The Cryptographer's Dilemma
Page 19
“That sounds nice.” She turned her attention from the passing countryside with its neat farmhouses, painted barns, and tall silos to him. His handsome profile, more handsome to her now than when they first met, caused her heart to race. But it was the man he was inside—the man she’d come to know during their thousands of miles sitting side by side either in a car or a plane, on a bus or a train, who took her breath away. And stood beside her when she needed him most.
“I was thinking about St. Louis,” she said. “About why it was so important for me to see my father.”
“Isn’t that obvious? You needed to know the truth. You deserved to know the truth.”
“That’s part of it, yes. But I feel like God took me by the hand and said, ‘Oh, look. Here’s a newspaper article about your dad. And would you look at that? You’re both going to be in St. Louis at the same time.’”
Phillip snickered. “Is that what God sounds like? Because that sounded more like my spinster aunt Alice.”
“I’d like to meet your spinster aunt Alice.”
“She’d probably like to meet you too, though you won’t be able to believe half the stories she’ll tell you about me.”
“Is that so?”
“I’ll let you in on a little secret. I’m her favorite nephew. The son she never had, she says. So, when she talks to me in that same tone of voice you were using for God, I know it’s her way of saying she loves me.”
“Are you saying what happened with my father is because God loves me?”
“I’m not a theologian, sweetheart.”
Great! He’d turned into Humphrey Bogart again.
“But you know He does. More than you can fathom.” He flashed her a quick smile before returning his gaze to the road. “Do you regret meeting with your father?”
“I’m not sure who it benefitted.” Neither of them? Both of them? “Except now I have answers. And if he got my note, so does Father. He knows what happened to Allan. Perhaps that was the reason.”
Thinking about her brother made the moment more solemn. But she had more she needed to say. “I’m not sure what to tell Mother. Or if I can tell her anything at all, given the circumstances.”
“I’d like to give you answers,” Phillip said. “But you may never have them. At least not on this side of heaven. What you did for your father, though—writing that note—I don’t know that I would have been that generous.”
“It wasn’t generosity, it was…” She wasn’t sure how to finish her sentence. What came to mind seemed weird even to her. “It was a prompting. Something I knew I had to do.”
“You gave him something he didn’t deserve. I think the preachers call that grace.”
Is that what she had done? That made the gesture seem more magnanimous than it was. “I did what was right.”
“In very difficult circumstances.” Phillip’s jaw clenched then set in a firm line. “I find that admirable.”
Her cheeks flushed at the unexpected compliment. She glanced in his direction, but his gaze was fastened on the highway. A tension existed between them as if those multiple threads of shared experiences binding them together were too taut yet also too strong to break.
She leaned her head against the back of the seat and closed her eyes. What was happening between them? She didn’t know, except for this one thing: if his feelings for her were anywhere close to her feelings for him, they were doomed. The future didn’t include a path the two of them could walk together. Not in a time of war. He must never discover the hold he had on her heart. That would save her embarrassment if he didn’t feel the same. And save her heartbreak if he did.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Phillip and Eloise were met in the Cincinnati field office’s parking lot by Paul Truett, an agent involved in the apprehension of the two Operation Pastorius saboteurs who had hidden in the city. He leaned against the trunk of a black sedan, one foot resting on the bumper as he took a final drag of a cigarette. When Phillip emerged from his vehicle, Truett tossed the butt to the cement and ground it with his foot.
“I wasn’t expecting a welcoming committee.” Phillip shook Truett’s hand.
“Orders from the top,” Truett said.
“How did you know when I’d get here?”
“Got word from a deputy sitting on the state highway just inside the Hamilton County line. Said he would have stopped you for going over the limit if he hadn’t known you were one of us.”
“I always did have a lead foot. Helpful for quick getaways.”
“I’ve got a fiver that says you spotted him, but he swears you didn’t.”
