The Gemini Agenda

by Michael McMenamin

  “Do you wish to cross-examine this witness, Mr. Bowles?” the Judge asked.

  “You bet, Judge. I sure do,” Bowles said as he bounced to his feet and took several steps to the side so as to put a good five feet between him and Bobby Sullivan.

  “How’d you gain access to the apartment?”

  “Miss Powell unlocked the door to her apartment and invited me in.”

  “How much did you pay her for letting you in?”

  “I paid her nothing,” Sullivan said.

  “Not even a gift?”

  “Not even a gift,” Sullivan said, and then smiled.

  It wasn’t a pretty smile but it was directed only at Bowles. Unlike Ingrid, Cockran had given different stage directions to Sullivan, should he have to appear as a witness. Bobby had followed the script as perfectly as Ingrid and delivered all of his answers directly to Bowles and not the Judge.

  “Why were you in her bedroom closet?” Bowles demanded.

  “Miss Powell told me the bedroom was where they usually had sex,” Sullivan replied.

  “But why did she let you take these.… these …”

  “Filthy pictures?” Sullivan added helpfully.

  “These photographs!” Bowles snapped.

  Sullivan paused as if weighing his answer and then turned his face to the Judge. Cockran was surprised. He had told Sullivan to look directly at the Judge only if his testimony was going to be critical. Based upon what Sullivan had told him, he couldn’t imagine what that could be.

  “Miss Powell told me she was afraid of Mr. Waterman. That sometimes he would beat her before having sex with her; and that she thought allowing me to take these photographs would get him out of her life forever.” Sullivan said this all in an even and quite sincere tone of voice, but it was all news to Cockran.

  “Objection! Judge! That’s hearsay! I move to strike.”

  “Motion denied,” Judge Perkins said. “I know what hearsay is, Mr. Bowles, but I am not admitting the testimony based on truth but simply on the basis of what Mr. Sullivan heard Miss Powell say, whether it be true or not. Be assured I will give it the weight it deserves. The motions are heard and submitted.” She looked at her wristwatch. “Be back here in one hour. I’ll deliver my decision from the bench at that time.”

  THE four of them stood outside the courtroom, talking quietly. 55 minutes later, they were back in the courtroom. Sullivan took a seat at the rear while Cockran, Ingrid and Sarah sat at the plaintiff’s table in front of the bench on the right-hand side of the aisle. Four minutes later, Chester Bowles showed up and took his seat on the left-hand side of the aisle.

  One minute later, the bailiff rapped his gavel and said in a loud voice, “All rise!” Everyone did and Judge Miriam Perkins entered the courtroom. She took her seat on the bench, motioning with her hand for them all to be seated.

  “I am granting plaintiff’s motion for a temporary restraining order, both as to finances and Mr. Waterman’s staying away from their Central Park West penthouse. Mr. Bowles, I do not mean to unduly restrict Mr. Waterman’s ability to conduct both his personal and business affairs. But he is not to move any assets outside the jurisdiction of this court without my written permission. Is that clear?”

  Bowles stood. “Yes, Your Honor.”

  “Good. Temporary alimony is granted in the amount of $10,000 per month; $5,000 on the first of the month, and $5,000 on the fifteenth, delivered to whatever bank is designated by the plaintiff. Is that clear, Mr. Bowles?”

  Bowles scrunched his face. “But Judge, that’s awfully steep, considering she comes into court with unclean hands. Couldn’t you…”

  Judge Perkins cut him off. “Is that clear, Mr. Bowles?”

  Bowles’ chin slumped onto his chest. “Yes, Judge,” he said in a resigned voice.

  “Good. One more thing. I am placing today’s testimony and all the exhibits under seal. I don’t want to see any photographs in the tabloids. If any photographs of Mrs. Waterman’s injuries or the ones of Mr. Waterman appear in the papers, I will issue an order to show cause why plaintiff and her counsel should not be held in contempt. Is that clear, Mr. Cockran?”

  “Yes, Your Honor,” Cockran replied.

  The Judge then turned her attention to Bowles. “And if the photos you introduced today of Mrs. Waterman show up in the papers, Counselor, the same will happen to you.”

  Bowles nodded but otherwise said nothing.

  “Don’t try the court’s patience, gentlemen. If you do, believe me you will not like the consequences.” With that, she rose from the bench and walked off.

