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participated in the arrest. Was the defendant acting violently when you responded to Northern Central?”
    There it was. If Kennedy wanted to put me behind bars, he would have to explain.
    Kennedy turned angry eyes toward the audio recorder.
    â€œWe believed Mr. Pinkerton would respond with violence, yes.”
    â€œWhat led you to that conclusion?”
    â€œWhen he fled from Chicago, he led officers on a perilous . . .”
    â€œI am aware of what happened after his arrest, Mr. Kennedy. We are more interested in what happened before. Why did you respond with such a show of force?”
    The chamber was silent except for the scraping of wax discs.
    â€œMr. Kennedy. Help me to understand.”
    â€œThe police are not on trial.”
    â€œOf course not, the trial is over . . .” Judge Mansfield said.
    Kennedy stood and turned on his heel. He hurried to open the door leading back to the courtroom. Any detective would have understood his rush. Reporters were listening.
    Courtroom audio devices were modified on the black market as soon as they were invented. New models are hard to tune because they register, not voices, but the sound of scraping discs. That noise is imprinted backwards then played in reverse as conversation. Even the best units are delayed by several seconds.
    Journalists were known to hide these devices in top hats, briefcases, hollowed-out books, anything. Though we were in Mansfield’s chambers, the scraping was still audible in the courtroom. Kennedy threw the doors open just as reporters heard him say,
    â€œThe police are not on trial.”
    Kennedy emerged and a room full of writers shouted questions at the same time.
    The next day, newspapers were filled with speculation about why he had refused to answer for the actions of New York police. It was good sport but less than I’d hoped. Nothing against Kennedy could be proved.
    Judge Mansfield had no grounds to refuse Hayes’ petition. I was convicted but given a suspended sentence. So long as I led the Schulte investigation, I was free.
    *   *   *
    Allan Pinkerton, Principal
    July, 1861
    My first thought was to fire Byron Hayes and have him stripped of his license. Ms. Higgs made me see that doing so would expose the fact that I had been reading Robert’s files.
    Robert was happy to have created a minor media stir. Northern Central was in the papers for less than a week. Kennedy threatened to bring charges against any reporter who tied him to the embezzled funds.
    None dared call his bluff. The scandal evaporated in a matter of days.
    We could not expect much cooperation from New York police in our investigation of Henry Schulte’s murder. I had to let Robert proceed as he saw fit. If I removed him from the case, or put William back in the lead, Mansfield would revoke the suspended sentence.
    Henry Schulte was 72 years old when he died. He owned a business in Manhattan and an estate along the Hudson River. On those shores near his country home, Schulte was killed. He was struck with an axe and the base of the neck, then several more times after he fell into the snow. Details of the case impacted me on a personal level.
    I am an immigrant to this country. My prospects for success were dim yet America proved a place where a man’s qualities could be made to count. For all her greatness, America failed Henry Schulte. He came to New York to escape tragic memories in Prussia.
    Schulte led a charmed life during his youth. He was handsome, first son of a wealthy landowner and a respected military man. Schulte was also engaged to be married. He was happy.
    Schulte’s fiancée had many admirers. One of these men was a farmhand of meagre means who convinced himself that, if he could win the young woman’s heart, his bad luck could be reversed. Love is confusion.
    During wartime, Schulte led cavalry teams on reconnaissance missions into the remote wilderness. His fiancée