Phillip gave an embarrassed chuckle as Eloise joined them. After introducing her to Truett, he flashed her a sheepish grin. “Did you see a deputy sheriff’s car on the way into town?”
She thought a moment then shook her head. “Should I have?”
“Apparently I should have.”
“You’re going to cover the bet, aren’t you, old pal?” Truett asked.
Phillip feigned a frown then pulled out his wallet. “Only because I owe you.” Truett could be as brash as a banty rooster, but he’d shown his smarts and professionalism when it counted.
Truett grinned and pocketed the five-dollar bill. “I better get you two inside. You have a special visitor waiting.”
“Who?” Phillip lightly touched Eloise’s back as Truett opened the building’s rear door.
“You’ll see.” He led the way along a corridor and up a flight of stairs to a broad landing. “They’re waiting for us in the chapel.”
Phillip knew from a prior visit to the field office that the chapel was a small room located near the reception area. In one corner, an altar stood on a short platform beneath a stained-glass window lit from behind by a floodlight. A set of wooden pews was arranged before the platform. More comfortable seating was located in the opposite corner. Agents came to this room for spiritual reflection, silent contemplation, or simply to be alone. This was also where agents delivered devastating news involving loved ones to family members.
“Who is ‘they’?” Eloise whispered. Phillip shrugged his shoulders. This cloak-and-dagger business seemed over the top even for the FBI. After all, they were in a government building staffed by trained G-men. Why all the secrecy?
Truett opened the thick wooden door and stood back to let Phillip and Eloise enter before him. Phillip quickly scoped the room then held out both arms as his uncle came toward him.
“What a welcome surprise.” The two men clasped hands. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to see you, my boy.” Richard’s gaze slid to Eloise. “And you too, my dear.”
“It’s nice to see you again, sir.”
“What’s with all the formality? Come here.” As he drew Eloise into a fatherly embrace, an older gentleman stepped forward. “Eloise, this is L. C. Schilder. He’s the special agent in charge at this field office. And, of course, L.C., you know Phillip.”
With the introductory handshakes out of the way, Richard gestured for them to sit. Phillip sat beside Eloise on a brocade sofa while Richard, Special Agent Schilder, and Truett sat in upholstered chairs.
“I’m sure you’re tired after your long day,” Richard began. “This little meeting won’t take too long, I promise, and then I’ll treat you both to dinner.” He nodded toward Schilder, who crossed his long legs and cleared his throat.
“Agent Truett has been involved in our local investigation of Mrs. Barbara Clark.” His speech was as formal as his demeanor. “According to those who were interviewed, Mrs. Clark is a law-abiding and respectable citizen who lives a quiet and, one might say, unassuming life. In your personal interviews with her, did you learn anything to suggest otherwise?”
“Not at all,” Phillip said. “We are certain Mrs. Clark is the victim here. She has been very cooperative.” He glanced at Eloise. “Though she doesn’t seem to be too fond of Mr. Clark.”
Both Truett and Schilder smiled.
“I heard a
few tales about Mr. Clark,” Truett said. “Each time the person began with, ‘Don’t let Barbara know I told you this.’”
They chatted awhile longer, then Truett and Schilder returned to their offices. After they left, Richard drew his chair closer to the sofa. “Let’s talk about Mrs. Dickinson’s West Coast tour. Both the Chicago and Oakland field offices have located the hotels where she stayed. Both those hotels rent out typewriters to their guests. We’re waiting for the sample sheets.”
“What’s a sample sheet?” Eloise asked.
“An agent types a specific document onto a sheet of paper,” Richard explained. “The wording provides multiple examples of how each key strikes the paper. Our forensics team will compare each sample sheet to the forged letters. If she typed a forged letter on one of those typewriters, we’ll know it.”
“Will that be enough proof to question Mrs. Dickinson?” Eloise asked.
“It’s still too soon,” Richard replied. “We have her under surveillance, and a few of our agents have stopped in at her store. Unfortunately, we still have too many unanswered questions. Though here is interesting news. No one lives at the Buenos Aires address. The neighbors say the house has been empty for months.”