  Cockran walked up to the bailiff who gave him a copy of the signed restraining order. Cockran turned and gave it to Sarah Steinberg. “Sarah, get five certified photocopies made of this order. Deliver one to Central Park West. Have a second sent to I.C.E.’s chief financial officer. Deliver the others to the banks where either I.C.E. or Waterman have accounts.

  Cockran then walked to the back of the courtroom where Ingrid and Sullivan were talking quietly. “Bobby, I believe Ingrid needs a body guard. Are you free?”

  “I am,” Sullivan replied.

  “No, Bourke,” Ingrid said, laying a hand on Cockran’s forearm. “I’ll be perfectly fine. It’s Central Park West and Wesley may be many things but he’d never violate a court order.”

  20.

  You Need To Be Taught a Lesson

  Cleveland

  Friday, 13 May 1932

  MATTIE and Hudson left Pittsburgh early in the morning and landed at the Cleveland Municipal Airport shortly before noon. Home of the National Air Races since 1929, the airport was located southwest of the city and, at 1000 acres, was the country’s largest air field. Hearst had placed a bright red LaSalle sedan at their disposal and Mattie laughed when she saw it. “The Chief sure doesn’t want us to be inconspicuous, does he?”

  “On the contrary, Hearst knows that the natives in towns like Cleveland are impressed by appearances,” Hudson said as he slid an appreciative hand over the gleaming front fender. “Besides, Ted Hudson in a lesser motorcar would raise too many eyebrows.”

  Mattie laughed again. “Just get in the bloody car, Ted.”

  The drive into downtown Cleveland took nearly forty-five minutes and Mattie dropped Hudson off at the police station at 22nd and Payne Avenue. “Grab a taxi to the Hotel Cleveland when you’re finished here,” she said. It’s in the Terminal Tower complex. I’ll be at General Electric at Nela Park to interview Miller’s employer. First one to finish can check us in.”

  Hudson gave her a mock salute as he stepped out of the LaSalle. “Aye, aye, Cap’n.”

  At Nela Park, Mattie was treated well. The plant manager was an older man in his late fifties with a full head of grey hair and a florid nose which offered evidence of repeated violations of the Volstead Act by his local liquor purveyors. “I am Matthew Parnell, Miss McGary. It’s an honor to meet you. How can I help you?”

  Mattie flashed him a smile in return and thanked him. “I’m working on a story about an employee of yours who was killed recently. James Miller.”

  Parnell’s face darkened and he shook his head. “A tragedy. A terrible tragedy. Jimmy was one of my finest engineers.”

  “Do you know whether he had any relatives?” Mattie asked.

  “I don’t know. Jimmy was an excellent employee but he pretty much kept to himself. Engineers can be like that, you know. Why do you ask?”

  “There may be a connection to a recent murder in Pittsburgh. The woman’s maiden name was Miller and her body was found in a similar condition as Mr. Miller’s.”

  “You mean she was …” Parnell began and then hesitated, as if embarrassed to continue.

  “Yes, she was found naked,” Mattie said matter-of-factly, “drained of blood and her eyeballs were missing.”

  Parnell grimaced at Mattie’s description. “Gruesome. Who would do something like that?” He paused. “I had to identify Jimmy’s body, you know. It wasn’t pretty.”

 
; “I’m sorry,” Mattie said.

  Parnell shrugged it off. “So there may be a connection, you think?”

  “There may be a connection,” Mattie said. “Do you still have his personnel file?”

  “It’s not in the active files any more, but I’m certain we do.”

  “May I see it, please?”

  Moments later, Mattie was seated in a conference room off the plant manager’s spacious office, a steaming mug of coffee to her right, and James Miller’s personnel file open in front of her. Miller had been a bright and accomplished man. Electrical engineering degree from Case Tech and then a job with General Electric right after graduation. He had authored several articles for industry publications which she also found in the file, along with his evaluations. They were uniformly excellent. At the bottom of the file, she found what she was looking for. She quickly skimmed it, noting he was unmarried. She turned to the second page and there it was. His date and place of birth. November 3, 1895 in Findlay, Ohio. She made a note of it, closed the folder, and knocked lightly on Parnell’s door. He opened the door.

  Mattie handed the file to him. “You’ve been a great help, Mr. Parnell. Thank you.”

  “Did you find anything?”

  “Yes, perhaps,” Mattie replied. “Can you tell me where Findlay, Ohio is located?

