Jeanny groaned and pressed closer against Marika as she broke the kiss.
“Can you leave from up there ever?” Marika asked.
“No, not right now…they watch us too closely. I can only leave from up there with the group. But some of the more senior people have their own cars and can come and go. Maybe I can ask for a ride or stow away to sneak out sometime,” Jeanny answered.
“Here is my home address and P.O. Box in Santa Fe…I wrote it down for you. Write to me or come by if you can get away. We can write to each other and maybe plan something,” Marika said as she slipped a piece of paper with her name and address down Jeanny’s blouse.
“I think we should go now,” Jeanny said, “they’ll be expecting me soon and they’ll send someone in here to check on me.”
“Okay…write to me,” Marika said as she kissed Jeanny on her lips again and gently ran her hands down Jeanny’s side and over her hips. “Clean yourself up before you go back. You’ve got my lipstick all over,” Marika said.
And with that, Marika was gone. Jeanny stepped back while holding onto the sink, took a deep breath and then exhaled. Jeanny then quickly looked in the mirror and tried to clean the red lipstick from her mouth, while straightening her hair.
Chapter XXVi
It was fall of 1942. The leaves were falling off the large trees in Santa Fe and seemed to be everywhere, but especially on the sidewalks and in the parks. They covered the park benches and had to be routinely cleaned off so visitors could sit down. Clifton Park in Santa Fe was named after Colonel Sylvester Clifton who fought in the Mexican-American War of 1843. Quinn went there to meet with an old friend of his. Eddie “Skitts” Jones was a Fence Quinn knew from his detective days in Albuquerque.Quinn had busted Skitts many times for possession of stolen property. During the Depression it happened so much with Skitts that Quinn began looking the other way. Skitts was a petty criminal who, aside from trying to hock cheap watches and other small items, was essentially harmless. Skitts didn’t steal the items himself, so he wasn’t on Quinn’s radar as a serious criminal. And Skitts knew the city and the game. He always seemed to have information on the more serious criminals in Albuquerque at any given time. Quinn wanted information on these more dangerous criminals, and Skitts always seemed to have dirt on somebody. They became a team of sorts. It was part of the game of cops and robbers.
Quinn had heard Skitts was in Santa Fe and arranged through a mutual friend to meet him at Clifton Park. Skitts generally made sure Quinn always had a new lead during his detective years on the police force. Sometimes the small criminals narked on the big criminals in the city; at their own risk, of course, but this never seemed to bother Skitts. The cops had to have some way of gaining information. And there always seemed to be a few hoodlums that had to be taken down.
“This town’s different from Albuquerque, isn’t it, Skitts?” asked Quinn as he cleared the leaves off one of the park benches and handed Skitts a Philadelphia “Perfecto” cigar. In the past this had been Skitts’ favorite.
“Yeah, it’s different all right,” replied Skitts as he took the cigar and cut off one of the ends with his pocket knife. “But you know what,” Skitts said as he struck a match and lit the stogie… “I like it like this…nice and quiet. And up here it’s nice and quiet. I’m getting old, detective,” Skitts said as he puffed on his newly acquired cigar.
“I’m not sure how quiet it is up here,” said Quinn. “And quit calling me detective. I’m not on the force anymore. My name’s Quinn,” he said.
“To me you’ll always be Detective Chase,” replied Skitts. “Now what do I owe the honor of this meeting to, detective?”
“There’s some stuff goin’ down up here, Skitts… stolen paintings from Europe coming in to Santa Fe. You hear anything about it?” asked Quinn.
Skitts pressed his hands together and looked deep in thought, but didn’t reply right away.
“Actually, it’s three paintings specifically I’m trying to find.”
“You talkin’ about the stolen Jewish paintings being’ smuggled in?” said Skitts finally.
“So you know what I’m talking’ about?” said Quinn.
“Yeah…I might have heard something’ about it,” replied Skitts.
“Well, I want to find these paintings. The problem is I’ve got competition. There’s others in town trying to find this stuff too,” Quinn said. “You know Skitts I’d be very appreciative of anything you can help me with.”
