“Get your gear, Kelly, I’ve got the place.”
“You do?” He quickly dialed his office and told whoever answered to get a warrant for Chet Branch’s phone. “Tell them to date it today.”
-110-
“Nope.” Kelly tapped the gas pedal. “Nope. Not that one.” He tapped the pedal again. They rolled up the alleyway behind North Broadway. He craned his neck out, checking the next pole, looking up for the junction box. Fences, bushes and trees hid them. The big mansions behind them were invisible, too.
“There!” He stomped on the brakes. There was a pole half-hidden in the leaves. He darted around back, rummaging through a collection of junk in his trunk, knocking boxes this way and that. He emerged with a set of long cleats and a wire with a pair of alligator clips on both ends.
Hawkins climbed up on the running board, intently watching.
First Kelly meticulously rolled his pants past his bony knees. Then he vigorously strapped the cleats to his fish-belly-white legs. Noticed Hawkins watching. Slowed. Deliberately cinched the last two buckles. His eyes flicked sideways, lips tightly pressed. He straightened up, trying to stare Hawkins down. Then he shrugged.
“Ah, hell.” He clambered up the pole with practiced ease, the jumpers dangling in his mouth. Hawkins stepped off the running board. Kelly flipped the long, narrow gray door open with one hand and scanned down the rows of penciled-in numbers next to the screw posts. Glanced uncomfortably down. Scowled. He shifted in front of the box, trying to hide what he was doing. Hawkins dodged around on the ground, covering Kelly like a basketball star, angling for a better view.
Within seconds Kelly found the two correct addresses. He snatched the wires from his mouth and snapped the alligator clips onto the two sets of posts. Checked Hawkins again. Right underneath him.
In a semishouting whisper he called down. “All right, ya prick, it’s the green wire ya cut, okay?” Hawkins smiled and nodded. With a flick of his jackknife, Kelly severed the wire connecting the second line to the trunk, freeing it from the system. Now it was an extension to Chet Branch’s phone. He slapped the door shut and crashed down the pole like a fireman. Kelly started laughing. “Never had a freakin’ audience before!”
Less than a minute passed before they reached Daisy’s. She was waiting by the door.
-111-
“Daisy, this is …” Kelly rushed right by her.
“No time! Where’s the phone?” Puzzled, she pointed to the left parlor. Within seconds he whizzed the cover off the black baseboard unit with a worn Yankee screwdriver and plugged another box on with a set of clips. After vigorously flicking several toggles, he satisfied himself it worked. He finally stood and turned to Daisy.
Hawkins introduced him again. “Daisy van Schenck, meet FBI Special Agent in Charge Mike Kelly.” She leaned back slightly, bending a bit at the knees before extending her arm and gently curled fingers straight out in front of her.
“OH! Of the FBI!” Her head swung back to Hawkins, a delighted expression undulating up her face. “Well!” all breathy at the cheery news, “the FBI! Welcome to the manor!”
Kelly’s eyes followed her gesture around the foyer, then snapped back to her, rather dazzled, his mouth relaxing in wonder.
“Very pleased to meet you. Is it Miss Schenck?” gently taking and shaking her fingers.
“Yes. Still ‘miss.’” She shyly looked at Hawkins. Back at Kelly. Then she turned the raptured look full power back on Hawkins. “I just got up. I’ll make some coffee. Roy, darling,” she gave him a little kiss on the cheek, “show Agent Kelly in,” and left for the kitchen.
Three little letters. Such a reaction to three little letters, Hawkins thought, his stomach, or something, dropping to his ankles. A long moment passed. Hawkins turned back to Kelly. He was intently gazing back.
“Why don’t you come in here and take those things off,” Hawkins said.
Kelly whispered, “You told her about the job.” Hawkins nodded. Kelly’s face sagged, followed by his shoulders. “Aw, balls. Not again. Hawkins, I—fuck all—I’m so sorry. Honestly, I am. What are you going to do?”
“I wish I knew.”
“We’ve got to work opposite sides of the street on this thing. You know that.”
“That was my first thought. Knew it the instant you said you passed it upstairs.” Kelly grimly nodded. He held out his hand. Hawkins shook it. They went in the parlor. Kelly began unbuckling the cleats, glancing around.
