“I don’t know. I don’t want to talk about it with anyone. But this other guy I work with, Harry? He’s been buying all this hot-shit electronic stuff the last few months. Gadgets. Going out, partying, new clothes. We don’t make that kind of money. He didn’t used to have it. Now he does.”

“What about the cops?”

Sandler craned his neck around, checking the parking lot for strange cars. “I’ve thought about it. But what if they start checking around, can’t prove anything? What’s going to happen to me then? The Gorkins figure out it was me, or Frank rats me out to them, what happens? But if there’s a story in the paper, if you guys can blow the lid off this all at once, the city, the mayor and council, they’ll have to take action. They’ll demand an investigation. It’ll all be out there, in the public. They won’t be able to do anything to me then, or to my family. Right? And then, the cops will have to protect me. Won’t they?”

“Probably,” I said.

“Can you do this story?”

“I think so.” I decided not to tell Sandler that I was not, technically, a reporter at the moment.

“What do you mean, you think so?”

“I mean, yes. This can be done. Why are you telling me all this? As opposed to some other reporter.”

“When you called, about your son, and the incident at Burger Crisp, I figured it was only a matter of time before the shit hit the fan. I want to get out in front of this. I don’t want to be dragged down by it. I’d rather be the guy who blew the whistle than get caught in this with everybody else.”

I asked him a few more questions. Names and dates, as many specific details as I could pull out of him. Plus where I could reach him.

“You gotta be really careful how you go about asking questions,” he said. “I don’t want anyone knowing where all this came from, not before the story hits the paper.”

“I understand.” I paused. “Does your wife know what’s happening?”

Sandler shook his head. “I’m too ashamed. Maybe, when it comes out, it’ll give me some of my pride back, and then I can tell her.” He looked at his watch. “I gotta go.”

“Listen,” I said, “I have a couple of other things I have to deal with first.” I was thinking of my trip to Canborough and beyond. “But in a day or so, I’ll start looking into this.”

Unburdened, he said thank you, asked me for an e-mail address, which he wrote down, then slipped out of my car and back into his Buick. The tires of his car crunched the gravel and he backed out, turned around, and drove out of Bayside Park.