Colton Banyon Mysteries 1-3: Colton Banyon Mysteries (Colton Banyon Mystery Book 20)

by Gerald J Kubicki

  “In February 1950 I got a call from Winnie Canaris. She said that Mother had passed away. I decided to go back to Germany to attend the funeral.

  “Germany had changed in just those few short years. It was again bustling with activity. People were not starving, and many of the cities were in the process of being rebuilt. There was something else which sent a shiver down my spine. Everywhere I went, there were posters and newspapers talking about the Iron Curtain and the ultraconservative right-wing hawks that opposed Communism. I knew who the Communists were, and was pretty sure the hawks had another name, the White Supremacy Party. Could it all happen again? Who was the greater threat?

  “Mother’s funeral brought out only a few people. Most of the people she had known were already dead. I needed to protect my new identity, so Winnie took the lead. At the burial site, I noticed several men on the perimeter. It was like Frank’s father’s funeral all over again. They were undercover police or secret police or KGB or CIA or God knows who. I decided I needed to return to America on the next flight.”

  “The Nazi Hunters were actually several groups of people who were looking for the many Nazis that had escaped capture and were still at large. They reasoned that some Nazis would probably come to Mother’s funeral. All they got was me.

  “I was ‘detained’ as I entered my hotel and taken to a location which was foreign to me. They were hard people, and I was treated roughly during the trip. I kept telling them I was an American, but they just kept cuffing me to keep me quiet. Soon I was seated in a metal chair with a bright light in my eyes. Then it started.

  “‘What is your name?’ The question came from a distance.

  “‘Walter Pierce, I’m an American. What do you want with me?’

  “‘What is your real name?’

  “‘Walter Pierce,’ I replied. The first punch was in the stomach. It knocked the wind out of me.

  “‘What is your name? Why were you at the funeral of a known Nazi?’

  “I knew how this would progress, and decided I would take a chance before I had no teeth or unbroken bones in my body. I was sure the admiral would have destroyed my records and no one would be able to prove anything. The only problem was these men were fanatics, and would believe what they wanted to believe.

  “‘My born name was Wolfgang Becker II — Emma was my mother.’

  “‘Ah, now we are getting someplace,’ Ira Gold, the interrogator, said. ‘So, you are a Nazi, eh?’

  “‘I am not and never have been a Nazi. I’m an American. I was born in New York and lived there until I was nineteen.’

  “‘And then you came here to help the Fuehrer.’

  “‘No, my mother came back to care for my grandfather, and to run the family business in 1930. I stayed a little while and then left. I was never in the army. I never fought for Hitler.’

  “‘I find that hard to believe, considering your connections. Did you know Admiral Canaris?’

  “This was a dangerous question, and so early in the interrogation; I was scared now. ‘Of course, he was a friend of my grandfather, and Winnie was a close friend of my mother. Why are you questioning me? I have done nothing.’

  “‘How did you get the name Walter Pierce?’

  “‘In 1936 in France I changed my name legally. I knew the war was coming, and didn’t want a German name. It interfered with my activities.’

  “‘So, you were a playboy, shirked your family responsibilities, and even changed your name to stay out of the war? How did you escape being drafted by the Germans?’

  “‘I told you. I’m an American.’

  “‘We will check on that. Tell me where you were between 1930 and 1945.’

  “‘I told you, I was a playboy, traveled all over — check my passport.’

  “‘I’m particularly interested in the years 1932 through 1936.’

  “‘Well, I went to Italy and then to Spain, to help in the Lincoln Brigade. It was very sexy and romantic. I have nothing to hide. Check it out.’

  “‘Okay, that is all for today. You will be our guest while we check your background.’

  ***

  “I was interrogated for four months, during which time I had to recount every step I made. I was kept in a cell in a large house outside of Munich. It was very lonely. Even the voices would have been a welcome guest, but they weren’t heard from. There were several other German men there, and I avoided all of them like the plague. I didn’t want any of them to recognize me and sell me out. The fanatic Nazis were good at stabbing each other in the back when they themselves were threatened.

