The Hidden Hand of Death

by Lawrence J Epstein

  We walked for a long while in silence and then went to a movie.

  After the film was over, I led her to Greenwich Village.

  We walked over to 14 West 10th Street.

  “That’s an old place.”

  “It was built in the 1850s,” I said.

  “Why did you bring me here?”

  I shrugged. “I shouldn’t have. It’s a place I go to sometimes. It reminds me of my life. It’s called The House of Death. The last time I checked, which was a couple of years ago, twenty-two people have died in that house.”

  “I think we should leave.”

  “All right, though you can look at the house in another way. Mark Twain lived here between 1900 and 1901.”

  “I still want to go.”

  We went to the diner.

  Gertie the waitress shouted a loud hello.

  I waved and went over to my booth.

  Gertie came over.

  “Gertie, this is a friend of mine.”

  “You got nice-looking friends.”

  “Don’t I? Were there any messages for me?”

  Gertie reached into a pocket of her dress.

  “You got two calls. You’ll think I’m making this up, but one lady was missing her cat. She called back a half hour later to say she found it.”

  “I’m immensely relieved,” I said.

  “The other call was a strange one. He just left a number but said I wasn’t to let you out of here without calling the number.”

  “He leave his name?”

  “Nope. Nothing except the number.”

  “What do you think Gertie?”

  “Serious. He sounded professional with a touch of scared.”

  “I’ll call. Detective Hill will be coming in soon. Don’t let anyone sit near us.”

  “No one would sit next to that gorilla.”

  “I’m sure he’d appreciate the thought.”

  “You two want some coffee before Detective Hill gets here?”

  I looked across the table and nodded.

  Gertie said, “I wish I was a newspaper writer. You sure got interesting friends.”

  I didn’t answer.

  Detective Simon Hill came in and sat next to me, making the booth crowded.

  “I had a long day, Ryder. You said it was important so here I am. Is it about my sister?”

  “I’m still gathering information.”

  Hill pushed a packet next to him in front of me.

  He stared at my guest for a minute and then shoved an envelope toward me.

  “Here’s what the cops had about her. I couldn’t get some of the stuff, but this is most of it.”

  “We’ll find her, Detective.”

  “I don’t like pretty talk. Let’s see what you do. Now why am I here?”

  “I have a favor to ask. It is payment in full for helping your sister.”

  “You haven’t done anything yet for my sister.”

  “Detective, you wouldn’t have come to me if you didn’t think I could help.”

  “Go ahead. Let’s hear it.”

  I pointed across the table. “This is Norah London. I want to arrange it so the world thinks she’s dead.”

  “Corpses generally don’t drink coffee.”

  “Let me tell you the plan and your part in it.”

  “I don’t like it already.”

  “There’s a body that is going to be found. You tell me where to put it.”

  “And just where are you getting this body?”

  “That’s my problem. But she wasn’t killed.”

  “Anybody claim her?”

  “No. This will be somebody who got lost in the City.”

  “So I tell you where to put this poor dead woman.”

  “Right. She’s got Norah’s identity papers. She matches Norah’s looks, although we may have to rough up her face a bit.”

  “And I take over the case and make sure the dead woman is identified as Norah London.”

  “You give some leaks to some friendly press people. A picture, not too close, would be nice.”

  “And Norah London is dead.”

  “That’s right.”

  “What does that get you?”

  “That’s my business. I’m trying to protect her.”

  Hill looked across the table.

  “You in trouble, honey?”

  “Big trouble.”

  Hill nodded.

  “You need to get out of town after you die. Only you can’t go with family.”

  “I know. I’m hoping Mr. Ryder will help me there too.”

  “No, Ryder doesn’t know decent people. You need someone decent. I got an aunt who lives near Albany. Nicest person in New York State. You stay with her. You help on her farm.”

  “I can do that.”

  I turned to Hill and said, “Thanks. Well done.”

  “Yeah. Call me when your body is ready. And find someone to identify her. A friend maybe. Someone like that.”

  “You’re not bad at this, Detective.”

  Instead of answering, Hill got up and walked out.

  “Gertie,” I yelled to the waitress.

  “Yeah.”

  I gave her some money. “This is your salary for the week.”

  “I could use it. But you could use a real secretary.”

  “I can’t afford one. Besides, Gertie, who could be as good as you?”

  “That’s true.”

  “I need a favor.”

  “What’s that Ryder?”

  “My friend here needs to hide out for a few days. Just disappear.”

  Gertie nodded. “How long?”

  “I’m not sure. Maybe three days.”

  “She’s blonde and real pretty. My husband likes blonde and real pretty. He likes almost pretty. He likes getting drunk and pretending they’re pretty.”

  “Can you keep her away from him?”

  “Yeah. That won’t be hard. She’ll stay in the basement.”

  “Thanks Gertie.”

  “What are secretaries for?”

  “Give me that paper with the phone number.”

  I took it, got up and went to the back wall to the pay phone.

  I dialed the number.

  “Yeah?”

  “This is Ryder. You left a message for me at the diner.”