Phillip widened his eyes then guffawed. “You mean the señora got out of Dodge and no one told Velvalee? Who needs enemies when you have friends like that?”
“That investigation is still ongoing,” Richard said. “We don’t know who last lived in the house or even who owns it. The company that manages the property isn’t cooperating.”
“Probably a shell company,” Phillip retorted. “It could take months of tedious record searches to discover the actual owner, who probably lives overseas and is completely untouchable.”
“I fear you’re right.” Richard retrieved a folder from his briefcase. “We’ve had more success in building a dossier on the Dickinsons. Velvalee was born in October 1893 in Sacramento. Her mother died of tuberculosis in 1919; her father in an accident in 1923. The only other family member is a younger brother who worked for the Labor Relations War Production Board in DC for a time. Now he lives in New York. Her husband, Lee, suffered from Bright’s disease, a kidney disease that apparently led to a heart condition. He died last October.”
Richard shared additional biographical information, including the FBI’s investigation into Lee in the mid-1930s, when he owned a produce commodity brokerage firm, then handed them a few brochures. Phillip examined the top one. The paper was the same blue paper as the stationery Velvalee used to write Mrs. Clark. The front had scarlet lettering and a border of dolls dressed in international costumes. Along with the name of the shop—Velvalee Dickinson’s Doll Store—the front page stated, “We have dolls from nearly every country in the world and state in the United States.”
Richard continued the briefing. “We’ve found advertisements she’s placed in a newsletter published by the National Doll and Toy Collectors and in the Christian Science Monitor, articles she’s written for a journal called the Complete Collector and a few similar magazines, and posters advertising her appearance as a guest speaker for various organizations.” He pointed to the brochures. “She mails those to her clients—a quite sizable list—both to advertise upcoming speaking engagements and to list the dolls she’s offering for sale.”
“How much do the dolls sell for?” Eloise asked.
“She caters to both the casual collector and the wealthy. Much of her inventory ranges from twenty-five dollars on up. The rarer dolls cost thousands.”
“If she’s that successful, I guess we can rule out money as a motive,” Phillip said.
“Not so fast,” Richard objected. “Since the war started, she can no longer import or export foreign dolls. That has cut into her profits. But even before the war, the Dickinsons were prone to live beyond their means, and Lee’s medical bills have been high. Her finances aren’t very tidy.”
He walked them through various documents, including photographs, financial records, and membership rosters of Japanese organizations located in the United States. “Any more questions?”
“How did you find all this?” Eloise seemed overwhelmed by all the documents. “There’s so much.”
“Simple,” Phillip said. “Good old-fashioned legwork. Being an agent isn’t all guts and glamour.”
“Thankfully, very little of what we do at the Bureau involves heroics,” Richard said.
“As you should know,” Phillip said to Eloise, “after traveling from one end of the country and back again. I only had to draw my gun once.” He grinned then realized the temperature in the room had dropped to below freezing. Why was it that when he was with Eloise, he couldn’t open his mouth without jamming his foot between his teeth?
“You drew your gun?” Richard asked. “May I inquire about the circumstances?”
“St. Louis,” he said, hoping that would put an end to the questioning until he could talk to Richard alone.
“Because of me,” Eloise said at the same time.
Richard’s stony gaze widened and settled on both of them. “Let’s talk about St. Louis.”
Phillip glanced at Eloise. The blood appeared to have drained from her face. Her mouth opened, but no words came out. He reached out, placing his hand on her arm. “I’ll explain.” She responded by giving him a grateful smile, but her worried expression told a different story.
Being seen as competent and dependable was important to her, especially in the eyes of someone like Richard, who had placed such trust in her abilities. She’d put all that at risk because of her father. Phillip had known the moment would come when they’d have to explain the situation to Richard, but he’d expected to have a few more days to figure out exactly how.