“Who owns this place?”
“She does.”
Kelly sank back, slightly nonplussed. In his imagination terrific blond bombshells had always gone with the money and the houses, not the other way around. It forced a certain mental adjustment.
“It just gets worse.”
“Yeah.”
“Where’d you meet her?”
“Oh, this is where Ludwig held his meeting. She works out at Riley’s.”
“I’ve set a tapline in mob moll’s house?”
At that moment Daisy walked in with a tray, humming a little ditty under her breath, happily pouring their coffee into a pair of small, cylindrical white porcelain cups. The same diamond-shaped coat of arms with the three beavers that hung in the hallway graced the side of each bowl. She smiled brightly.
“Since we’re having a visit from the federal government, I thought I’d use our patriotic set. We ordered these from Canton in 1787. They were first used for General Washington’s visit.”
Kelly had barely started taking a sip. He swallowed hard. “The one on the front of the buck?”
“Yes.” She giggled, thinking it a joke. “That one.”
“I suppose he slept here, too?” Kelly said.
“As a matter of fact, he did,” Daisy said. “I’ll show you the bed, later, if you like.”
Have to give Kelly credit, Hawkins thought, he’s good for the game. Kelly uneasily put the cup down, picked it up again, carefully cradling it with both hands. He slowly lifted it to his lips. Hawkins nudged him, silently mouthing “mob moll.” Kelly glanced down at his cup. Up at Hawkins. A sharp snicker, more like a hiccup, burped out.
A bit later Daisy brought a very old bottle of wine from the cellar, an excellent Petrus covered with dust that’d been down there forty years. They hovered over the phone most of the night, waiting like anglers for fish to bite, killing time with a board game of Daisy’s. After three hours the green light blinked on Kelly’s box.
-112-
The other phone’d been lifted from the receiver. Kelly carefully followed suit with a handset attached to the box. Hawkins lifted Daisy’s phone. Five rings. A man answered. A flash of concern instantly crossed Kelly’s face. Not Ludwig’s voice. An American. He looked at Hawkins, silently mouthing “Who is it?” Hawkins shrugged. Kelly began frantically scribbling notes.
The first voice sharply cut off Chet’s greeting. It sounded angry, tense and thoroughly put out. “What’re you doing? You’re never supposed to call here!” Chet ignored him. “I want to speak to Dr. Ludwig. Is he there?”
Daisy was sitting on the sofa next to Hawkins. She stiffened very slightly at the sound of Chet’s voice, bending closer to the phone, listening intently, too.
“No,” the man said.
“Where the fuck is he, then?”
“Not here,” the man said.
“You tell him I know he’s got the bonds!”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the voice said.
“You tell him I want the bonds. I’ve got to cover the transfers.”
“I haven’t heard anything about any bonds.”
By now Daisy was sitting with her hands clasped in a prayer-like gesture over her lips, eyes tightly shut, gently shaking her head.
Chet started shouting, an edge of panic in his tone. “Listen, asshole! You get this straight! The bank examiners are after me. I want those goddamn bonds! I got hauled in for questioning by the FBI. They had a secret navy blueprint with Ludwig’s handwriting on it. You
tell him he gets me those bonds or I tell them whatever they want. You tell him I’m not going to jail alone! If I go, he goes! You understand that! You tell him that! I! Am! Not! Going! Alone! He has—a day! A day to get me those bonds! Have you got all that straight?”
Nothing in Chet’s voice reveals any sense of the danger in which he has fecklessly placed himself, Hawkins thought. A mere tinge of confusion as to who might have the bonds was collateral for his life. A blast of anger, fear and entitlement just burned that fog away.
There was a long pause on the other end of the line.
“I’ll get ahold of him. I’ll call right back.”
“You better.” They hung up. Hawkins and Kelly waited in silence. Daisy got up and left the room. A few minutes passed. She came back in and lightly put her hand over Hawkins’, tensely waiting with them. Five minutes later the phone rang. The green light went on. They picked up the handsets and listened.
The same man spoke. “He’ll bring the bonds up tomorrow.”
