The porter was fetching another blanket from the linen closet for an elderly passenger when he was confronted by the pack of marshals. The men were wearing thick coats, and so Laurence couldn’t see the badges that were pinned to their chests, nor could he see the guns they had holstered at their side. To him, they were just four more passengers.
Haley caught the eye roll. “There better been something interesting on the ceiling, boy, to make you do that.”
The other porters had once told Laurence to be silent and let others speak for him. But his identity was already robbed when people called him George. He had never met an actual George in his life, actually. He was going to be damned if they took his voice as well. His eyes narrowed and his fine mustache flinched just a little. “Boy? I’d reckon we’re about the same age.”
Haley looked insulted, but the other marshals laughed. Ansel took a step forward and unbuttoned his jacket, casually flashing his badge. “We’re going to need to ask you some questions…sir.”
“Now, I don’t know the question, but I know the answer: I didn’t do it. I’ve been in this car for the past hour – the customers can swear to it.”
“We can believe it,” Ansel said reassuringly. “But did you see any of the passengers acting strangely recently?”
Laurence started to speak, but then stopped. He looked thoughtful. “Boss told us that you were guests and nothing more.”
“If you knew what was good for you, you’d start talking,” Haley snapped.
Laurence shrugged. “You can arrest me, sure. But the boss can fire me, and this job is all I got. ‘sides, I’ve had a lifetime of people telling me what they think is best for me – it never ends well.”
“Don’t worry about you, don’t worry about me, and especially don’t worry about my dear friend here,” Ansel told the porter. “All we’re asking is that you be worried about one passenger. You must have that passenger manifest memorized by now.”
“I do.”
“And which of those names was acting strange?” Ansel persisted. “What name stands out?”
Ansel asked so earnestly that, for a moment, Laurence forgot that he was talking with a federal marshal. He blurted out, “Mr. Coburn.”
“And what was he up to?” Bowman questioned.
“His wife came up to me some time ago, saying that he disappeared when they were eating in the dining car, and that she hasn’t seen him since.”
Ansel leaned forward, the weight of his curiosity tipping him over. “What seat did he reserve?”