New York Station

by Lawrence Dudley

  “Any ID?” Kelly said. They shook their heads. “Hawkins!” Kelly lifted the sheet, exposing Dieter’s face. The body was already crawling with insects. His face looked badly sunburned. “Recognize him?”

  “That is—was Ludwig’s chauffeur. His name’s Dieter.”

  “Any last name?”

  “Never heard it.”

  “Well, we know one thing.”

  “Yes?”

  “He hasn’t got the bonds.”

  The captain pointed under the sheet. “We found a .30-caliber automatic marked ‘Made in Spain.’” Kelly threw the rest of the sheet back and kneeled down to look at it.

  “Any spent cartridges?”

  “Three,” the captain said, “down at the bottom.”

  “How’d they fill this thing in?” They all shook their heads. “See if you can find any evidence of a charge, dynamite wrapper, cap, spent fuse. He looks burned.”

  Kelly then went around and thanked the officers and deputies at length, asking them their names. He carefully wrote them down in his notebook before a second round of handshakes. They hurried back to the office. This time the siren was off.

  “And you last saw the chauffeur two days ago?” Kelly said.

  “That’s right.”

  “That’s consistent. He’s been down there a couple of days, you can tell from all the bugs.”

  “Ah. I wouldn’t have thought of that. Chet and his transfers, that’s the key, you can’t clear it up otherwise.”

  “They should have him there when we get back.”

  -106-

  “Go in there.” Kelly gestured toward an open jail cell. In front of them, sitting at an old oak table, was Chet, in his usual houndstooth jacket and mismatched pants, and two very well-dressed men with briefcases. A city patrolman watched from the side. Hawkins charily slipped into the fetid cell, his shoes sticking to the floor. He carefully sat on the tattered, dirty mattress, out of sight.

  Kelly hung up his hat and went around the front of the table. “I’m Special Agent in Charge Kelly, New York region. Which of you is Mr. Branch?” Chet answered yes. Kelly stuck out his hand. “And you, gentlemen?”

  One half-stood. “I’m Gordon Russert, attorney-at-law, and this is my associate, Milton Gericke. We represent Mr. Branch.”

  A bemused expression on his face, Kelly sat down, hooking his thumbs in his suspenders. “I see. You brought your attorneys, Mr. Branch. You gentlemen certainly are speedy. Is it those ambulances we have these days? Like the Indy 500.”

  “We’re on retainer to Mr. Branch and his companies,” Russert said.

  “I’m glad he’s getting his money’s worth.” There was a long silence as Kelly waited for a response, then picked up his folders. “Mr. Branch, do you know why you’re here today?”

  Russert started to speak, “He’s—”

  “I asked Mr. Branch the question. If you wish to give him legal advice you are free to do so. However, I am conducting a criminal investigation here and he must answer his own questions.”

  “No,” Chet said, “I can’t imagine what this is about.”

  “Are you familiar with a man by the name of Walter Ventnor?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you familiar with a business establishment called Riley’s Lake House?” There a pause. Chet nervously eyed Russert. He silently mouthed “yes.”

  “Yes.”

  “Were you there two nights ago?” Another pause and nod from the lawyers.

  “Yes.”

  Kelly took out the photos and began setting them in front of Chet. His head snapped at the two attorneys. They glanced at each other. Chet’s head swung back. Hawkins caught a glimpse of Chet’s face. Chet’s expression, Hawkins thought, there’s real fear there.

  “You are sitting at a table here with three men. Could you help me identify them?”

  Chet glanced at Russert. He leaned behind Chet’s back to confer in whispers with Gericke. Then he whispered in Chet’s ear. Chet sat up a bit straighter. “That’s Walter Ventnor.” Kelly nodded. “That is, I believe, Howard Layton,” Kelly nodded again, “and his name is Patrick.”

  “First or last?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Kelly pulled another picture out. “And who is this man?”

  “Hans Ludwig.”

  Kelly swept the photos away.

  “First thing yesterday morning, Mr. Ventnor filed a criminal complaint with us concerning a large number of financial instruments called bearer bonds. They were allegedly stolen. Are you aware that he filed that complaint?”