“Skitts is always happy to help the detective out! And any return assistance from the detective is always much appreciated!” Skitts stated while displaying a broad grin.
Quinn reached into his coat and pulled out a $20 bill. Quinn put it in Skitts’ shirt pocket. “I’ve always believed in one friend helpin’ another out,” said Quinn. “I do remember a little bird telling me, Detective, that there’s supposed to be a new shipment of some stolen art coming into Santa Fe within the next two weeks,” Skitts said. “Comin’ in by train on the AT&SF on a Saturday…that’s what I’ve heard.”
Quinn took out another $20 bill. “Daytime or night?” Quinn asked.
“Don’t know at the moment,” Skitts stated. “But I’ll see what I can do about findin’ out.”
“Have you ever heard of the painting, Five Dancing Women by the painter Degas?” asked Quinn.
“I’ve heard of it…I recently heard it mentioned, which makes me think it could be here,” Skitts said. “Is that what you’re lookin’ for?” he asked.
“Yeah, that and two other paintings by the Modern French artist Jean Metzinger,” said Quinn.
“Metzinger…never heard of him, but I’ll keep my eyes and ears open,” said Skitts.
“I would very much appreciate it if you did,” said Quinn as he took another $20 bill, folded it in half, and stuck it in his informant’s shirt pocket.
“Where can I find you normally?” asked Quinn.
“Oh, during the week I’m generally at the community center on St. Francis, with all the other old folks playin’ cards and pool,” said Skitts.
“Now you wouldn’t be hangin’ out at the community center and hustling those unsuspecting nice folks there, would you, Skitts?”
“Who…me, detective? Damn, I thought you knew me better than that!” said Skitts smiling.
“I know you, oh so well—why do you think I’m asking?”
Both men laughed out loud.
“Well, I’ll look for you there,” said Quinn. “And keep your eyes and ears open…I need to find these paintings.”
“It’s been good talking with you, Skitts,” said Quinn as he stood up and handed him another cigar. “You take care now!” Quinn said as he turned and began to walk away.
“Thanks, and good seein’ you detective,” said Skitts. Skitts smiled as he leaned back on the park bench and gave a two finger salute from the brim of his fedora as Quinn walked away.
Chapter XXVIi
The Atchison, Topeka & Santa Fe commuter train came to a slow stop on a Saturday afternoon at the train station in Lamy, New Mexico, on November 19, 1942. A tall man with a thin face and dark hair and a finely trimmed mustache walked off the train carrying his briefcase. He wore a long wool overcoat and a fedora. Berndt Kruger, a top Nazi spy in New York and the man Marika Kraus communicated with had been on the train from New York for the last six days. The train stopped in several major US cities before continuing to Denver, and then, from Denver, on to Lamy, New Mexico, outside of Santa Fe.
Lamy was a small town of several hundred people, several miles outside of Santa Fe. The small town was specifically built as a train stop in 1881. Any visitor or vendor coming to Santa Fe by train had to stop first at the Lamy, New Mexico, station. Then, a 50-minute spur connecting train chugged from Lamy around the many curves and over arroyos to the main Santa Fe Station. Thousands traveled to Santa Fe in this manner at that time.
After arriving at Lamy, Berndt was tired from the long train trip and wanted to wait an hour or t
wo before getting onto another train. There was a bar across the street called the Velvet Garter, and he headed there. About two hours later, Kruger saw that his luggage being loaded onto the spur connecting train from Lamy into Santa Fe, so he jumped onto that train. He brought with him eight oil paintings and 10 watercolors by various artists unframed and concealed in a special cylindrical tube. As a Nazi spy and double agent also working for the British, Berndt was in the profiteering business. He was loyal to the Third Reich and had given false information to his British contacts before, but money was Kruger’s real boss. The opportunity for cash while finding and then selling the stolen Degenerate Art was too much to pass up. This meant that Berndt Kruger had no qualms about committing a host of crimes if necessary, to preserve his own self-interest. He also knew the painting Five Dancing Women, by the French artist Edgar Degas was in Santa Fe. His personal mission was to find it. He had potential buyers in South America who would pay a fortune for this and other Impressionist paintings by the masters. He had to acquire the artwork. And while Kruger knew he would have to part with considerable sums of the Reich’s money, one way or another he would acquire these paintings. This was an opportunity that wouldn’t present itself again.
