by Ben Benson
“Sit down, Ernie,” Newpole said. “Get comfortable. We might be here for a little while.”
Congdon sat down. “Anybody got a cigarette?” he asked. I passed him one. Newpole took the gold lighter from his pocket and lit the cigarette with it. Then he pushed the lighter across the table to Congdon. He said, “Ernie, this was identified by Mrs. Eugene Somers a little while ago. You recognize it?”
Congdon said, “Never saw it before in my life.” But something had gone out of his eyes.
“We found it in a desk drawer in Billy Nesbit’s house.”
“I wouldn’t know anything about it,” Congdon said dully.
“This afternoon we found tire tracks in the woods about a half-mile from where the road leads to the Runkle Farm. Close to the murder scene, Ernie. Small tires. Like a Volkswagen had been parked there.”
Congdon said, “Lots of Volkswagens around.”
“Your pal, Billy Nesbit, ran out on you,” Newpole said. “He took his little car and ran like a scared rabbit. He left you holding the bag for him. Doesn’t that bother you, Ernie?”
Congdon’s mouth twisted. “You trying to trick me into talking, Lieutenant?”
“Smarten up,” Newpole snapped. “You see the lighter. Where do you think we got it?” He leaned closer. “I’m telling you your buddy has run out on you.”
“Good luck to him,” Congdon burst out suddenly. “You’ll never catch him.”
“We’ll catch him,” Newpole said, sitting back in the chair again. “I came to tell you another thing, Ernie. Whatever deal you had with him is over now. You can’t protect him any more. You knew that as soon as you saw the lighter. Now he’s in it as much as you.”
“How come you know Billy and I had a deal?”
“Let me explain something,” Newpole said patiently. “There’s nothing new in any of this—nothing that hasn’t been done before. There’s no gimmick that hasn’t been tried. You had a pact. The usual agreement. If one got grabbed, he took the rap for the other. That was the deal, wasn’t it, boy?”
“Only fair,” Congdon said. “No sense bringing the other guy into it.”
“But you took more than your share of the blame. I don’t think you were the one with the gun.”
“I stole it in Billerica, didn’t I?”
“Yes. But you never kept it. You had a record and you’d have been foolish to hold onto it. You gave it to Nesbit right away. Why—you didn’t even know the make, Ernie. You called it a .38 Colt. It was a .32 Smith & Wesson that was stolen.”
“If you know all the answers, Lieutenant—”
“Sure, I know all the answers. What the hell do you think I’ve been doing all these years? Running an ice-cream stand? I’ve been dealing with people like you for almost a generation. And you never threw that gun away in the Sudbury River. You gave it back to Billy, didn’t you?”
“I didn’t want it,” Congdon said. “I only borrowed it for the Goodcliffe stick-up.”
“And Billy’s car, too. Why did Billy let you go alone this time?”
“He didn’t know. I needed a bankroll to get out of town. I was getting hot. You guys were starting to question me.”
“You had your share of the Somers loot.”
“No, I didn’t. Billy took it all. Insurance, he said. If I had the dough, he thought I’d get chicken and run. I had to stay, he said. Because if I’d gone, they’d start to add things up and come after him. That’s why he made me stay and sweat it out. Stay, he told me. Don’t get panicky. It’s the running man who gets grabbed.”
“But you finally decided to leave anyway,” Newpole said. “Why?”
“It was this damn trooper,” Congdon said, pointing to me. “He was hanging around Ashendon too much. I had that feeling about him. That’s why I was all set to make tracks for California. I was lining things up to go last night. I waited too long.” He looked at me and laughed harshly. “You sure fooled him, Lindsey. Billy had you figured entirely different. To him you were a big, big deal. He didn’t even know you were trying to make up to his girl.”
“He knew,” I said. “And we both knew I didn’t stand a chance with her. Anybody could have told you that, Ernie.”
Newpole said, “Where is he now, Ernie?”
“I don’t know.”
