"He was that good?"
"Massey had style and was incredibly shrewd. He planned all his jobs so they looked like the work of rival gangs. As near as I can figure, he pulled off six bank holdups and three train robberies that were blamed on someone else."
"What was his background?"
"Came from a wealthy Boston family. Graduated Harvard summa cum laude. Established a thriving law practice that catered to the social elite of Providence. Married a prominent socialite who bore him five children. Elected twice to the Massachusetts senate."
"Why would he rob banks?" Pitt asked incredulously.
"For the hell of it," Beatty replied. "As it turns out, he handed over every penny of his ill-gotten gains to charity."
"How come he was never glamorized by the newspapers or old pulp magazines?"
"He had vanished from the scene long before his crimes were tied to him," Beatty replied. "And that came only after an enterprising newspaper reporter proved that Clement Massey and Dapper Doyle-were one and the same. Naturally, his influential friends and colleagues saw to it that the scandal was quickly covered up. There wasn't enough hard evidence for a trial anyway."
"Hard to believe that Massey was never recognized during a holdup."
"He seldom went along," Beatty laughed. "Like a general directing a battle behind the lines, he usually stayed in the background. All the jobs were pulled out of state, and even his own gang didn't know his true identity. Actually, he was recognized on one of the few occasions he directed a robbery at first hand. But the witness' testimony was scoffed at by the investigating marshal. After all, who could believe that a respected state senator was a closet bandit?"
"Odd that Massey didn't wear a mask."
"A psychological turn-on," said Beatty. "He probably flaunted himself just to experience the excitement that comes from crowding your luck. A double life can be a super challenge for some men. And yet deep down, they want to get caught. Like a husband cheating on his wife who throws lipstick covered handkerchiefs in the family laundry hamper."
"Then why the Wacketshire depot robbery? Why did Massey risk everything for a paltry eighteen bucks?"
"I've spent more than one night staring at the ceiling over that enigma." Beatty looked down at the table and moved his glass around. "Except for that caper, Massey never pulled a job that paid less than twenty-five grand."
"He disappeared right after that."
"I'd get lost too if I was the cause of a hundred deaths." Beatty took a long swallow of his beer. "Because he ignored the stationmaster's plea to stop the train and allowed women and children to plunge into a cold river, he became enshrined in the annals of crime as a savage mass murderer instead of a Robin Hood.
"How do you read it?"
"He wanted to rob the train," Beatty answered matter-of-factly. "But something went wrong. There was a bad storm that night. The train was running late. Maybe he was thrown off schedule. I don't know. Something screwed up his plans."
"What was on the train for a robber?" asked Pitt.
"Two million in gold coin."
Pitt looked up. "I read nothing about a gold shipment on the St. Gaudens twenty-dollar gold pieces struck in nineteen fourteen at the Philadelphia mint. Bound for the banking houses in New York. I think Massey got wind of it. The railroad officials thought they were being clever by rerouting the gold car over half the countryside instead of dispatching it direct over the main track. Rumors were, the car was attached to the Manhattan Limited in Albany. No way to prove anything, of course. The loss, if there was a loss, was never reported. The bank bigwigs probably figured it better suited their image to hush the matter up."
"That may explain why the railroad nearly went broke trying to salvage the train."
"Perhaps." Beatty became lost in the past for a minute. Then he said, "Of all the crimes I've studied, in all the police archives of the world, Massey's penny ante robbery at Wacketshire intrigues me the most."
"It smells for another reason."
"How so?"
"This morning a lab found traces of iron sulfide in samples taken from the Deauville-Hudson bridge."
Beatty's eyes narrowed. "Iron sulfide is used in black powder."
"That's right. It looks like Massey blew the bridge."
Beatty appeared stunned by the revelation. "But why? What was his motive"
"We'll find the answers," said Pitt, "when we find the Manhattan Limited."
Pitt drove mechanically on the return, trip to the De Soto. A thought forced its way through the others: one he had ignored. At first he gave it a negative reception, but it refused to be shelved away. Then it began to come together and make sense.
He stopped at a phone booth in the parking lot of a supermarket and rang a number in Washington. The line buzzed and a gruff voice came on.
"Sandecker." Pitt didn't bother identifying himself. "A favor."
"Shoot."
"I need a sky hook."
"Come again."
Pitt could almost imagine the mouth as it clamped another notch on the cigar. "A sky hook. I've got to have a delivery by tomorrow noon."
"What in hell for?"
Pitt took a breath and told him.
Villon eased the executive jet to the left of an afternoon cumulus cloud, the control yoke barely moving beneath his hands. Through the copilot's window, Danielle watched a carpet of Canadian pines glide past below.
"It's all so beautiful," she said.
"You miss the scenery in an airliner," Villon replied. "They fly too high for you to enjoy any detail."
She was in a deep shade of blue, a snug sweater and cotton knit skirt that circled around her knees. There was a sort of savvy look about her that could never quite overcome the feminine warmth that flowed under the surface.
"Your new plane is beautiful too."
"A gift from my well-heeled supporters. The title isn't in my name, of course, but no one touches it but me.
They sat in silence for a few minutes as Villon held the jet on a steady course over the heart of Laurentides Park. Blue lakes began to appear all around them like tiny diamonds in an emerald setting. They could easily make out small boats with fishermen casting for speckled trout.
Finally Danielle said, "I'm happy you invited me. It's been a long time."
"Only a couple of weeks," he said without looking at her. "I've been busy campaigning."
"I thought perhaps ... perhaps you didn't want to see me anymore.
"Whatever gave you that idea?"