  “Listen good Ryder. If you’re a patriot, you’ll do the following. Tomorrow you go to 34th Street and Fifth Avenue. North side. There’s a coffee shop there. Wait in front of the shop. At exactly 11 a.m. a man will walk by. He’ll be holding a newspaper under his arm. If he drops the paper in a trash basket why then you walk away. You’re being followed. If he walks into the coffee shop, follow him. He wants to talk to you. Listen, Ryder, this is for your country.”

  “You know who I am?”

  “We know.”

  I hung up the phone, went back to sit down, and ordered some food.

  I was sipping his second cup of coffee when I decided I’d go to 34th and Fifth the next morning and find out what that call was all about.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  I went to the north side of 34th Street and Fifth Avenue two hours early. I was looking for lurkers, people standing in doorways or in stores with a window access to the street. I would check every half hour to see if they were still there. I went up and down the block looking for parked vans and trucks, someplace from where they could look out on the street. Checking pedestrians was much more difficult. All they had to do was change a hat or tie and they’d look different.

  Satisfied that there were no traps I could see, I went to the spot where I was supposed to be and waited directly in front of the coffee shop.

  The man had said he’d be there exactly at eleven. It was now five minutes to eleven. I started to scan the pedestrians, looking for someone with a folded newspaper under his arm.

  I was impressed. It was exactly at eleven that a man appeared. He looked ordinary. I liked that. The man was of average height, strolling slowly. He was thin, whic
h surprised me. He didn’t try to cover his face with his fedora. He wore a dark suit and a white shirt. The tie was navy blue. I looked at him and knew where he had come from.

  The man didn’t throw the newspaper away, which meant no one was following me and that I was to follow him.

  We both went into the coffee shop. No one in there looked at us. We knew what we were doing. The man continued to the back of the shop and went through a wooden door. I followed him.

  We were in a small office. There was a dark mahogany desk. The man sat in a chair behind the desk.

  “Thank you for coming, Mr. Ryder. Please take a seat.”

  Before I moved, I surveyed the room. There were no other entrances. I pulled my chair over to the door I had come in and sat so no one from the outside could open it without trying to push me out of the way. They wouldn’t be able to do that.

  The man behind the desk calmly waited for me to finish.

  “I’m not armed,” the man said.

  “I am,” I replied.

  The man nodded.

  “We saw you here early. And now I look at you in the room. You’re a very cautious person.”

  “I sometimes deal with dangerous people. For all I know you might be one of them. And I know you saw me here early. The man in the tan suit did a good job. The man in the gray suit was too easily spotted.”

  The man laughed. “They told me you were good. I was chosen to speak to you because I supposedly don’t look dangerous.”

  “Who are you?”

  “My name is Peter Collinson.”

  “I know a writer for the pulps who uses that name. It is meant to designate the son of nobody. You don’t want to tell me your real name?”

  “I’m not allowed.”

  “Then what do I call you?”

  “Agent Madison.”

  “Is that after the Avenue or the President?”

  “Take your choice.”

  “What are you an agent for?” I asked, although I knew the answer.

  “The FBI. Although I’ll deny it if we’re with anyone else.”

  “You’ll expect me to ask for your badge.”

  The man reached into his pocket slowly and took out a wallet. He showed the badge to me.

  “This doesn’t look like you got it for some box tops along with a decoder ring.”

  “Oh, it’s very real. These days it’s all too real.”

  “That was the reference to me supposedly being patriotic.”

  “It was, Mr. Ryder.”

  “You do know I kill people.”

  “I assure you, Mr. Ryder, I know all about you. We talk about you. You’re very complicated. You kill people, bad people, and no one knows who did the killing. You’re the hidden hand of death.”

  The man leaned forward.

  “You mind if I smoke?”

  “Not unless you blow the smoke my way.”

  The FBI agent took out a cigarette and lit it.

  “Mr. Ryder, we need a hidden hand.”

  I noticed he was hesitating.

  “What I’m going to tell you is a matter of national security. You can’t tell anyone. I mean anyone. Do you understand that Mr. Ryder?”

  “I’m not known for having a big mouth.”

  “No, you’re not. Mr. Ryder, we are in an all-out war. The Nazis will rule the world unless we stop them. Don’t think I’m being dramatic. Don’t think I’m exaggerating. We know Hitler’s plans.”

  “You’re getting an army together.”

  “We are. Very brave young men and women are rushing to join us. But a war is fought on many fronts.”

  The agent paused, leaned forward, and said, “The war is fought by many good Americans. Mr. Ryder, would it surprise you to learn that the FBI is working with Lucky Luciano? He developed a plan to bring Italy to our side. We use so-called gangsters to break up Nazi rallies.”

  “And if you need someone killed quietly you have the so-called gangsters.”

  “No comment. But you’re a perceptive man. We knew that about you.”

  “You want my help.”

  “We don’t just want it, Mr. Ryder. We need it.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “There’s a bookstore uptown on East 94th Street in Yorkville, the German neighborhood. The street is famous. Lou Gehrig was born on East 94th. The four Marx Brothers lived on 93rd Street.”

  “I take it the bookstore does more than sell books.”