Newpole said, “Sure, you do, Ernie. You were two smart operators. In case you had to run, you must have had a place all lined up.”
“We never did. Billy always said to leave everything to him. It was my idea to go to California.”
“His, too?” Newpole asked.
“If I knew, I wouldn’t tell you. I owe Billy that much.”
“You owe him nothing. He ran out on you.”
“He was the only friend I ever had in that goddam town. The only one. Let him run. He’s smart enough to disappear. He has a trick.”
“What trick?” Newpole asked.
“I don’t know because he never told me.”
“And he has the .32 revolver?”
“He has it. And he’ll use it if anybody tries to take him.”
“He said that?”
“Yes,” Congdon said. “He said if he got into a tight corner, he’d go all the way. He wouldn’t let himself be taken. If he’s crowded, Lieutenant, he’ll kill a few cops.”
Newpole rubbed his jaw. “Well, we’ll worry about that, Ernie. Tell me this. Why did he go on the Somers job with you? Armed robbery? A rich kid like him?”
“For kicks. He wanted to see what it was like. He thought he’d get a boot out of it.”
“For kicks,” Newpole said in a remote voice. “Another one. That’s what we’ve been coming to.” His breath squeezed out of him. “Ernie, we’ll need a new statement from you on the Somers case. The true one this time.”
“What difference is it going to make now?” Congdon asked.
“For the record,” Newpole said.
Congdon said wearily, “You going to keep haunting me until you get it?”
“I guess we are, Ernie.”
“Then come on, let’s get it over with. Tell your man to start writing.”
STATEMENT OF ERNEST CONGDON, June 28, 1957
Middlesex County Jail
East Cambridge, Massachusetts
On Friday, June 7, 1957, at 8:00 A.M., I left Ashendon, Mass., in the company of William C. Nesbit, also of Ashendon. We rode in Nesbit’s car, a 1955 gray Volkswagen. We drove out to Route 25 in Baycroft and parked the car under some pine trees where it was hidden from the road. I got out, stood on the side of the road and tried to thumb a ride. Nesbit hid in the bushes. A green Chrysler sedan stopped, and I got in. As I did, Nesbit came running and got into the back seat.
The man, whom I now know to be Eugene L. Somers, said: “I didn’t know there were two of you.”
Nesbit said: “Sure, you did. I was standing near my friend. Where are you going?”
Somers said: “To my office in Boston.”
We rode a short distance and Nesbit pulled the revolver out of his pocket. He pointed it and said: “You can slow down now.”
Somers said: “What is this?” He slowed the car down and opened the door on his side.
Nesbit poked the gun in his back and said: “Don’t get out yet. I will tell you where to turn off.” There was a little dirt road on the right and Nesbit said: “Turn off here.”
We drove up the dirt road for about two minutes until we came to a burned-down farmhouse and the road ended. Nesbit said to me: “I didn’t know there was a burned-down house here. Why didn’t you tell me?”
I said: “I didn’t know, either. What the hell’s the difference?”
Nesbit said: “I hate the sight of it. Stop the damn car.”
Somers stopped the car and we told him to get out. When he did, I took the keys out of the ignition and threw them away. Somers said:
“Why did you do that, young man?”
I said: “Shut up. I have my reasons.”
Somers said: “Why do you boys have
to do these terrible things?”
I said: “Don’t ask me questions. I will do all the talking. Hand over your money.”
He gave me seventeen dollars from his pocket and said: “Please go away now.”
Nesbit said: “You have more money than that. You look too prosperous. Where is your wallet?”
Somers made a motion to run and Nesbit said: “Don’t do that or I’ll shoot.”
Somers did not run away. He said: “Please don’t hurt me. I have a wife and two children dependent on me. I will do exactly as you say.”
Nesbit was trembling a little and acting very nervous. He said: “You don’t know what it is to have trouble. I’ll bet everything has always gone smooth with you. Look at the people who owned this house. It was burned down to the ground and they were burned to death with it.”
