“I’ve recommended a Chicago Police Department liaison be assigned to the case,” he said. “On site, at Hopewell.”

“Why?”

“Early indications are this is a gangland operation, very possibly of midwestern origin. I’ll fully brief you, before you leave….”

“Brief me!” I sat up. “What are you…?”

“I’ve cleared it with your boss.”

“Sapperstein?”

“Chief of Detectives Schoemaker. And the Chief himself. And the Mayor. You’re going to Hopewell.”

I opened my eyes wide as I could and looked at nothing. “Well…that’s swell. Nice break from hanging around train stations and bus depots. And it could be good for my career, but…why me?”

Eliot shrugged. “You made some nice headlines, cracking the Goldberg case.”

I snorted. “Right. I killed two guys up there, and what did it amount to? The dame went free, the case was closed, and who knows how many accomplices are still running around loose?”

Eliot waggled a lecturing finger at me; he was barely a year older than me, but he had a bad habit of treating me like a kid. “Nate, you put a baby back in his mother’s arms. Doesn’t matter that it’s the arms of some bootlegger’s common-law wife. A kidnap ring getting busted up, and a kid going safely home, is exactly what the public wants to hear about right now.”

“Well. It was dumb luck.”

“Much good police work is. The case got enough national play that when I spoke to Lindbergh on the phone yesterday, and mentioned you, he was enthusiastic that you come.”

My skepticism was fading; excitement was creeping up the back of my neck. “But, Eliot…why did you suggest me?”

His face was blank and hard. “I don’t trust Irey and Wilson-that is, I don’t trust their judgment. They’re good investigators, when they’re examining ledger books…but they don’t have your street savvy.”