New York Station

by Lawrence Dudley

  The chief stepped back, bleakly opening his hands out, barely nodding in assent. Kelly’s mood abruptly changed. Smiling, he patronizingly put his arm around the chief’s shoulder.

  “Now I realize you have to go along with what goes on here. I know you didn’t start it. That’s why I’d personally consider it a favor if you would take charge of outside security.” The hapless chief agreed with all the dignity he could muster and left. His patrolmen followed him, excitedly looking back, still carrying the same starstruck “gee-whiz” expressions on their faces, apparently unconcerned about any threat to their monthly “tips” from the casino owners.

  Kelly took the blueprint photos back out, unfolding and shuffling them, reading.

  “You said this is German?”

  -100-

  Kelly pointed to a note Ludwig placed next to the blueprint when he photographed it.

  “Yes. I saw it said ‘first.’ Didn’t get the rest,” Hawkins said.

  “You can read German?”

  “Yes, I used to work on the continent as a salesman.”

  “Swell, here.” Kelly folded the top photo so Hawkins couldn’t see the rest, held it up for him.

  “This is the first section of Steel Seine submarine sonic detection project. Second half to arrive in a few days.” Hawkins pointed. “Did you see the top margin on the note?”

  “No. What?” He pulled it back, squinting.

  “Printed letters across the top, clipped off in the margin.”

  Kelly puzzled at it a second.

  “Christ. Waldorf Astoria. He took this upstairs when we were there. The asshole who had this thing was probably hiding in that big crowd.”

  “That would make sense.”

  Kelly dove into Ludwig’s briefcase, pulling out several handwritten notes.

  “Yep. Can’t miss that European handwriting. Perfect match. By the way, you’re officially not a suspect anymore.”

  “So pleased to hear that.” Kelly refolded the blueprint photos and whirled back into the other room. He flipped over the sheets on the bed and yanked up Ventnor’s undershirt, quickly examining the three small holes. “I suspect you’ll find those bullets are custom loads fired at close range.”

  “Ummm … small! Maybe .25-caliber.”

  “Probably.”

  Kelly threw the sheets back down.

  “Okay, what really happened here?”

  -101-

  “You tell me.”

  “What’ya mean?”

  “Did you pass the word up I had this room for surveillance?”

  This is the question, Hawkins thought. Where do we go from here?

  Kelly paused for a moment and frowned, “Yep.”

  And his life ahead passed in front of Hawkins’ eyes. Not the life he had lived, the way your life supposedly flashed in front of your eyes when you died. No. The life he might have lived. Home, friends, meals together. Dancing into the night. Trips to galleries. A good book shared by the fireplace. No more lonely nights. He saw it all in a flash and in a flash it was all gone. Too late now, he thought.

  “I was coming back to check up on them when they ambushed me. I barely got away.”

  Kelly’s eyes and mouth opened a millimeter or two.

  “Oh, no, no don’t tell me this—”

  “You were the only one I told.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yes.”

  “Here at the hotel? This room?”

  “Yes.”

  “Absolutely sure?”

  “Yes.”

  “Whose phone you use?”

  “Pay phone in the lobby. Nobody listened. There’s probably a dozen in a row down there.”

  “And you didn’t tell anyone else?”

  “No.”

  Kelly’s face went limp as the implications sank in. His voice dropped to a whisper. “Aw shit, that’s really bad.” Then he bent over as if he’d been punched in the gut. “Oh shit,” he shouted in anguished anger. “Oh shit! Shit! Shit! We got a guy upstairs working for the Germans? Oh God—oh my God, and Ventnor—he’s a pal of the director—he was involved?”

  “Maybe not. I don’t know how deeply Ventnor was involved in that part of it. I do know where those navy blueprints came from. Ventnor helped organize the payment but he might have believed he was doing it for another reason.”

  “Who got the money?”

  “A man by the name of Howard Layton.” He took out a copy of Jacobson’s credit agreement. “2913 Bethesda Boulevard, Newark, New Jersey. I believe he works for the contractor. He has access to the blueprints.”

  Hawkins handed the contract to Kelly. Now for the only good part of the whole thing, Hawkins thought.