  “I was able to keep in touch with Frank, but I was sure that my mail and phone calls were censored. I believed my story would hold up and I would be released soon.

  “Gold started another session with a rehash of old news. ‘You are familiar with Winnie Canaris?’

  “‘I told you she was a friend of my mother. Of course, I knew her.’

  “‘Are you aware that she was interrogated just after the war ended?’

  “‘I assumed she was, but I had no contact with her until 1946.’

  “Ignoring my answer, Gold continued. ‘As part of her statements, she mentioned that her husband traveled to visit Mussolini and Franco in the years between 1932 and 1936. She said he was traveling with a young man named Wolfgang Becker. That was you, was it not?’

  “‘Yes.’

  “‘Well, Mr. Pierce, I’m afraid you are going to need a lawyer. We are going to prosecute you for war crimes. Take him away.’

  “The trial was long and drawn-out. My lawyer told me they had no real evidence that I was a Nazi, and I would be set free. I told him I was, in fact, not a Nazi. He didn’t believe me either.

  “I was interned for the duration of the trial, which lasted over four years. The prosecution kept asking for delays, as they would capture another Nazi, and they waited to interrogate the man before moving forward. They were sure they would find someone who could prove I was a Nazi. They didn’t know that everyone who knew of my position and mission was dead.

  “Finally, in March 1954, they declared a mistrial and let me go. It was called a mistrial because they wanted to arrest me again when they had more evidence. I didn’t care by then. I left Germany as soon as possible, vowing to never return.

  “I walked from the train station in Speonk to Frank’s grocery store. He was surprised to see me. Immediately he invited me to stay with him until I found a place. He noted that I looked different. I had lost over twenty pounds, and my hair was all white, even though I was only forty-three years old. I felt tired and worn. I wondered about the fact that my real name and my assumed name could now be connected. It was all a matter of record in Germany. All someone would have to do was read the transcript of my trial. Would this mean the remaining Nazis would be after me? Who was still alive that knew of my mission?

  “Things had changed in Frank’s apartment. The drapes had been updated, something a man didn’t do. There were some pictures of Frank, and a dark-haired woman at the beach. It was clear to me why he liked her, but it was not clear why she liked him. I went to my room and found new sheets and a new bedspread. I was both ecstatic and worried. Our little group didn’t need another member. Had he told her anything about me? Was she a plant by some organization? God knows there were enough people after me. Was I being totally paranoid? I decided to talk to Frank to feel him out.

  “‘Frank, it seems that things have changed.’

  “‘Yeah, I got myself a girl now,’ he replied happily. He was over ten years younger than I was and now in his prime to land a woman. The question for me was ‘is she the right one?’

  “‘Where did you meet her?’

  “‘Actually, she came in for a job interview at Lenny’s. I hired her and, next thing I knew, we were a couple. It’s been very lonely without you around.’

  “‘What do you know about her?’ I asked with greater interest.

  “‘Walter, don’t worry. Ann is local, a part of the
Raynor family. She went to Eastport High School. The family has been in the area since the middle of the 1700s. They were some of the first settlers of this part of Long Island.’

  “I was feeling better, so I inquired about the restaurant. Frank said, ‘I made her the manager of the restaurant. The guy that was there quit two years ago, and I needed someone. Also, Stan Banyon quit two months ago. He went to work in his father’s grocery store in Eastport.’

  “Suddenly the whole Banyon business came rushing back — the loss of my house, the respect Banyon attracted, and my need to somehow overshadow him. Did I really hate him? My compulsion was back with a vengeance. I started plotting almost immediately to get what I wanted, but first I needed a car and a place to live.

  “The next morning I felt refreshed, and ready to face my new world. I didn’t have many creature needs, as my bank account was bulging. My needs were psychological — on the level of acceptance and how I viewed myself. My ego was growing. I borrowed Frank’s car and drove to the bank. I intended to withdraw some money to buy a car.