  Another round of whispers.

  “Yes.”

  “Who owned those bonds?”

  “Dr. Ludwig and Ventnor.”

  Kelly rummaged through another manila folder. He spread out a series of police photos of the farmyard, Ludwig’s car and the door.

  “Have you ever seen this automobile before?”

  “Yes. That’s Lud—Dr. Ludwig’s car.”

  “The police found the car in this condition this morning. When was the last time you saw his chauffeur?”

  “I don’t know. A few days.”

  Kelly wordlessly and expressionlessly got up and left the room. Chet glanced back and forth at his lawyers. They shrugged slightly. The three men waited in complete silence, almost motionless. Kelly returned about fifteen minutes later lightly waving dry a photographic print fresh from the developing tray. He sat down, still waving it for another thirty seconds before placing the print on the table in front of Chet.

  -107-

  “The police found this body buried near the car this morning. Could you please identify this man for me?” Kelly was very carefully watching Chet’s expression.

  “That’s the chauffeur.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Don’t know.”

  Another folder, another set of papers, this time, the photos of the blueprint. Kelly spread them out. The block letters US NAVY CLASSIFIED: TOP SECRET were visible all the way across the room in the cell. The two lawyers carefully eyed each other, obviously startled. “While inspecting Mr. Ventnor’s remains I discovered this in his pocket. Have you ever seen this document before?”

  Chet glanced at his lawyers. Russert shook his head.

  “No.”

  Gericke slid to the edge of his seat. “May I ask what that is?”

  “No you may not,” Kelly said. Gericke slid back in his chair. “Is this your handwriting?” Kelly pointed to the note in the upper corner. The attorney’s faces didn’t so much freeze as harden. Their eyes flicked sideways at each other, waiting for Chet’s answer as much as Kelly.

  “No, I think it’s Ludwig’s.”

  Kelly filed the photos away, poked back into his file again. He drew out Layton’s credit agreement.

  “Have you ever seen this document before?”

  There was a slight warble in Chet’s voice. “I’m—not sure.”

  “Is that a credit agreement?” Russert asked. “Mr. Branch is a very affluent individual. He wouldn’t need to ask for credit.”

  Kelly leaned forward, ignoring Russert, thumping his finger down on the bottom.

  “Whose signature is that?”

  The attorneys stared for perhaps a half second. Then they jumped like their chairs were wired, talking at once.

  “Mr. Branch is exercising his right to immunity from self-incrimination,” shoving their chairs out, grabbing Chet by the arms, partially pulling him to his feet.

  Kelly snapped his fingers twice, then angrily pointed at the two of them. “Hey! HEY! I am not through here. If you two want to go, you may go. Mr. Branch, you haven’t answered the question.” The lawyers hovered a second, then sank down. “From you. Not your lawyers.”

  “No.”

  “No what?”

  “I,” Gericke prompted him in his ear, “I exercise my Fifth Amendment rights.”

  “Do you.”

  Russert stood up. “Agent Kelly, I strenuously object to what you
have done today to our client. Mr. Branch is a pillar of the business community in his industry, this state and this country.”

  “Sit down, counselor.” He sat down. Kelly drew out the lists, including the decrypt. “Mr. Branch. Have you ever seen these papers before?” Chet shook his head no. “I need you to say yes or no.”

  “No.”

  “These are papers from Mr. Ludwig’s room at the hotel. They have a large number of names, amounts and bank account numbers on them. Do you know of any financial transfers for Mr. Ludwig or Mr. Ventnor?”

  “I exercise my right—”

  “Yeah, fine.”

  Kelly said nothing. A minute or two passed. His head nodded occasionally, fingers lightly tapping on the tabletop. Kelly finally broke the silence.

  “Counselors, tell your client that he is a material witness and possible suspect. Until this investigation is completed he is not to leave the confines of this county. Is that clear?”

  The lawyers pulled an almost limp and expressionless Chet from his chair. They rushed from the police station.

  -108-

  Kelly sat at the table, watching them go. After a moment Hawkins slowly ambled over. Kelly shook his head, twirling a pencil in his fingers.