  “It is, in a way we don’t know, a drop-off and collection point for stolen war information. We think it’s a headquarters of espionage. Let me be blunt, Mr. Ryder. We tried so far to send two agents in there. The problem is our agents look like agents. Mr. Hoover wants clean-cut young men. They’re not innocent lambs. These are tough fellows. But,” he sighed, “They do have a look. They act a certain way. They stand in a certain way. Someone good at staring into a man’s eyes and seeing the man’s soul would be able to tell that these are agents. At any rate, the people in the bookstore are very shrewd. Our men could not complete their mission. You don’t look like an FBI agent. You look like what you are. A tough guy no one would want to mess with.”

  “And what exactly am I supposed to do in the bookstore?”

  “Get yourself to Yorkville. Get known a little. Find out how the bookstore is working as a spy center. And then, Mr. Ryder, break up the operation.”

  “Is that all? Are you sure you don’t also want me to invade Berlin?”

  “I didn’t say it was going to be easy. You can walk out now and we part as friends. Or you can agree.”

  “How do I contact you if I need to do so?”

  “You leave a note with that woman in the all-night diner. I believe Gertie is her name.”

  “I don’t want to put her in any danger.”

  “She won’t be. She gives you notes now. She’ll just continue to do so.”

  “You have to pay her.”

  “Of course. That’s the easy part.”

  “I may call on you for a favor.”

  “If it’s reasonable, Mr. Ryder, we’ll consider anything you ask.”

  “I may have to hire some friends.”

  “As I say, money is not the issue. Don’t waste it.”

  We sat in silence for a few seconds.

  “What do you say, Mr. Ryder?”

  “I say I wish you had asked me to kill Hitler.”

  “Let’s start with the bookstore and see where we go.”

  “I’ve got some other work to do as well, but I’ll start doing it. You can count on me.”

  “We have to, Mr. Ryder. The United States isn’t playing a game here. We win or we die.”

  I stared at him.

  “We’ll win.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Tommy sat across from me in the all-night diner.

  “Yeah,” Tommy said, “I got you a body. It’s a sad story. You want to hear it.”

  “I’m up to my hairline in sadness,” I said. “She’ll be doing good in death. Maybe that helps if she had a hard life.”

  Gertie came over to refill our coffee cups.

  “I don’t know how you do it, Gertie,” Tommy said. “You’re here all the time. I want to send you some customers. What’s the address here?”

  Gertie looked at him.

  “Tell your friends we’re at the corner of Misery and Death.”

  Tommy stared at her.

  “I’m afraid to drink your coffee now.”

  Gertie turned and walked away.

  “Her eyes look a thousand miles deep in sadness,” Tommy said.

  “Bad marriage.”

  “The universal illness. Anyway, Ryder, we’re set. You tell the cop about the time and place?”

  “Yes. I will call my contact, so that’s all set. I want the body to be taken away fast.”

  “I got good guys. Don’t you worry about that. And don’t tell me where the real girl is. I’m very happy being ignorant.”

  “You fix the face?”

 
“I got a professional for that stuff. It’s not so easy. What we can’t fix we cut or cover up.”

  “Wonderful.”

  “You call your cop. Three hours. Here’s the address.” Tommy handed over a piece of paper to me.

  “It’s deserted at that time of night. You got a photographer?”

  “Yo-yo.”

  “Why not Weegee? He is the king of crime photography.”

  “He was busy. Some taxi dancers near Broadway thought they were being cheated. They were getting half the value of a ticket the guys bought to dance with them. And some owner wanted to give them forty percent. So they’re going on strike.”

  “How do taxi dancers go on strike? Do they just stop dancing?”

  “That I don’t know. But some of the taxi dancers told Weegee to have some extra flashbulbs and he’ll be able to sell the shots for a bundle. I’d like to be there.”

  “You have work to do, Tommy. Anyway, Yo-yo is dependable even if he’s not as good. You get the ambulance and the crew. I get the cops and the photographer.”

  “You going to be there?”

  “Sure. I have to clean up if there’s a mistake.”

  “Get your girl away first.”

  “Right after we’re done, Tommy.”

  “I can take a hint.”

  Tommy took a long slug of the coffee and waved to Gertie, who nodded back. Then he walked outside.

  Gertie came over.

  “It’s not your problem, Ryder, but there’s a guy who’s been bothering me. Would you speak to him?”

  “Where is he?”

  She pointed to a man sitting at the counter.

  “Who is he?”

  “He should tell you. I don’t like him, Ryder. Not now.”

  “Send him over.”

  “He knows who you are. He says he wants to speak with you.”

  The man sat down. His hair was combed back. His blue eyes probably got him a lot of attention from women.

  “You Ryder?”

  “I am. And you are?”

  “Call me Bobby.”

  “Your parents give you a last name?”

  “Not one I’m prepared to tell. But I do have a question for you.”

  “Ask your question?”

  “How would you like to make a lot of money? I know what you usually do for dough, but what I got is a lot easier.”

  “I like money. What have you got in mind?”

  “Steaks. Big, thick, juicy steaks at a very reduced price. I give them to you for a good price. You sell them to your friends or restaurants or diners for whatever you can get.”