  “The bank manager greeted me at the door. He was the one who hired me more than a dozen years earlier. We chatted for a while. I learned the bank was on hard times. It was a family-owned bank. The family didn’t get along, and when their grandfather died, everything landed in court. The bank was up for sale. If they didn’t find a buyer soon, it would close the doors due to the lack of cash flow. Things looked bleak.

  “While I was in the bank, the voices in my head came back. I was completely dumbfounded. Why did they return now? I had not heard from them during all the years I was stuck in Germany. They kept saying, “Buy it, we fit.” Their effect on me was very powerful — why now, why in the bank? I wondered if the tablet stored in the bank vault controlled the voices.

  “While at the Cadillac dealership I realized that owning a bank would be good for my investments. I had all this money in Switzerland. I had more than five thousand acres of land that could be sold; with the buyers needing financing, and the cash flow from my restaurant, not to mention Frank’s cash flow; we would survive. Eastern Long Island was growing, and I could not think of a good reason not to own it. So, I headed back to the bank in my new Cadillac and made arrangements to buy it. The manager would stay on, with a small piece of the business. Not bad for my first day back in America!”

  Chapter Sixty-One

  “Nineteen fifty-four was turning out to be a good year. For the first time in my life, I felt wanted, useful and happy. I found a small house right on the Moriches Bay in Remsenburg. A sailboat was added to my growing list of possessions. Frank married Ann, and they lived above their store. They were frequent visitors to my house, but that Thanksgiving I received a call.

  “‘Walter, it’s Frank.’

  “‘Good to hear from you Frank. So what time should I get to your house for Thanksgiving?’

  “‘Well that’s the problem. Ann and I are going to spend Thanksgiving with her family. You understand.’

  “‘Of, course,’ I responded disappointedly. “‘Have a good time,’ I lied.

  “I was alone again and didn’t like the feeling. I decided to go to Riverhead and eat at a German restaurant there. I made the mistake of taking Speonk-Riverhead Road. I usually avoided that route since returning to America. I mostly went the longer way past the air force base. As I sped up the road, I approached my old house. I slowed down. Several cars were in the circular driveway, and many kids were playing football on the front lawn. More than two dozen people hung around the porch, and they all seemed to be happy. They waved as I went by. My face became red, and my anger grew. Why should these people be so happy when I was heading up the lonely road all by myself?

  “All that evening, I obsessed over my loneliness and Banyon’s success in life. I had everything — money, position, and possessions — but didn’t have anyone, especially tonight. The waiter understood and kept the rum flowing well into the night. They threw me out at midnight. I was very drunk. All that I could think about was my house. I wanted my house. It was my connection to the past, my heritage, and was even surrounded by my land. The only reason that Stan Banyon owned my house was because he had some medals. In my drunken stupor, I decided I needed to steal those medals. The medals belonged to me. I deserved them, and once I had them, the house would be mine again.

  “I hatched the plan as I was attempting to drive back home. It was simple really; I was incapable of anything complicated at the time. I would sneak into the house and steal the medals. I entered the last fire lane and parked my car in the woods behind the Banyon house. I headed to the backdoor. and I noticed the old pump house and diverted my route. Using a flashlight, I found the trapdoor in the pump house. The tunnel was just as it had been in 1942. As I entered the basement, I realized that I was not only sober but also very excited.

  “This was a true adventure, with a clear measure of danger. After all, Banyon could probably still shoot a gun. For the first time in a long time, my body felt alive. My senses were tuned to any noise, my hearing alert. My mind also cleared. I would not steal the medals tonight, but instead would do some reconnaissance. I would put to use the skills I had been taught many years ago in spy school.

  “It only took me a few minutes to ascertain that the Banyon family had not discovered the hidden room or the secret the ladders inside the walls. They were probably too busy repairing the many bullet holes and replacing the broken windows to realize the walls didn’t match. I was elated. Some secrets of my house remained only for my use.