  “Son of a bitch. Son of a bitch! You know in all these years on this job that has never happened to me.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Have a dope sit there”—he gestured at the empty chair—“and say he was taking the Fifth.”

  “How many had lawyers in silk suits?”

  “Ha! That’s a good point. Two, no less. Son of a bitch! They got here before we did. Can you believe that? Why not put a fuckin’ sign on yer ass that says, ‘Kick me, I’m guilty’? Son of a bitch. Knew when I walked in the door.”

  “I couldn’t see his face. Did he know about the car, the chauffeur?”

  “No. That caught him cold. I thought he’d swallow his tongue. Then he got pissed. Face got red, started breathing hard. Got the same expression when I asked about the checks. Ludwig took the bonds, stuck him.”

  “Why didn’t you ask him where Ludwig is?”

  “Oh, he wasn’t going to tell. See the big problem for him is a bank fraud charge. There’s nothing those lawyers can do for him on that. Either the money’s there or it’s not. He’s running like crazy now to see if he can get those bonds back.”

  “Suppose he does? He’ll be able to cover—”

  “Naw, naw, I called the bank examiners hours ago. He’s too late. If he shows up with the bonds now it’s actually worse for him because it’s proof he can find Ludwig and get them. Either that or he stole them himself. Remember—the bonds belong to Ventnor and Ludwig. He’s digging himself in deeper, right now, that’s all. He didn’t tell those lawyers or they wouldn’t have taken him out of here.”

  “What about the espionage case?”

  “The blueprint? That’s another matter. It’s a real weak case.”

  “Why? He paid Layton.”

  “Yep. And he paid for the classified information. But Chet never had possession of the blueprint. He can make all kinds of claims. That he didn’t know what it was for. He was duped. It was a donation to the bastard’s church. Anything those two sharpies can think up. Bank fraud is the real one. He can’t wiggle off that. There’s a grand jury sitting in Albany. We’ll indict him tomorrow. If he cooperates—and he will ’cause his lawyers will be back in the know—he’ll plead to fraud. Trust me, little Lord Fauntleroy with shit on his shoes? Overgrown spoiled brat like that’ll do anything to stay out of jail. You think that type knows what loyalty is? He’ll give us Ludwig in a heartbeat. US attorney will be happy to drop the espionage charge ’cause it’s not much anyway.”

  Not what I want to hear, Hawkins thought. Especially Kelly getting Ludwig. Kelly’s spot-on about Chet, though. Spoiled brat loyal to no one but his own narcissistic sense of privilege. He’ll move heaven and earth to hand over Ludwig, save his own sorry hide.

  “What about rigging the election?” Hawkins asked. “That’s what brought him into this, along with Ludwig and Ventnor. They were trying to steal something a lot more valuable than bonds.”

  “I know. I agree, actually.” Kelly stopped. He leaned forward, still twirling the pencil, obviously thinking hard, an inward expression in his eyes, a hurt look. “I’ve been at the Bureau fourteen years. This is by far the worst thing I’ve seen. Who could even imagine it. Bootleggers, kidnappers, murderers, embezzlers, it’s always like they’re over there,” snapping the pencil at the empty chair. “This is scary, it’s like they’re here.” He flipped the pencil back at his heart. “I’ve never felt that before, not this way. But we don’t know who’s involved. That’s the big part of the scary. It’s not only goin’ on down here, on our level. It goes upstairs or they wouldn’t have tried to kill you here at the hotel. How did they know you had that room? You told me and I passed it up. Well, you knew that right away. Here’s the real problem, Hawkins. We don’t dare pick a fight when we don’t know who we’re picking a fight with. We gotta find out first, if we ever can. You almost got it. That could happen again. Bullet in the back of head, never see it coming. You and I are the only people we can trust. With Ventnor dead, this one indicted and Ludwig wanted, they’ll all scatter. You see? When we keep it on our level—down here—we keep the election safe.” Kelly stood up, furiously shifting through the papers. He pulled out Ludwig’s original encrypted list, the key and the decrypted version from London. “As a matter of fact, gonna get rid of this shit right now—” He pulled a lighter from his pants, flicked it on and lit the corner, holding them over the basket. “We don’t need it anymore.”