  “There is someone who knows, a horseman here by the name of Chet Branch. He passed six thousand dollars’ worth of chips to Layton at a local card game. Ventnor was there with them, helped with the whole thing. Layton’s name on this credit agreement. But Branch signed for it. See?” He pointed to Chet’s signature. “I witnessed the entire handoff. Branch is in this thing up to his neck. Ludwig photoed those blueprints with that gear in there. There should be a negative around. But be careful, it might be extremely small.”

  “What? Ventnor thought he was doing—what? What were they doing? Why did Ludwig kill him? Why dump him here?”

  “They were probably planning to have my body and his in here. Maybe set me up. There’s another conspiracy here, a much larger one. They were trying to rig the presidential election. That’s what the money, the bonds were for, millions of dollars’ worth of payoffs.”

  Kelly actually gasped. “And Ventnor?”

  “He was organizing it with Ludwig. Ludwig brought in the money. Branch was supposed to cash the bonds and handle the payments. His family’s in the banking business. Some of them were bank transfers, some of them were paid in cash.”

  “Were they out at those damn casinos? Is that why they were up here?” Hawkins hesitated, unsure what to say. “Yeah, yeah, I know all about them. Hey, there’s nothing I can do about it.”

  “You can’t?”

  “No jurisdiction. Not a federal crime.”

  “Oh,” relieved, “I was wondering about that a minute ago when you were talking to the chief.”

  “Don’t think we’re happy with it.”

  “Yes, anyway, they pass chips to a contact at a casino. Then the contact cashes the chips in. There’s a sheaf of papers in Ludwig’s room. It’s all encoded.” He took out the copies W had given him. “We intercepted this overseas. This is a key our crypto staff did back in England, and a complete decryption. It’s a very simple code, the kind of thing you could keep in your head, that’s all he could use. He couldn’t bring code books or cypher machines with him. If you sit down with it, it all checks through. Names, amounts, banks, transfers.”

  “And someone upstairs knew.”

  “There’s no other conclusion.”

  “If I hear any more I’m gonna get sick.”

  “I know the feeling.”

  Kelly got up, slowly moving, feeling along like a blind man in a corridor. “But why’d Ludwig murder Ventnor?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe they had a disagreement. Maybe he found out about the naval secrets and confronted him, or they had a falling-out for some reason and Ludwig needed to silence him. Why are those papers in his pocket? If you could find Chet Branch—”

  “Right, okay, that would make sense. One thing at a time, though. We want Ludwig for espionage and murder. We’ve got probable cause on that.” Kelly jumped to the door, opened it, and barked at the chief, “We have a murder suspect. Also an espionage count. German national by the name of Hans Ludwig. Put an all-points bulletin on the wire. Consider him armed and dangerous. Walter Ventnor’s the victim.”

  “Yessir!”

  Kelly closed the door. Back in Ludwig’s room he began sorting through the papers, checking for several minutes between the key and Ludwig’s original. He slowly abandoned it, reading from Hawkins’ copy alo
ne.

  Hawkins sat on the open windowsill in the bright sunshine watching Kelly read.

  My mouth. So terribly dry, he thought. Such a still feeling. Can almost watch that sunbeam flow across the floor. Not warm and sunny, though. Bleak and cold. Like the day Pop died. It had been such a long time watching him die. When it finally happened, it was like this. A quiet emptiness. A total silence in the mind. Didn’t feel anything. Like falling in a void. Odd thoughts. A guy upstairs. Kelly’s conclusion, too. Unknown, of course. What will Daisy think? How will she react? No use thinking what might have been.

  Kelly’d read enough.

  “Yep. Yep. You’re right. Payoffs. But who’s got the bonds?”

  -102-

  A knock at the door. Kelly shouted. The chief slipped his head through.

  “Your suspect—Ludwig? His car’s been found outside of town.”

  “I rode in that car,” Hawkins said.

  “When was that?” Kelly said.

  “Ludwig and I took the same train up here. He’d sent his chauffeur up ahead with—”

  “He’s got a chauffeur? Where the hell is he? Anybody see him?”