Kruger walked into the Finebaum art gallery the next morning, and Katrina was there. He was elegantly dressed. He wore a dark blue coat with tie, and highly polished black shoes. He also used a fancy engraved cane with a silver top molded into the shape of a boar’s head. The cane made a sharp sound as it tapped on the cobblestone walkway leading up to the gallery door. “Good morning, Frauline, my name is Kruger. Berndt Kruger, and I’m here to see Joel Finebaum,” he said. “I’m an old friend.”
“He is not here. He had to go out of town briefly and won’t be back for two days,” Katrina said.
“When you see him, please tell him that his old friend Berndt is in town and would like to meet with him if he has a chance. I’ll be here for a full week, Frauline,” said Kruger. “I would very much like to see him.”
“How may he contact you, sir?”
“I’m staying at the DeVargas Hotel. Tell him to give the desk clerk my name. That’s all he needs to do, and they’ll direct him to my room,” Kruger said as he bowed, turned, and proceeded out of the gallery.
Katrina was speechless as the tall, polite and impeccably dressed German man with the goatee left the gallery. She could hear the metal tip of his cane tapping against the cobblestone sidewalk outside as he walked away. Katrina couldn’t help but say to herself, Impressive…so well mannered and elegant!
The DeVargas Hotel was not located on the Santa Fe Plaza but on the nearby Don Gaspar Street. It was an elegant hotel; more traditionally European in design than the La Fonda and known for its bar, which was a traditional Santa Fe meeting spot. Berndt Kruger was in Room 310 two nights later, when there was a knock on his door. Kruger quickly turned the lights off except for a small spotlight he carried with him and he shined it on the chair at the room’s entrance.
“Come in,” Kruger said.
Joel Finebaum walked into the room with the curtains drawn and because of the spotlight, he couldn’t see to his front. Joel could just make out the silhouette of a man on the other side of the room about 12 feet away.
“Sit down, Mr. Finebaum,” said Kruger. Joel complied with that instruction.
“I’m here to—” Finebaum started to speak the words, but before he could finish, Kruger stated, “I know why you’re here, Mr. Finebaum. We don’t have much time. First of all, did you come alone and does anyone else know you came here tonight?”
“I am here alone, and no one else knows,” replied Joel.
“Good, when can I pick up the paintings?” Kruger asked.
“Come to the gallery on Sunday night at midnight. Come to the back entrance in the alleyway,” said Finebaum. “I will meet you and transfer the paintings. Now, Herr Kruger, I need something from you. What assurances do I have that my family is alive and in good health?” asked Joel.
“Here.” With that, Kruger tossed Joel an envelope-sized package with photographs inside. “The dates of the photos are stamped on the back of each one. These were taken just two weeks ago. As you can see, the members of your family are in good health and appear to be happy. They are in a special camp, and receive special privileges at Theresienstadt, near Terezin in the province of Bohemia. Your family will be protected as long as you fulfill your obligation to the Fatherland!” said Kruger.
Joel audibly sighed in the darkness.
“You know your mission changes soon, and will be even more dangerous!” said Kruger.
“Yes, I know. I am very conflicted about completing this second part for your heinous regime,” said Joel.
“Careful with your tongue and choice of words, Herr Finebaum. I want you to know that I am not anti-Semetic personally. Many of my good friends prior to this war were Jewish. But I am a loyal German and would do anything for the Fatherland, although I don’t agree with all its policies and tactics. And while I do have some sympathy for your family’s plight, Finebaum, you will comply if you ever want to see your family members at Theresienstadt alive again!”
“I understand,” said Joel.
“I will be at the back entrance of the gallery on Sunday night at the appropriate time. I expect you to be there and to be prepared. We will have to work quickly. Do you have any questions for me, Herr Finebaum?”