Somers said: “No, that is not so. It is just a burned-out farm. The Runkles lived here and they all came out safely. I know, because I have a summer place a few miles away.”
Nesbit said: “You are wrong. I know for a fact that people get killed when their house burns down. I don’t want to talk here, anyway. Let’s go to the back of the car so I don’t have to look at the ruins. I can’t stand the sight of them.”
We went to the back of the car where Nesbit and I both had a cigarette. I smoked a Chesterfield. I do not remember what brand Nesbit smoked. I said to Somers: “Let’s stop wasting time. I believe you have more money. If you don’t give it to us, we will kill you.”
Somers said: “Please don’t kill me. I will give you everything I have.”
Nesbit was acting very nervous. He said: “Ernie, you have a good idea. I never killed a man. I wonder what it’s like.”
I said: “I don’t care to know.”
Nesbit said: “Well, I’m going to try it. I will kill him. But I will give him a break my mother never had. I will let him get down on his knees and pray first.”
When Nesbit said that, Somers started to run away. Nesbit fired the gun at him. Somers stumbled and hollered: “Ough, you hurt my arm.”
Nesbit said: “Watch this shot, Ernie.” He fired again.
Somers kept running. I saw him run along the burned house toward a stone wall. We started to chase him. I saw Somers get up on the wall and fall down on the other side. When we reached him, he was lying face down in the weeds. I thought he was unconscious. I tried to roll his body over with my foot. When I did this, Somers started to get up as though to run. When Nesbit saw that, he fired again. I saw a hole appear in the middle of Somers’ back.
Nesbit fired another shot and I saw more blood appear. Nesbit was standing over Somers as he did this. Then Nesbit bent down and examined him.
Nesbit said: “He is dead now. Find out what he has.”
I found a wallet in the right-front pocket of the trousers. There was a hundred and eighteen dollars. I took the money out.
Nesbit said: “Throw the wallet away, but wipe your prints off first.” I did this. I also saw Somers was wearing an expensive, gold wrist watch.
Nesbit said: “Don’t take that. Watches have serial numbers and can be traced.” I found a gold lighter with jewels on it. Nesbit said: “The man carries no cigarettes, so he probably doesn’t smoke. This must be a family heirloom. Better leave it.”
I started to put it back, but Nesbit asked for it. He examined the lighter and said:
“This is different from anything I have ever seen. I will take a chance and keep it. I should have a keepsake of the occasion.” He put the lighter in his pocket.
We went back to the green sedan where we carefully wiped everything clean of fingerprints. Then we walked along the dirt road, being careful to walk on the grass so we would leave no footprints. We came to Route 25 and walked until we came to the Volkswagen.
Nesbit said: “Give me the money until I’m sure it’s safe for you to have it.”
I gave him the money. Nesbit said: “It is too bad I killed the man. It really made no sense.”
I said: “I’m sorry you did it. I have never been mixed up with a killing before.”
He said: “I don’t know what made me do it, but it is too late to think about that now. It makes no difference to the law who fired the gun. We are both equally guilty. If we are caught, we will both go to the electric chair. Make sure you have an alibi for this morning.”
I said: “My mother will swear I was home in bed all morning. How about you?”
He said: “Don’t worry about me. I will have an alibi. There is one more thing. In case one of us gets caught, it would be foolish for him to squeal on the other and send him to the chair, too. Let us swear now that whoever gets caught, he keeps the other out of it.”
We swore an oath and shook hands on it. Then we drove back to Ashendon. Nesbit left me off a little way from the house.
I said: “Where are you going now?”
He said: “You sneak in the house. I am going to see Karen Morgan who will fix me up with an alibi.”
This statement is made of my own free will, without force or coercion. I have not been promised any reward of any kind for this statement.
(Signed) Ernest Congdon
Witnessed by:
Detective-Lieutenant Edward Newpole,
Detective-Sergeant Hector Boudreau,
Trooper Ralph Lindsey,
Massachusetts State Police
Chapter 24
At nine o’clock that night, while we were with Ernie Congdon at the jail, they found the gray Volkswagen. It was at the Logan International Airport in Boston. A state trooper on duty there discovered it in the far end of the parking lot.