  “No. I haven’t seen him in a couple of days, now that you mention it.”

  “We’ve got to find him. Come on, Hawkins, you’re going with me! You!” Kelly pointed at the chief. “Seal this place till I get back.”

  A convoy of black-and-white squad cars sped out, a tow truck in the rear. The abandoned farm gave a completely different mood in the daytime. Green and pleasant, the decaying house and barn were mercifully smothered in lush, thick vines. The Mercedes sat off to one side, canted at an angle by a flat tire and bent rim, pointing at its own door like an Irish setter.

  “That it?”

  “Yes, that’s the car,” Hawkins said. “Mercedes-Benz, four-door, hardtop.”

  Kelly walked around and around, inspecting everything. He squatted down at the ripped-open door silently snapping his fingers. Hawkins wordlessly came up behind him. Kelly stepped back, motioned to the police photographer, pointing in circles around the door and the car.

  “Get pics of this … this … all of that.” Hawkins followed him across the yard. “Blood all along here.”

  Hawkins bent down, peering at it. “Quite a bit.”

  “If the chauffeur found out about the bonds, this mess would make sense, except for the blood all over.”

  “You’re thinking he stole it.”

  “He’s one possibility.”

  Hawkins slowly paced over toward the collapsed well, stopped, then motioned toward it.

  “See this soft dirt here.”

  Kelly promptly walked into it, kicking it with his shoe, making little noises with his tongue. “Real soft. Captain?”

  The captain came over with his officers, looking down, too. “I’m going back to town. Get your men together and dig this thing out, find out what’s down there. Hire a steam shovel if you need to, we’ll vouch for it. And tow that thing in, impound it and check it for prints.” Kelly and Hawkins got back in the car. Kelly started silently driving back to town.

  “By the way,” Kelly said, “you got an alibi for last night?”

  “Yes, I do. Several people saw me at a party with a girl.”

  “Good. I figured as much or you wouldn’t be here. You better not come back to the scene. I’ll drop you off downtown. If you get anything else, come around to the station later.”

  “I will.”

  “I’m going to be counting on you now, you know that. With this whole business upstairs, you getting jumped, it’s gotten a lot more serious.”

  “I know.”

  -103-

  Kelly slumped over a sprawling pile of papers at a table in the police station. His head jerked up with a tired, stagy grin.

  “Hey, you were right about that load,” Kelly said.

  “I thought so. Probably a custom job for a silencer,” Hawkins said.

  “Yep! No doubt! Dug ’um out of the mattress myself. Not much deformation. Low pressure. Smoothbore. Very unusual caliber.”

  “Metric, probably.”

  “Yeah, foreign job. Found something else from overseas in that room, too.”

  “Yes?”

  “I found two pairs of shoes in there. One ordinary pair of Florsheim’s belonging to the victim, Mr. Ventnor.” Kelly paused, reaching under the table. “And one pair of expensive loafers made in faraway London,” sarcastically pronouncing “faraway” as if were from a fairy tale. Hawkins’ loafers landed on the tabletop. Kelly relaxed, hooked his thumbs in his pants. He grinned knowingly, watching for Hawkins’ reaction.

  Hawkins smiled easily, nonchalantly fingering the local and federal evidence tags on the shoes.

  “Previous guest must have forgotten them. Pity.”

  “That’s my official opinion, too.” A small smile, perhaps a little too bright. Kelly picked up the shoes and heaved them in the basket with a rattling bang. “I’ve learned the key to making a criminal case is knowing what’s evidence and what’s useless trash you throw away. Previous guest must’ve left them.”

  Bugger, Hawkins thought. Those were expensive, hand lasted. Oh well. Too bad the local cops saw them, he has to dance the dance, too. And how could Kelly not feel some resentment? Not a good situation from his point of view.

  Kelly pushed himself up from his chair and ambled over to a coffee urn at the side of the squad room. He searched all around the counter, then reached up and took down not one, but two cups. After plunking one down next to the urn, he dug in his pocket and dropped a nickel in the empty cup.