“No, I understand and will be waiting for you Sunday night, ” replied Joel.
“Till then,” Kruger said as he flicked the lights completely off in the room. Seeing that the meeting was over and there was nothing more to say, Joel departed quickly with the package of photographs of his family tightly clutched in his hand.
Chapter XXVIii
At midnight on Sunday night, Joel turned the light on in the small room filled with paintings at his gallery. It was a foggy night and the alleyway behind the gallery was unlit and misty. He peered out into the alley and saw something move a few yards away. Then he saw two flashes of light from a flashlight and more movement. The man approached. It was Kruger.
Finebaum opened the back door and let him in.
“Are you ready? Where are they?” Kruger asked.
“On the table,” Joel replied.
Kruger walked over to the table. His eyes widened with near amazement as he carefully examined the oil paintings layered within protective parchment paper. “My god, most of these are masterpieces. They should fetch a million marks each for the Reich,” Kruger stated. “Roll them up and place them carefully in the tube,” Kruger ordered as he gave Joel the round canister.
The entire transaction was completed within a few minutes, and Kruger then vanished into the dark alleyway almost as quickly as he had appeared. Kruger disappeared out into the foggy night, but before leaving he gave Joel Finebaum a final message. “Finebaum, you may be receiving additional paintings from one of our couriers in the future. Safeguard them in the same manner. Your service to Germany is appreciated and your name will be known in the highest ranks of the Reich. You have my word your family will be kept safe during this time.” With that, Kruger quickly left the art gallery and began walking down the alleyway through the fog.
Joel exhaled heavily, breathing a sigh of relief, and turned his light off. He locked the back door. My god, I could have just been killed…Joel thought to himself.
It took sometime before Joel learned exactly what happened to Berndt Kruger after he left the gallery that night, and who fired the fatal shots that took Kruger’s life. Kruger’s body jerked back from the impact of the round fired into his chest by the assassin that night. The killer used a handgun and a silencer. Kruger was still on his feet and tried to run in the opposite direction to find cover. He did make it to the opposite end of the alleyway before collapsing against a wall to hold himself up. The second shot fired pierced through his right arm and into his side. He could feel the blood oozing out of his body. It had punctured and tore apart his ribcage, even
tually settling into his right lung. Kruger tried to move forward, but it was too painful to move. He was extremely weary, and had already lost considerable blood. He quickly collapsed to the ground.
The assailant appeared from the fog behind him and, walking fast, grabbed the canister out of the hands of Berndt Kruger’s weakened grip just before Kruger blacked out. Kruger groaned loudly and the killer seeing that Kruger was still alive, fired one final shot into Kruger’s chest immediately killing him. The assailant then disappeared into the dense fog that night with the cylinder-shaped container of priceless paintings.
It wasn’t until the night’s fog lifted that Kruger’s body was found at the end of the alley behind Finebaum’s art gallery. Someone walking his dog in the early morning hours found the body. The police then conducted their own investigation. Even the police didn’t realize someone else had been to the scene, searched the body and removed evidence before they arrived.
The police found in the dead man’s possession, a current Dutch passport with a photo matching the dead man, and belonging to a Mr. Gustaf Vondolen. They also found $400 in cash, US currency. What they did not find, was a hotel key to the DeVargas Hotel, Room 310. The key had already been located and removed from the body long before the police had been alerted to the man’s untimely demise.
Chapter XXix
I’ll have to work fast and not be seen, Quinn said to himself as he milled his way through the streets towards the DeVargas Hotel on Don Gaspar Avenue. The DeVargas Hotel had been built in the early 1900s at another location in Santa Fe, but had burned down in 1922 in the largest fire Santa Fe had experienced in 300 years. The hotel then moved locations and was rebuilt on Don Gaspar Avenue in early 1924. In the 20s and 30s the DeVargas hotel had been the place where state and local politicians hung out, drank, and solved their unofficial and sometimes official business. It was a landmark in Santa Fe.
Searching for Edgar's Five Dancers Page 10