“It was my fault—” Eloise began.
“It was no one’s fault.” Phillip shifted his gaze from her to Richard to find his uncle staring at his hand on Eloise’s arm. Phillip quickly clasped his hands together. “Eloise wanted to see her father. She needed to see her father. But it was my decision.”
“I forced you into it,” Eloise insisted then turned to Richard. “Phillip only stayed in St. Louis because I wouldn’t leave.”
Richard nodded his head, his silent but familiar “I see” gesture. “I have no desire to interfere in your personal business, Eloise. But before I could request your transfer, I needed to acquaint myself with your family. Based on our background check, I believed you weren’t aware of your father’s whereabouts.”
“That’s true.” The waver in Eloise’s voice tempted Phillip to reach for her again. But he didn’t dare, not with Richard’s sharp eyes on them. When he’d touched her before, the action had seemed so natural—he hadn’t even realized what he was doing until it was too late.
“I didn’t know,” Eloise continued. “I know this will sound strange, but when we were at the Seattle field office, I saw his picture in the local paper.”
Phillip released a quiet sigh as she paused to compose herself. This was her story, and she needed to tell it. But he’d give his right arm and left leg to do it for her. Even though Richard’s attention was focused on Eloise, Phillip sensed his uncle’s awareness of his unease. He might as well be wearing a sign on his forehead that said, “I like Eloise.”
He more than liked her. He cared about her. Something he’d rather not admit to anyone, not even himself.
“He resides in Seattle?”
“He works at an investment firm. I was shocked. Beyond shocked.” Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “The article said he was getting an award in St. Louis. I didn’t think much of it at the time, but as the days passed…I don’t know how to explain it. I knew I had to see him.”
“Did you?”
“We talked.”
“You’ll forgive me for asking, but I must,” Richard said. “What reason did you give him for being so far from home?”
“I didn’t. And he wasn’t curious enough to ask. Or perhaps he didn’t care.”
“I told him
my name was Carter,” Phillip put in. “That I was in construction. I think he believed me. Or, like Eloise said, he didn’t care.”
“It wasn’t a pleasant visit,” Eloise said. “My father isn’t a very nice man.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Richard said. “Sincerely, I am.”
“Thank you, sir.” Eloise sounded resigned, but to her credit she hadn’t burst into tears. Or perhaps she’d already shed all the tears she had in her heart for the man.
“Again, I have no wish to offend.” Richard’s conciliatory tone eased the difficult words Phillip knew he was about to say. “Since you’ve been in contact with your father, it’s my duty to request that Ray Suran, the special agent in charge of the Seattle office, open a dossier on him.”
“Will he know?” Eloise asked.
Richard gave a small smile. “That would not be our intent. Have you been in contact with your mother?”
“I wouldn’t know what to say to her.” Eloise pressed her lips together then released a heavy sigh. “He has a new family. Either he’s a bigamist or my parents divorced and Mother never told us. Perhaps she already knows where he is and kept that a secret too.” She seemed to be having a hard time keeping the bitterness from her voice.
“We should be able to find out,” Phillip said. “If they divorced, I mean.” He’d only wanted to help, but the horrified look on Eloise’s face caused him to regret the offer. “If you want us to,” he said lamely. “Couldn’t we?”
“If a divorce occurred,” Richard said, “yes, there would be a public record.”
“That’s not how I want to find out,” Eloise said. “It’s not fair to Mother.”
“May I make a suggestion?” Richard asked.
“Of course.”
“I’m sending the two of you straight to New York City from here,” Richard said. “It’s past time a woman visited Mrs. Dickinson’s doll store.”
“You want me to talk to her?” Eloise asked, obviously surprised.
“I want you to be a customer. Establish a relationship with her,” Richard said. “She won’t be as suspicious of a woman as she seems to be of the agents we’ve sent in. They did their best, I suppose, but they would have been less conspicuous in a seedy bar than an upscale antique doll shop.”