  Hawkins leaned out, scanning the squad room, alternately fascinated and saddened. No one’s watching. It’s not for show, a lesson for the locals. A nickel? Kelly wouldn’t even take a cup of coffee? No one would know if he did. Not one police station in the land would begrudge a federal officer a cup of coffee nor would any likely care very much if he took one out of bounds. What an extraordinarily impressive gesture, not priggish at all, Hawkins thought. Kelly’s nickel is his personal badge of honor. He isn’t in it for himself. Not even a nickel’s worth. He alone knows, and that’s all he cares about.

  Kelly slumped back down, slurping the coffee. The pretense of the big dance dropped.

  “By the way, Hawkins, as a matter of curiosity, what kind of piece were you carrying out there last night when they jumped you?”

  Hawkins dumped the Luger on the table. Kelly swung forward, picking it up with keen professional interest. “Uhmm. Nine millimeter. Very nice. Murder weapon was a smallbore.” He smiled at Hawkins, flicking the toggle breach back and forth, smelling the firing chamber. “Been used.” He drew a bead on the clock, smiling appreciatively. “Ah—feel that. Perfect balance! Must have been expensive. Figures the British Secret Service would have the best.”

  “I’d rather have a Browning Hi-Power, actually. Left one in Europe recently.”

  “Really? Never heard of that. We don’t see that many automatics here, other than the Colt Army.”

  “Bigger magazine, more reliable. That damn thing jams.”

  “Ugh. Right.” He scowled. “You can’t carry this inside the five boroughs of the City of New York, you know.”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “Good.” He flipped it over by the barrel and handed it back. “What’s in the folder?”

  -104-

  Hawkins threw a manila envelope on the desk. Less than an hour earlier one of W’s clerks had brought it up in her purse on the Laurentian. Hawkins drew out the photos. “They’re rather grainy, it’s a small negative. The light was poor, too, but they are readable.”

  Kelly reached over, intently and possessively taking hold of one corner. Hawkins took his Minox from his jacket pocket and set it on the table. Kelly let go of the prints and picked it up, rolling it over and over in hand.

  “That’s a camera?”

  Hawkins nodded.

  “Holy shit.” He handed it back and reached for the prints again. “Go on.” />
  Hawkins started fanning them out.

  “This is the ballroom. Here’s Ventnor and Branch. Here they are with their two accomplices. This is the gaming room. Here you see Branch bring two big trays of chips. Notice the size of those buggers. You ever see chips like that?” Kelly shook his head. “Sits with Ventnor. Accomplice number one takes his, cashes them in. Gets a check. Accomplice number two takes his, goes to craps table, gets rolled. Signs credit agreement, blows that. This is Ludwig. Ludwig again. The three of them sitting together. Let’s see. Oh, yes.” Hawkins pulled a note from his pocket. “The license plate numbers on the cars of the two accomplices. No idea who the first man is, the second is Layton, of course.”

  “Newark office is already out picking him up.”

  “As you can see, Branch spent a considerable amount of time with Ventnor.”

  “Sure did. And Layton. And you don’t know who this other guy is?”

  “No. Oh—wait, I do have that.” Hawkins dug out the name Jacobson had given him and handed it to Kelly. “Do you have any leads on Ludwig?”

  “Not one.”

  Hawkins tapped Chet’s picture. “He’s the only way to get at him. He’s not buying all those chips out of his own pocket and giving them to these two. The money’s coming from Ludwig, part of it for that stolen blueprint, of course. Branch has got to know where Ludwig is.”

  “Yep. This is what I need to question him. I’ll have the men here bring him in, call in this other tag.” He strode out of the office, leaned back in the door and excitedly motioned for Hawkins. “Hey! Come on, they found a body at that farmyard.”

  -105-

  This time they rode out to the farm behind a squad car with the siren running. Six Saratoga city police officers, two deputy sheriffs and four state troopers triumphantly stood around the well, arms folded, stripped to their undershirts, smeared with sweat and mud, identifiable only by their uniformed pants: blue for the police, plain clothes for the deputies and gray with blue stripes for the troopers. Buckets, ladders, and shovels were strewn around. A body lie under a gray canvas.