Blackstone and the Wolf of Wall Street Read Online Free Page B

who are the Pinkertons?’ he asked dutifully.
    â€˜Members of the Pinkerton Detective Agency, which was founded by Allan Pinkerton in 1850.’
    â€˜And I take it that they’re well-known to most Americans,’ Blackstone said, resignedly.
    â€˜Hell, yes,’ Meade agreed. ‘They acted as President Lincoln’s bodyguards during the Civil War, and were employed to help track down Jesse James and the Wild Bunch. At one point, there were more Pinkerton agents than there were men serving in the US Army. They’ve done all kinds of work – including strike-breaking. And until Congress passed a law in ’93 to make it illegal for them to work for government agencies, they practically ran the investigative branch of the Department of Justice. Isn’t that right, Sergeant Jones?’
    â€˜It is,’ the sergeant agreed. ‘There sure is a lot of stuff about this country that you don’t know, ain’t there, Mr Blackstone?’
    â€˜There sure is,’ Blackstone agreed.
    And even with Alex Meade to guide him, that ignorance still had a fair chance of tripping him up at some point in this investigation, he cautioned himself.
    â€˜It was a couple of the Pinkerton agents who were killed,’ Jones said.
    â€˜Killed?’ Meade repeated incredulously, as if he suspected he might have misheard.
    â€˜Had their throats slit,’ Jones told him.
    â€˜But the cable we got in Sing Sing never said anything about that!’ Meade protested.
    Of course it hadn’t, Blackstone thought. Big Bill Holt was important, and Big Bill Holt had been kidnapped. What had happened to the hired help was neither here nor there.
    â€˜There’s Ocean Heights now,’ Sergeant Jones said, pointing out of the open carriage window.
    Blackstone looked out at the house. In England, he thought,
a dwelling like that would have been surrounded by a long high wall, but walls did not seem to be the American way.
    The house was on a small hillock, three stories tall and – unlike most of the other dwellings they had passed en route – was made of stone. It was large and impressive enough to be called a ‘grand’ house, Blackstone decided, but it fell well short of the size – and ostentation – of the Fifth Avenue chateaux which many of William Holt’s fellow millionaires had built for themselves.
    He turned his attention from the building itself to its surroundings. There were formal gardens – fifty yards wide – running along the front and sides of the house. Beyond them was woodland, which was the ideal hiding place for kidnappers waiting for the right moment to swoop. The back of the house presumably – given its name – faced out on to the ocean, which, if these same kidnappers had chosen to avail themselves of it, would have presented a perfect escape route.
    â€˜Holt must have put all his faith in security inside the house,’ said Alex Meade, who was developing an uncanny knack for reading his new partner’s thoughts.
    â€˜Yes – and that seems to have worked out very well indeed,’ Blackstone said sourly.
    â€˜Just dandy,’ Meade agreed.
    Sergeant Jones banged on the roof of the carriage, as a signal for the driver to stop.
    â€˜Better go and see how my boys are doing,’ he said.
    There were plenty of his ‘boys’ in evidence. At least half a dozen uniformed policemen were wandering around in a purposeful-looking – yet clearly disorganized – manner.
    It wouldn’t do any good, of course, Blackstone told himself. Searches required patience, not energy, and in their attempt to show their sergeant how enthusiastic they were, they’d probably already destroyed any clues the kidnappers had thoughtfully left for them.
    â€˜See what I mean about hayseeds?’ Meade asked, as the carriage began to move again. ‘These guys don’t have a clue about how to handle a case as big as this