  “My God! Mike! What’re you doing? No!” Hawkins leapt up, reaching and grabbing after the burning papers. Kelly waved them away, blocking him with an elbow. “You can’t! Mike! They attacked the US! This is an act of war!” Ashes began floating down.

  “Don’t you think I know that? Listen to me, Hawkins, listen hard. Keeping this shit is fuckin’ dangerous. If we save this stuff, it has to go upstairs. Has to. I don’t even dare bring it back to the office. We’ll! Never! See! It! Again! Get it? Hawkins! Think! How far up does this go? Who upstairs tipped off Ludwig? For all we know it could be Director Hoover himself. Have you forgotten he was a pal of Ventnor’s? He loved the bum. Sent out memos quoting him. Hoover’s already made himself the second most powerful man in Washington. He’s doing a good job, but I’m not kidding myself about him. It’s going to his head, it’s human nature. This isn’t evidence. It’s a goddamn do-it-yourself manual. People may have fantasized about doing something like this. But these assholes actually figured out how to do it! That’s the thing here. The really incredible part, every little detail. Having people not knowing who was really behind it. Moving the money. The cutouts. Using the casinos. How much you need, on and on. That it’s equally important to keep some people from voting—you wouldn’t think of that, but it makes sense, it’s just simple arithmetic. We can’t turn this knowledge loose. Bust ’em on the election? No way, Hawkins. We gotta get rid of this shit to make sure no one can try this again. When we keep it between you and I, we keep the election safe. Ventnor’s dead. They’ll never reassemble it.”

  “But people have a right to know!”

  Kelly knowingly smiled, as if to say, You know better than that.

  “Oh, that’s exactly what we need. Hey, I read the papers. Sure. It’d give your Limey bosses what they want—us in the fight. I get that. But I’m tellin’ you—it ain’t worth the risk!”

  Hawkins watched the last of the papers drop into the basket in little flaming shards. Another numb, empty feeling. But the camera iris isn’t closing down, Hawkins realized, not this time. Instead, a widening sense of clarity.

  The black embers winked out and began to cool. Kelly’s right, he thought. Can I promise my country—my countries, both of them—that Orator will not be restarted? No. And then there were people like Chet. “When I’m not winning I change t
he rules,” he’d said. No reason that couldn’t include elections. Men like him had the money to do it by themselves, if they wanted to. They didn’t need foreign help, certainly not once they got the idea. Rig it like a horse race because they think they’re entitled to win. Merely setting things right, that’s how they’d see it. Yes. Safer by far to end it down here.

  W’s disappointment will be terrible. Can Britain hold on? It’ll have to, now. But if the isolationists, men like Ventnor and Chet triumph, Britain’s doomed anyway. Kelly’s right. If we keep the election safe, we not only keep Roosevelt safe, but Britain. The world will just have to wait for its savior.

  Hawkins nodded and sat down, fiddling with the brim of his hat. “Chet Branch is probably trying to phone Ludwig.”

  “Wish I had time, I’d love to put a tap on that.”

  -109-

  “Why don’t you go to the exchange and listen in?” Hawkins said.

  “No, everyone thinks we can do that but we can’t. The exchanges here aren’t like the European ones. There never was a security or law enforcement angle in mind when they were built.”

  “Probably just as well, make it too easy.”

  “Yeah, maybe, I dunno.” Kelly mulled a second. “Jesus … right. The director’d build bunks in the goddamn places.” A long pause. “But it is a pain in the ass. We have to hook into the line on a pole before it goes into a main trunk. I’ve run wires by hand for five or six blocks, along the utility poles, over rooftops, down into sewers, you name it, until we could end it up where we could listen in private. No use running a wire down a pole into a car where the whole world sees you sitting there.”

  “There must be a better way.”

  “Not unless you know somebody in the neighborhood.”

  “How so?”

  “The easiest thing is to take a neighborhood phone and convert it into a tied-in line. The problem is you’ve got to find somebody you can trust. That’s not so easy.”