Free The Darkest Hour by Tony Schumacher Page A

the notebook entry; his signature sealed his fate if anyone asked later where the coins had gone. He just had to hope that Baker would keep his nose out and not mention them to anyone. He passed the notebook back to Baker, who hesitated before leaving; he cast a glance at Jacob and then Brewer.
    “I enjoyed working with you, Sarge,” Baker said. “If there is ever anything else I can help you with, just say. It makes a change from walking the beat.”
    “I will, thank you.” Rossett took hold of the door handle and gestured for Baker to leave. The bobby nodded, then turned, and as he passed, Rossett noticed him glance at Jacob and wink.
    Rossett closed the door and turned to face the inspector, who appeared to have calmed slightly.
    “Just get this whole thing sorted out, Rossett; I don’t want any of this coming back to land on my toes. Do you understand?”
    “It won’t, sir. I’ve already spoken to Koehler. He—”
    “Koehler knows?”
    “He was just in the canteen, sir.”
    “I don’t want to hear anymore. Just get rid of the Jew before anyone else becomes involved.”
    “I will, sir.”
    “We’ll have bloody Hitler here next.” Brewer stepped past him and opened the door; he turned to look at Jacob. “Your lot are more trouble than they’re worth.” Jacob didn’t look up, so Brewer looked at Rossett. “You’ve done a good job keeping me out of these matters in the past, Sergeant. Make sure you keep doing that, understand?”
    “Sir.”
    Brewer left the room, and Rossett sat down on the edge of his desk.
    “I don’t want to go to prison,” said Jacob, causing Rossett to look up. “I could have stayed in the fireplace.”
    “I know,” replied Rossett, shaking his head, “but it’s too late to put you back there now.”
    “Because of your job?”
    “Yes.”
    Jacob played with his fingertips awhile and then looked up at Rossett.
    “I have bad dreams too.”
    “What?” Rossett roused himself again.
    “I have bad dreams, like you.”
    Rossett looked at the door and then back toward Jacob, unsure what he was supposed to say.
    “I can’t find my mother. I’m lost and I don’t know where she is. I can hear voices, but I don’t remember what she sounds like so I don’t know if it is her.”
    “They’re just dreams.”
    “That’s what Grandfather says.”
    “He’s right.”
    “It’s just . . .”
    “What?”
    “When I wake up, I think for a moment she is still alive; and then I remember she isn’t, and I’ll never see her again.”

 
    Chapter 8
    “ w HAT’S HE DONE? ” The custody sergeant leaned over his high counter and peered down at Jacob, who was craning his neck up to return the gaze.
    “Nothing. I’ve told you, he hasn’t done anything.”
    “Well, he’s not going in my cells then.”
    “Bernie, please, I have to lodge him somewhere, and at least here I can keep an eye on him.”
    “If he hasn’t done anything he isn’t going in my cells.”
    “It’s just till Sunday, Bernie. Come on, help out an old pal?”
    Bernard Clark leaned back from the counter and crossed his arms over his fat stomach. Rossett didn’t speak. He’d let the old man have his moment of power and hope the big old sergeant would give in and let Jacob be lodged in one of the two youth cells behind the counter.
    “Why can’t you take him home with you?”
    “You know why.”
    “No, I don’t.”
    “You do.” Rossett didn’t want to point out the obvious, although he couldn’t understand whether that was for Jacob’s benefit or his own.
    “I don’t.”
    Rossett leaned forward onto the counter and beckoned for the sergeant to come forward so he could whisper; his heart sank when Clark merely raised an eyebrow and cocked his head.
    Rossett was regretting this idea more and more as time went on.
    “Bernie, look, as a favor to an old mate, just let him sleep here a few days; I’ll sort out his food and exercise. If you want, I’ll take him out of a day and keep him in my