  “I moved very slowly. I checked each rung of the ladder as I climbed to the second floor. Finally I reached the attic and paused, not sure of what to do next. I sat there for over an hour before I went to the trapdoor in the closet and pulled it up. The closet door was open, allowing me to see into the room. Two little boys were sleeping in twin beds. I left them in peace and climbed down to the front attic. I soon realized I couldn’t see anything and had no idea where the parents were sleeping. The reconnaissance was going to be more difficult than I imagined, but I was up to the task.

  “Coming out of the pantry wall, I found a huge supply of food in the pantry. How many people lived in the house? I went to the door and opened it very slowly. It creaked and I heard someone say, ‘What was that?’ I retreated quickly, back through the wall and down to the basement. It was time to leave. As I was opening the secret door to the tunnel, an eerily single male voice whispered into my ear, ‘Please come back; I have so much to show you.’

  ***

  Rogers once again interjected, “So now we are adding home invasion, trespassing and a whole bunch of crimes. Walter I had no idea. This can never get out to the public, you know.”

  Pierce replied. “Stop whining. There is more to come.”

  ***

  Pierce continued. “Once safe in my car, I recounted my little adventure. The voice from the house was different, yet somehow seemed familiar. Was this voice connected to the tablet too? It didn’t speak in a riddle. I knew one thing — I wanted to find out more. Next time I would be prepared.

  “I spent weeks thinking about what happened. What were the legal ramifications if I got caught? I could go to jail. I could not let that happen. Yet I was drawn to the old house. Something there satisfied what I yearned for. I began plotting; there was so much to learn.

  “That winter was unusually severe. On Long Island, that meant snow, snow that stayed. As a result, my plans were delayed. This wasn’t war, just a little skirmish, and I had other things to do.

  “As usual Frank was my sounding board.

  “‘Frank I decided to start a real estate business.’ I told him.

  “‘Good idea,’ he replied. You could use it to sell some of our land and finance the whole enterprise through your bank. You could make three markups on each land sale.’

  “But I paid a price. I had to be near the office in Riverhead most of the time, and when I wasn’t, I was showing clients property or buying up farmers’ lands
. There was also the restaurant to look after and the bank work of signing documents. In addition, I was moving my money from Switzerland, a little at a time. The pace was hectic. I didn’t have time to obsess. I would drive by the Banyon house every few months to try to figure out when they were home and how many people were living there. I had a plan, but neither the time nor the chance to implement it.

  “The opportunity came on Memorial Day, 1956. At noon I was heading down Sunrise Highway in Eastport. All of a sudden, a foot-patrol policeman stopped my car.

  “‘Pull over to the side of the road.’ He said. ‘The Memorial Day Parade is marching through. Cars are not allowed on the street until the parade passes.’

  “The policeman did me a big favor, but neither of us knew it at the time. Since I didn’t want to take the long way around, I decided to pull down a side street to watch the parade. There might be some prospective buyers in the crowd.

  “The parade was like many others that I’d seen, except for one thing. Stan Banyon was walking with the American Legion group. There he was, carrying a large American flag, and people were cheering for him and his friends. I suddenly noticed his wife and several children were at the parade. This was my chance.

  “I ran to my Cadillac, and bolted down the road. It took me twenty minutes to reach the Banyon house. I figured they would be at the parade for at least another hour, which would allow me time. I cruised past the house, and, as anticipated, it was deserted.

  “I entered the house from the tunnel. I promised myself to be out by one o’clock. I wore gloves, and I carried a bag filled with tools. First I checked the downstairs. There were eight chairs around the dining table. Two big couches were in the living room. The parlor that my mother loved was walled up and made into a bedroom. No doubt, it was Stan Banyon’s bedroom. I had no access to the room and decided to move on. Upstairs there were four bedrooms, the one with the trapdoor in the closet and three others that faced the front of the house. They were adjacent to the attic. I walked through each room. The second room had grandparents’ clothes in the closet. The third had things that belonged to a single man, an uncle perhaps. The final room was decorated all in pink.