Chapter Nine

“Just what brought you to ask about Bertie Hanover?” Lawton asked as he handed Ben a cold beer.

They were sitting on the rear patio of the ex-sheriff’s modest ranch style bungalow, enjoying the dappled shade of mature trees that surrounded the garden while the rest of the landscape shimmered in the spring sun. The gardens were well kept and the fragrance of early roses from a nearby climber filled the air with intoxicating scent.

Ben regarded the older man with interest. The retired sheriff’s reception had been more cordial than he’d expected from the telephone conversation and he had the sudden insight that Lawton wasn’t angry Ben was looking into the files. It was the mention of Bertie Hanover’s record over the telephone that had incurred the officer’s ire.

Ben explained, “I was reading the old files, trying to cross-reference and come up with something, anything, about Morgan employees who’d stepped outside the law. For the most part, they seem a law abiding bunch, aside from a few Saturday night brawls.”

“Most of ’em don’t earn enough these days to even tie on a good one on a Saturday night,” Lawton grunted. “The whole town’s going to the dogs, believe me. They’ve run those factories into the ground, that Ketler Morgan, Senior and his no-good son. His granddaddy started the company, bought the whole town with the proceeds. He was a tough old son of a bitch, but he treated the workers right and they in turn made money for him. He’d be twirling in his grave if he could see what his grandson and great-grandson have done to it.”

“Wouldn’t think it to see the way the Morgans live.” Ben took a long slug of his beer, remembering that beautiful, cold house.

“Ah, you’ve been inside the Morgan Mausoleum? That’s what folks around here call it. The first Morgan was trying to copy some English country house, so the story goes. But I’ve seen homier barns.” Lawton fiddled with a loose corner on the label on his bottle, sighed, and then added reluctantly: “And so we come to Bertie Hanover.”

Ben sat back in his chair, enjoying the sun that warmed the stone patio. That prickle on the back of his neck told him he was about to learn something valuable and mustn’t spook the older man.

“Bertie Hanover’s been an itch under my skin since he blew into this town on an ill wind. Bullied the workers, harassed the women employees to the point where they tried never to be alone with him. Of course, a little light flirtation’s not against the law, according to Hanover. None of the women wanted to go ahead and complain publicly because that would put their jobs at risk. Many of them are the breadwinner of the family since The Cannery’s been laying men off.” Lawton finished his beer and put the bottle on the floor beneath his chair.

“Then there’s the union busting. A couple years ago, some guys got together and tried to form a union chapter at the factory. Self-protection, really. The concept of workers’ rights was a bit beyond the Morgans. Anyway, they had fire in their bellies and they were going to fight for a better deal, a better life. The American Way.” Lawton paused, scowling at a memory that soured his stomach.

“Let me guess…the Morgans weren’t too sympathetic?” Ben prompted.

Lawton snorted. “The leader, Brent Sampson, disappeared—blew town and hasn’t been seen since. I doubt we’ll ever know what happened. A couple of them had ‘accidents,’ one of them, Jason Miller, was left permanently crippled. Peter Levingston’s brakes failed on his ancient pickup truck. It was only by the grace of God he wasn’t killed. A couple of others turned up with broken arms or smashed fingers. All apparently ‘accidents.’ Like a whole boatload of clumsy just pelted down on the town out of a clear blue sky.”

“So what happened? What did you do?”

“What could I do? The guys insisted they’d had accidents, and no-one has bothered with unionizing since. I had a quiet word with old man Morgan, who insisted he had no idea what was going on. I had a slightly louder word with Bertie Hanover, who laughed in my face. The mean bastard had an alibi for every incident.”

“You think he was behind all this?”

“Things began to happen when he arrived in town. The Morgans have always been tough employers. Not what you’d call enlightened, by any means. But when the old man handed a lot of the power over to that nasty piece of work he calls his son, things really got bad. That’s when Hanover was given the foreman’s job and hired a bunch of his disreputable buddies. Though how he qualified for management, I don’t know. By my inquiry, he’s never done an honest day’s work in his life.”

“So why are charges still being dropped against Hanover?” Ben’s voice was hard, and Lawton met his words with a dark glare.

“Just what are you suggesting, son?”

“I’m just wondering why, when the sheriff is so sure these men were involved in criminal activity, sure enough to charge them, that the same sheriff then drops the charges. “

He thought for a moment that Lawton was going to haul off and hit him. The man’s face went redder than the blooms on his prize geraniums. That was all the answer Ben needed, even before the sheriff spoke.

‘‘I hope you’re not suggesting what I think you’re suggesting, Asher, because you’d be more wrong than you could imagine. I did charge Hanover. I was sure of my ground. I collected evidence. But evidence sometimes has a way of disappearing when it goes over to the county seat, and county prosecutors looking for their continued health and livelihood are nervous about prosecuting someone as connected as Hanover without pretty solid evidence.”

“So the evidence went missing? And someone leaned on the DA’s office?”

“That’s all I can figure, not that I ever had any proof of it. It’s not something you’d shout from the rooftops, that you were smudging evidence because someone rich and powerful wanted you to?” Lawton stood and walked over to the edge of the patio. He rubbed his hands over his face as if he was trying to wash the bitterness away. Turning back to Ben, he said, “Couldn’t blame the prosecutor for not wanting to turn up in court without a shred of evidence and looking a durned fool.”

That little fizz of excitement that had lodged in Ben’s belly when he’d made the Hanover connection flared up as he considered what he’d just heard. This jumble of criminal allegations and cover-ups could well be the magic key that would take him all the way to the core of the rottenness his instincts told him lurked in the heart of the Morgan business empire. The small town sheriff might not have the clout to uncover what was rotten, but the FBI was an animal of a different stripe.