Daisy slowly squeezed Hawkins’ hand.
“Good,” Chet said. He hung up.
Kelly began crowing the instant he set down the handset. “Ludwig! He’s got the bonds! I knew it. Dammit, Hawkins, we’re gonna get them!”
“Chet Branch,” Daisy said. A simple statement. Not a question. There was something eerily quiet about her tone.
Hawkins started to answer, searching for something to say. Kelly firmly headed him off.
“Yes. He’s the subject of a major investigation. You’ll be reading about it in papers very shortly. Until then I have to ask you to keep this to yourself.”
“Of course. I guessed as much when Roy called.”
“You should know that Hawkins has been absolutely indispensable to this investigation. This never would have been possible without his assistance. I’d appreciate it if you could keep that confidential, as well.”
Hawkins very deliberately held out his hand. “Congratulations, Mike. You want to stake ’em out tomorrow? I’d like to be there for the arrest, if that’s okay with you.”
“You betcha.”
With a curt nod and a quick, “Thanks,” to Daisy, Kelly rushed out of the manor, leaving his equipment hooked to Daisy’s phone.
Hawkins went back into the parlor. He expectantly eased down on the sofa, eyes locked on the box. Daisy slipped in beside him.
“Something’s going to happen?”
“Ludwig is still in the area. He’ll be calling.”
“What will he do?”
“I don’t know.” If Daisy knew that was a lie, she chose not to confront it. She clicked on the radio. A slow instrumental tune was playing. She pulled him to his feet. They began a slow dance in front of the box.
“Roy, how do you know all these things?”
“I’d rather not say. I just do.”
“You said it was our special summer. Is it still our special summer?”
“I feel it more than ever.”
A half hour passed. The light blinked on.
-113-
No streetlights in the alleyway behind Chet’s mansion. How will he do it? Hawkins wondered. Has to be quiet. Otherwise every dog in the neighborhood will be howling in seconds. Going to be interesting, from a professional point of view.
A dim light went on in the garage. Probably only a forty-watt bulb, followed by a crack in a door. The owner of the garage across the street had fortuitously left his garage door open and the top down on his Cadillac convertible. Hawkins waited in the dark, comfortably stretched out in the back seat. A large black silk scarf of Daisy’s was wrapped around his face and head, obscuring all but a single eye.
“Got to be quick,” Ludwig had said on the phone. Car lights shined up the street. A new black Ford V8 glided to a stop in front. Ludwig, now clean shaven with a fresh crew cut. He got out. Chet emerged from his garage, silhouetted in the door. Going to be quick, indeed, Hawkins thought. Ludwig offered Chet his hand. Chet ignored it.
“Where are they?”
“They’re in the trunk.” Ludwig opened the trunk lid and gestured. Chet bent over, looking inside. The trunk light lit his face. Ludwig stepped slightly back. He reached into his pocket and drew out a small fine loop of piano wire attached to a short wood handle. With a simple, relaxed gesture he flipped it over Chet’s head. He snapped it back hard, drawing it tight around Chet’s neck. The wire slid through a tiny ratchet with a soft, high-pitched shriek.
Chet reflexively grabbed his neck, lunging forward, trying to escape. His forward motion and weight cinched it tight. The fine shiny wire instantly cut in. Only a low, rasping hiss managed to escape Chet’s throat as Ludwig slowly pulled on the stick, Chet’s every move tightening the shiny wire. He tried to scream, “No! Please!” His cry was almost inaudible from where Hawkins was sitting—the short, quick sound of cricket chirping “No! Please! Don’t! Oh God! Help! Don’t! Please! God! No!”
It was a warm night. But at the horrible cricket sound Hawkins felt the chill one hears about but never really feels. His stomach uneasily tightened.
Chet’s face darkened in seconds, purplish veins rising to bursting from the pressure as his heart started racing out of control. A heavy torrent of sweat instantaneously flooded from every pore, drenching him. Panicking, he tried to free himself. Digging his fingers deep into his throat. Getting his nails under the wire to lift it up. Get one more breath in. But the wire had already sliced beneath his skin. A fine line of blood now marked the cut. His fingers hysterically rubbed up and down in a violent caressing motion, trying to find the wire. In seconds Chet’s nails tore the skin on his own throat to shreds.
