Bianco put aside the paper and forced himself to eat eggs, bacon, toast, but he couldn’t taste any of it. He helped June with the dishes, then drove to Main Street and opened the store. He was early, his nephew hadn’t come in yet, and he left the front door locked and went down to the basement. He’d stored his uniforms down there thirty-­six years ago, and the box was still where he’d put it. He lifted off sacks and other boxes that had been piled on top of it over the years and stripped off the tape he’d sealed it with. He lifted the cover and smelled the cedar shavings he’d scattered around the heavy OD wool jackets and trousers. He lifted the first two jackets out, then felt in the inside pocket of the third for the list of names he’d put there the last time he folded it. He wasn’t sure why he’d kept the list, just a feeling that he might need it some day. It was still there, and he pulled out the piece of paper with a feeling of half dread, half anticipation, unfolded it, and read the names again: Alldmann . . . Dworkin . . . Feldsher . . . Fineman . . . Gershon . . . Levy . . . Lippmann . . . Luria. . . .

At noon he went to the telephone business office a few doors away and asked the woman behind the counter for the Laurel phone book. She gave it to him and he took it to a table across the room. The place was filled with phones for sale; round phones, phones covered with gilt, and phones that were transparent to show the works inside. He opened the book on the table next to a Mickey Mouse phone and, with the colored plastic face grinning madly at him, he found the names of eight of the men who had been in Barracks 554.

Chief Kramer gave Bianco coffee and sat down at his desk across from him. Bianco had rehearsed what he was going to say on the drive from Craig Harbor to Laurel, but now, facing the tall thin man with mild blue eyes, he knew he’d sound crazy. He burned his tongue on the coffee and coughed. The chief leaned forward. “You okay?”