If Ket Morgan hired vicious petty criminals like Hanover to protect his business, it stood to reason he had more to protect than the usual marketplace activities. Ben was so lost in these thoughts that he jumped when Lawton spoke.

“I hear Ket Morgan’s son is missing. Town gossip has it he’s been kidnapped.”

Ben’s head snapped up. “That’s not supposed to be public knowledge.”

“I’m not public, son. But I did give Tess a tongue-lashing for chatting. Kept meaning to replace the girl, but she’s decorative and makes really good coffee. Seems my daughter, the new Sheriff Lynn Lawton, is keeping her on.”

Knowing the disappearance of Kathryn’s son was now known outside law enforcement and the immediate family made Ben grind his teeth. Ket Morgan said the kidnapper had warned him the boy would be killed if the police were informed, and he’d promised his investigation would be discreet. Kathryn’s dark eyes, filled with love and worry about her son, pricked his memory.

He had no time to consider the possible consequences before the ex-sheriff moved on to another shocker. “I’ve often wondered about Kathryn Fitzgerald and Ket Morgan getting married. Ket was never much of a ladies’ man. Someone with his looks and money could have had the ladies for miles around slathering after him, but he goes and chooses the daughter of a drunk, an employee in his family bank.

“People kinda thought it was a fairy-tale thing but me, I’ve always thought he picked Kathryn ’cause he knew he could bully her. I guess he played away, not wanting his old tyrant of a father to know what he got up to. Rumor has it he still goes to the city to get his jollies. Never figured him for one who’d play with the hired help, for sure. Set a lot of tongues wagging at the time.”

“And what were those wagging tongues saying?” Ben couldn’t help himself, even though he was squirming like a boy under the other man’s scrutiny.

“Well, some said Ket Junior was a dark horse. Some said Kathryn’d thrown herself at him and trapped herself a real good meal ticket. “

“And what did you say?”

Lawton laughed without humor. “Me? I don’t indulge in gossip, son. But if I’d been pressed, I’d have said the kid wasn’t Ket’s at all. I’d have said Ket Morgan married Kathryn for reasons of his own.”

“What might they have been?”

“I’m not a mind reader. I wouldn’t know,” the older man said, offering Ben another beer and shrugging when he refused. “Course, old man Morgan was riding the boy hard about getting an heir to the family fortunes.”

Ben would have bet his last dollar the older man knew plenty. A thought that was confirmed when he next spoke.

“Didn’t you go out with Kathryn for a while, way back when?”

To his shame, Ben felt his face growing red. He blushed, something he hadn’t done since he’d been a kid in high school and got caught out on some school misdemeanor.

Lawton continued watching him, a knowing smile playing on his lips. “If I’d been asked, and I stress I wasn’t, I’d have said the girl would have been better off with someone like you instead of throwing her lot in with the Morgans. She’s got everything a woman could want, but my bet is she pays a high price every day of her life.”

Ben, who’d witnessed the high price Kathryn paid, couldn’t help but agree. But to his mind, Kathryn had made her bed and had chosen another man to sleep with her in it. He desperately wanted to change the subject before Lawton got to asking him outright the question that danced in his eyes.

“Have you any thoughts on the weak spots in the Morgan set up? You know what we’re looking for…something that links them to money laundering, organised crime—”

“Oh I know what you Feebies are looking for,” Lawton said, but not before he’d grinned at Ben’s diversion. “I’ve always wanted to get myself a good look at the Morgan accounts. Tried once, pushing their chief accountant. He’s a little weasely guy, name of Alfred Morris. He’s worked for the Morgans since he got out of college, about a hundred years ago. Loyal employee to the bone. Kind of guy who does as he’s told, but not one you could readily see getting up to his neck in something illegal. He’d not have the guts.” Lawton snorted with contempt.

“Unless he was being backed up by the Morgans. Who’d he be the most afraid of? The law or his employer?”

The sheriff didn’t hesitate. “The Morgans, especially since Hanover came into the picture. Any punishment we could threaten would be nothing to having his brake lines cut, or his fingers smashed…” He chewed on his inside cheek for a moment. “I’d say he’d be able to convince himself that a little bit of fiddling the books was just employee loyalty.”

“There’s probably a second set of books, one they use to filter everything through so that Alfred Morris gets invoices, receipts, and so on that look valid, and one for the organised crime bosses.”

“Yes, I think Alfie would go along with that, so he could pretend everything was above board,” Lawton said thoughtfully. “Especially if they put a little extra in his pay packet. He’s never married, but looked after his ailing mother for years. Old Mrs. Morris died about six months ago, but I’d bet Alfie hasn’t got his head over the top of the medical bills even yet.”

“It’d be interesting to find out if he managed to keep up with the medical payments. I don’t suppose Morgans pay much by way of health insurance?” Ben said. “Maybe we could see if he’s paid out more than he could reasonably expect to earn. That would give us something to squeeze him with.”

“Might just work. I can have a quiet—by that I mean unofficial—word with his doctor, if you like, and ask around to see if he’s been a bit short of cash, needed a loan, or been spending more than he should. “

“That would be a great help, Sheriff. I’ve got a gut feeling Alfie Morris might just be the way into all this mess. But now I’m going to pay a call on Bertie Hanover, lean on him a little.”

Lawton frowned. “Be careful, Asher. Hanover’s a poisonous snake and I don’t want to be the one to tell the FBI their boy has been bitten.”