The cricket chirping quickened, incredibly short. Only one word now, over and over, “Help! Help! Help!”
Ludwig threw his weight forward, knocking Chet to his knees. He rode the garrote back and forth like a cowboy holding on to the reins of a bucking bronco. Quickly stepping with him. Skillfully staying out of Chet’s grasp. Squeezing his sides with his legs, pushing on his spine with his free hand.
While he had been waiting, Hawkins had wondered how he was going to react to Chet’s murder. Detached professional interest, he’d assumed. Maybe the post-Paris pointlessness and futility: yet another fool getting what he asked for. And what of it? Or maybe a sense that justice had been done.
But he also wondered, would there be a sense of pleasure at seeing a man die who had tried to tempt away the woman he loved with a diamond the size of small bird’s egg?
But no. His reaction surprised him. Broke into a sweat, too, a cold sweat. Arms and legs tensing, the muscles itching and crawling. Two more cricket chirps, he wanted to leap and move, do something, stop Ludwig.
Chet’s suffering. Unbearable. Can’t watch. Have to stop him, he thought. He started rising. Then pushed himself back down, against his instincts. No. I cannot. I know I cannot. If I save Chet, Kelly catches Ludwig. That’s inevitable. Ludwig knows it. I know it. The price is too high. The elections. Subs off the coast. Blueprints. The identity of the informant who tried to have me killed. All wrapped up together. But it still took every bit of discipline, every ounce self-control to stay in the car.
Chet’s dying panic gave him an unimaginable strength, a power he’d never known. His entire body began to snap back and forth, racked by the frantic effort to force one breath in and out of the pinhole-sized throat. Finally the larynx completely collapsed, sealing the last burning breath in his lungs. Chet’s lungs heaved against the impenetrable barrier that was now his throat, feeling as if they would tear his ribs out. With one last, wrenching, fibrillating spasm, his heart exploded. He fell forward on his face, dead.
Legs are shaking, Hawkins realized. He pressed his hands down on them, trying to keep them still.
Ludwig dragged the body by the handle back into the garage, trailing a stream of pee. He punched the lightbulb out, closed the door and drove away.
Hawkins unraveled the scarf. He slipped back up the alleyway. Halfway up the block nausea overtoo
k him. He threw up all over the alleyway. Back in Daisy’s house he poured a bath, pulled off his sticky clothes and climbed in, head reeling.
He sat there for a long time, slowly unwinding. Finally, calm returned. What the hell was that? he thought. Going soft? A few days ago I poured petrol all over Dieter. Felt like a big joke. Why give a damn about Chet now?
A few minutes later he slid in bed next to Daisy. She sleepily rolled over and kissed him, then fell asleep with his arm around her. And there it is, he thought. Everything felt so pointless before. Now it doesn’t. Life makes sense now. At least a little, or enough, for me, right here, right now. That pane of glass between me and other people. It’s gone. They’re no longer distant, unknowable. Foolish, perhaps, but human, too. If they don’t understand, they will. Only a little bit ahead of them, that’s all I am. Have been ever since the tour of that poison gas plant in East Prussia three years ago. Daisy’s the biggest part of that, too. How can I not care about the world, and love it, too, when she’s in it?
He waited for the dawn, thinking about how much he loved her.
-114-
Hawkins came out of the police station. Daisy was waiting in his car across the street. The breeze picked up. She got out as he approached, grasping the edge of her large straw hat. Ludwig’s thin metal case with the bearer bonds was in the other. They embraced and kissed in the middle of the sidewalk, oblivious to the pedestrians slipping around them, the case lightly dangling from Daisy’s hand. When they broke she gently reached up and straightened Hawkins’ hat.
“What’s going on in there?”
All day long there’d been a tumult of people: policemen, state troopers, investigators, district attorneys, federal assistant attorney generals, lawyers and several leading local politicians. Now a host of reporters and photographers loitered around the entrance, talking shop. Hawkins rubbed her arm. He gently broke the news.
New York Station Page 30
