaded up a suspicious looking bundle wrapped in canvas. Leroy Martin drove the truck, but another man was at the barn and helped Leroy load it up. Martin drove down the road to the ferry landing at Island Creek, where it caught his friend Dennis’s ferry before we could reach it. Did you see or hear that truck?’
‘No, sir, I did not!’ she said, crossing her arms. ‘We own that barn, but we ain’t used it in years. It’s just for storage. I didn’t hear nothing last night. Why don’t you talk to Dennis?’
‘We did. He said someone “borrowed” his ferryboat.’
‘I reckon he knows, then.’
‘Inside the barn we found evidence of fresh blood, Mrs Cooke. Would you know anything about that?’
Mrs Cooke’s lips compressed into a thin line. ‘What makes you think you can come in here and ask me such? Like I’m a criminal! I’ll thank you to get out of my house and off my property! And don’t come back unless you know what you are talking about!’
Her dog, alarmed by her tone of voice, leapt to its feet and growled at us.
‘Ma’am, I should warn you that the FBI—’
I couldn’t stand it another minute. I stood up and reached for my coat. ‘Thank you for your time, Mrs Cooke,’ I said.
‘Mrs Pearlie—’ Williams began.
‘We need to leave, now, as Mrs Cooke has requested,’ I said. ‘Come on!’
Outside, Williams grabbed my arm.
‘Let go of me,’ I said.
‘What do you think you’re doing?’ he said.
‘In the car!’
‘I’m warning you …’
‘Get in the God-damned car!’ I said. ‘The woman is standing on the porch watching us!’
We both got in the car, Williams slamming his door. ‘Listen—’ he said.
‘Start the car!’
‘You—!’
‘Drive!’
Williams shifted gears and headed back up the road, but pulled off onto the shoulder when we were out of sight of the farmhouse. ‘What was that all about?’ he asked.
‘What is wrong with you! You’re wearing a suit, tie, and fedora. You stick out like a sore thumb around here. I grew up in Wilmington, North Carolina, a place a lot like this. You don’t turn people down when they offer you a cup of coffee in their home. It’s insulting!’
‘Director Hoover insists we wear suits and refuse refreshments, you know that.’
‘Director Hoover isn’t interviewing rural working people from the western shore of Maryland! You treat people like criminals before you have any evidence!’
‘What happened last night wasn’t evidence?’
‘You don’t know what those men were doing. Once you started treating them like gangsters we sure weren’t going to find out. And what was that business with the guns on the ferryboat slip? Are you crazy! You could have gotten us both shot!’
‘You think you could do better?’
‘I would certainly hope so.’
We drove in silence back toward St Leonard.
‘I guess we should get some lunch,’ he said.
‘Fine. But not at Bertie Woods’ Café. We’ve made enough of a spectacle of ourselves there.’
‘There’s a shack out here called Tommy’s Crab House,’ he said. ‘That suit you, Mrs Pearlie?’
‘Sure,’ I said. ‘But do me a favor. Ditch the hat, topcoat, and tie and wear one of the parkas so that you look like a human being.’
After lunch we drove back to Mrs Sullivan’s guesthouse.
‘Look,’ Williams said. ‘Now that I’ve identified myself as an FBI agent, why don’t you wait here until after I’ve talked to the police officer? Then I’ll drive you up to Frederick and you can catch a bus back to Washington.’
I’d had enough. I chose my words carefully, knowing I might damage my career if I was too strident.
‘You seem to have forgotten,’ I said. ‘I am not your assistant. I’m your colleague, your liaison with the Office of Strategic Services. It was our initial inquiry about a
‘Last night late a truck drove by your house, stopped at that old tobacco barn on Battle Creek Road,’ Williams said, ‘and loaded up a suspicious looking bundle wrapped in canvas. Leroy Martin drove the truck, but another man was at the barn and helped Leroy load it up. Martin drove down the road to the ferry landing at Island Creek, where it caught his friend Dennis’s ferry before we could reach it. Did you see or hear that truck?’
‘No, sir, I did not!’ she said, crossing her arms. ‘We own that barn, but we ain’t used it in years. It’s just for storage. I didn’t hear nothing last night. Why don’t you talk to Dennis?’
‘We did. He said someone “borrowed” his ferryboat.’
‘I reckon he knows, then.’
‘Inside the barn we found evidence of fresh blood, Mrs Cooke. Would you know anything about that?’
Mrs Cooke’s lips compressed into a thin line. ‘What makes you think you can come in here and ask me such? Like I’m a criminal! I’ll thank you to get out of my house and off my property! And don’t come back unless you know what you are talking about!’
Her dog, alarmed by her tone of voice, leapt to its feet and growled at us.
‘Ma’am, I should warn you that the FBI—’
I couldn’t stand it another minute. I stood up and reached for my coat. ‘Thank you for your time, Mrs Cooke,’ I said.
‘Mrs Pearlie—’ Williams began.
‘We need to leave, now, as Mrs Cooke has requested,’ I said. ‘Come on!’
Outside, Williams grabbed my arm.
‘Let go of me,’ I said.
‘What do you think you’re doing?’ he said.
‘In the car!’
‘I’m warning you …’
‘Get in the God-damned car!’ I said. ‘The woman is standing on the porch watching us!’
We both got in the car, Williams slamming his door. ‘Listen—’ he said.
‘Start the car!’
‘You—!’
‘Drive!’
Williams shifted gears and headed back up the road, but pulled off onto the shoulder when we were out of sight of the farmhouse. ‘What was that all about?’ he asked.
‘What is wrong with you! You’re wearing a suit, tie, and fedora. You stick out like a sore thumb around here. I grew up in Wilmington, North Carolina, a place a lot like this. You don’t turn people down when they offer you a cup of coffee in their home. It’s insulting!’
‘Director Hoover insists we wear suits and refuse refreshments, you know that.’
‘Director Hoover isn’t interviewing rural working people from the western shore of Maryland! You treat people like criminals before you have any evidence!’
‘What happened last night wasn’t evidence?’
‘You don’t know what those men were doing. Once you started treating them like gangsters we sure weren’t going to find out. And what was that business with the guns on the ferryboat slip? Are you crazy! You could have gotten us both shot!’
‘You think you could do better?’
‘I would certainly hope so.’
We drove in silence back toward St Leonard.
‘I guess we should get some lunch,’ he said.
‘Fine. But not at Bertie Woods’ Café. We’ve made enough of a spectacle of ourselves there.’
‘There’s a shack out here called Tommy’s Crab House,’ he said. ‘That suit you, Mrs Pearlie?’
‘Sure,’ I said. ‘But do me a favor. Ditch the hat, topcoat, and tie and wear one of the parkas so that you look like a human being.’
After lunch we drove back to Mrs Sullivan’s guesthouse.
‘Look,’ Williams said. ‘Now that I’ve identified myself as an FBI agent, why don’t you wait here until after I’ve talked to the police officer? Then I’ll drive you up to Frederick and you can catch a bus back to Washington.’
I’d had enough. I chose my words carefully, knowing I might damage my career if I was too strident.
‘You seem to have forgotten,’ I said. ‘I am not your assistant. I’m your colleague, your liaison with the Office of Strategic Services. It was our initial inquiry about a
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