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admiration for him, and I’m doing all I can to further his political career. I know that some day Gerald Horton will be a household name far beyond the confines of this city and state. He may well become … well!” Cordes looked sheepish. “I’m making a campaign speech.”
    â€œSuch loyalty, Mr. Cordes,” McCall murmured, “just has to be deserved.”

EIGHT
    â€œYes,” Cordes said. “Well.” He was mollified. “Then perhaps now you’ll tell me what you want to see Mr. Horton about?”
    â€œOf course,” McCall said. “As his campaign manager, speechwriter, and so on, you must be on familiar terms with how Horton thinks. What I wanted to talk to him about was LeRoy Rawlings. Maybe you could give me some idea of what his reaction might be.”
    â€œReaction to what?”
    â€œAfter you and I left the detective bureau today, a lawyer showed up with writs of habeas corpus for Rawlings and Mrs. Franks. Volper released Mrs. Franks, but he took Rawlings before Judge Edmundson for a preliminary hearing. Edmundson remanded him to jail in lieu of fifty thousand dollars’ bail.”
    The man Cordes had called Andy had climbed down from his stepladder and come around behind the station manager’s desk. There was a panel with a switch and a volume control knob in the desk top. The red-haired man activated the switch.
    A burst of sound came from the stereophonic speakers at the other end of the room. “—listening to the Bart Wheeler blast on Station BOKO in Banbury,” a rich male voice boomed. “Fourteen-ten on your dial. The time is exactly four fifty-seven.”
    â€œDo you have to do that now, Andy?” Cordes snapped.
    â€œSorry.” The man reduced the volume. “I didn’t know it was tuned so loud, Ben. It’s working all right now.”
    A commercial came on. The red-haired man flicked it off.
    The name and the red-haired man’s familiar face triggered McCall’s memory suddenly. “You’re Andy Whalen,” he said.
    The man looked pleased. “That’s right. How come you remember me? I didn’t think anybody remembered me any more.”
    â€œI saw you fight Kid Cooley in Chicago. When he was the leading middleweight contender.”
    The ex-boxer wiggled his jaw. “That’s when I got my face made over. The kid had a sock like Marciano. I was too old to try a comeback, but I needed the money.”
    â€œYou did pretty well for an old man,” McCall said with a smile. “You had him on the canvas twice.”
    â€œAnd he got up both times,” Whalen said with a grin. “Me, when he put me down in the twelfth, I just laid there.”
    â€œThis is Mr. McCall, Andy,” Cordes said. “Mike McCall, from the capital.”
    â€œThe governor’s muscle? I’m honored you remembered me, Mr. McCall.”
    Whalen came back around the desk, wiping his hand on his pants. McCall shook hands with him.
    â€œAndy is our chief electrician and general maintenance man,” Cordes explained.
    â€œI do for Ben about what you do for the governor, Mr. McCall. Troubleshooter, that’s me.”
    Cordes said gently, “Dan wants you to look at that dead mike in Studio C before you leave for the day, Andy.”
    â€œYeah, Ben, sure.” Whalen stuck his hand out again. “Nice to have met you, Mr. McCall.”
    McCall shook it and waved. The redheaded man folded his stepladder and hurried out with it.
    â€œNot exactly punchy,” Cordes said, “but …” He did not finish. “Where were we, Mr. McCall?”
    â€œWe had Rawlings in jail, with bond fixed at fifty thousand dollars. Since Harlan James skipped, naturally no bondsman will go bail for a member of the Black Hearts.”
    â€œYou can hardly blame them.”
    â€œNo, but the black community isn’t going to take kindly to the unreasonable bail. If this town is