A short time later, a ticket seller of one of the major airlines remembered selling passage to Miami, Florida, to a tall young man with a piece of adhesive tape on his chin. The ticket was bought at noon under the name of William Brewster of Plymouth, Massachusetts. The flight left at 1:00 P.M. The ticket seller particularly remembered the young man’s almost exaggerated courtesy.
The flight had landed at Miami several hours before. An alarm was immediately dispatched to Florida.
No results.
Three days passed. July and hot weather. There was no report of Billy Nesbit anywhere. In the meantime, Karen Morgan had been questioned several times. Newpole was very stern with her, and I think he came within an inch of asking the district attorney to charge her with being an accessory after the fact. But Karen Morgan steadfastly insisted that Billy Nesbit had come to her house about noon on Friday, June seventh, and had told her there had been a little trouble. He, Nesbit, had come across Ernie Congdon trying to break into an unoccupied cottage on Lake Conacook, and he had hurried Ernie out of there before any damage was done. Nesbit was sure, however, that a woman in a nearby cottage had caught a glimpse of them. Both would be in trouble unless Karen could give him an alibi for the morning.
That was the story Billy Nesbit had told her, and she believed him. Furthermore, she said defiantly, it was impossible for Billy Nesbit to have had anything to do with the Somers murder. It was Ernie Congdon alone. No matter what they said about Billy, she would not believe it. Anyone was positively insane to think that Billy could be a murderer.
On her second trip to the district attorney’s office, she came with her parents. It was an especially trying session for her. After it was over, the district attorney and Lieutenant Newpole wanted to speak with her parents alone. Newpole suggested I drive her home.
She came out of the office, white-faced and tense. It was the first time I had been alone with her since Billy Nesbit had fled. I took her elbow and guided her quickly out through the corridor, her narrow, plastic heels spiking along the marble floor in a sharp, staccato manner.
“I don’t care,” she said to me.
“You don’t care what?” I asked.
“Let them indict me,” she said. “I don’t care.”
“What if you knew then that he had killed Somers that morning? Would you still have alibied for him?”
“Yes, I
would.”
“Why?”
“Because I love him.”
“If you love him so much,” I said, “why didn’t you run away with him?”
“He didn’t ask me. I would have gone.”
“Maybe he’ll send for you. Would you go to him if he did?”
“No, not now,” she said. “Because that’s just what you’re waiting for. You’d trail me and capture him. I’ll stay here and wait.”
“For how long?”
“For years, if necessary.” She was being very brave, romantic and self-sacrificing. “When everything is safe I’ll go to him.”
We came out of the courthouse and down the stairs. This time we had to run a gauntlet. She was very pretty, photogenic and newsworthy. Camera flashbulbs went off, and she put her handbag up in front of her face as I pulled and tugged her through the crowd.
I hurried her into the black cruiser. Photographers came up and took pictures through the windows. She kept her face covered and shook off all questions.
We drove away to Ashendon. She looked straight ahead, saying nothing. As we swung onto Route 2A, she turned to me suddenly and said, “He worshiped you.”
“Who?” I asked.
“I said Billy worshiped you.”
“No,” I said.
“Oh, yes.”
“No. It doesn’t jell with his actions.”
“He spoke of you all the time,” she said, putting her hand on my arm. “If only you had met him sooner.”
“What would that have done?”
“He would have turned away from someone like Ernie Congdon. You were an ideal of his. Oh, how often he spoke of you, Ralph. If he had had a half-decent chance, he would have been like you.”
“The chance?” I asked, “He had more chances than I ever had in life. More chances than ninety per cent of the boys in this country. But he was flawed. He had a taint—a rust spot on his soul.”
“He had one flaw—if you could call it that. He always wanted to help the underdog. Whatever he did, he did for Ernie Congdon. For no other reason.”