  “Sure.” Parnell said. Northwest Ohio, about fifty miles due south of Toledo. Why?”

  “Jimmy Miller was born there. I’m flying cross-country and I just may drop in.”

  MATTIE McGary was furious. “Scotch!” she demanded from the waiter. “On the rocks. Make it a double.” The fact that the waiter had been staring down the front of her little black halter top dress, the backless number, didn’t improve her mood.

  She settled herself across from Ted Hudson in a cozy booth illuminated by a small brass lamp and gave him a look that would freeze any other Hearst reporter working on a story with her. But Hudson only gave her a bemused expression and placed his martini back on the table. They were in Marie Schreiber’s Tavern Chop House which the concierge at the Hotel Cleveland had assured them was the best restaurant in town.

  “Whatever possessed you to register us in the hotel as Mr. and Mrs. Theodore Stanhope Hudson, IV?” Mattie demanded.

  “I’m no more to blame for there being a Shriners’ convention in town than I am for all those funny hats they’re wearing.”

  “Don’t dodge the question.”

  “Look, every place is booked solid. All they had left was a single suite. I’ll sleep on the sofa but I thought it would raise fewer questions to register us as man and wife. I didn’t want it to look like we were shacking up.”

  Mattie took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly. The Hearst publisher in Cleveland had bloody well better find her separate accommodations tonight or heads were going to roll. Right now, however, she needed to refocus.

  Mattie was certain that she had been followed from Nela Park by a dark grey Chevrolet. Worse, when they had walked six blocks up Euclid Avenue to East Sixth Street and then over to Short Vincent, she was positive they were being tailed. While waiting for their drinks to arrive, Mattie excused herself to visit the ladies’ room and spotted the tail nursing a drink in the bar of the Tavern Chop House, the map of Ireland written all over his face. A bruiser, six foot tall, curly black hair, blue eyes and a cauliflower ear, suggesting time spent in the ring.

  Their drinks came and Mattie drained half of hers in one long swallow, savoring its fire as it coursed down her throat and left a warm glow in her stomach. Another round of drinks arrived with their appetizers, foie gras for Hudson, and Oysters Rockefeller for her. Mattie had just finished her oysters when the waiter brought her a phone and plugged it into the jack.

  Mattie picked up the phone. “McGary here.” She listened for a moment to the voice on the other end. “Okay. Excellent. Thank you so much. The twelfth floor. I understand. Thanks again,” Mattie said as she hung up the phone.

  Mattie smiled. “You’re officially out of the dog house, Ted. Hearst still has influence. They’ve moved my bags to something called the Van Sweringen Suite, downtown apartments of the Van Sweringen brothers, the two guys who built and own the Union Terminal complex. There’s an unmarked door to the left of room 1236. The concierge will have the key.”

  Hudson grinned and flashed her a smile, displaying his even white teeth. “Well, I’m glad that’s settled. I only did what I thought best. I wasn’t trying to embarrass you. Really.”

  Mattie was mollified. Maybe it was her second drink. Maybe it was not having to spend the night with Ted. She had overreacted. Ted was trying to make the best of a bad situation

  “We need to find out who he is,” Mattie said. “The guy who followed us.”

  Hudson placed his big hand on her arm, grasping it warmly. “You’re being paranoid. We weren’t followed. Trust me, I’m a professional. I know these things.”

  “Don’t patronize me, Ted. I know when I’m being followed, and I’m going to find out why. You can either help me or go back to your cozy little hotel suite and have a nightcap by yourself,” Mattie said just as their steaks arrived.

  “A nightcap with you? Sure, why not? I hate to drink alone.”

  “So, are you carrying?” Mattie asked, changing the subject. She hadn’t exactly offered him a nightcap but she didn’t want to be rude about it. Besides, this was more important.

  “No, I’m not,” Ted replied. “I didn’t see the need. Given the fit you threw over our accommodations, you forgot to mention that you thought you were followed from Nela Park.”

  Great. What help was he going to be without a weapon? Mattie always carried one, even tonight, in her purse. She sighed. “Did they teach you hand-to-hand combat in MID?”

  “Of course. Number one in my class. Tied for second in hand guns. First with a sniper rifle as well. Ask your boyfriend. He finished well back in the pack. I was never second to him in anything.”

  Mattie sighed. Well Ted, she thought—but didn’t say—you weren’t even close to him in the Mattie sweepstakes. Instead, she said “OK, here’s the plan.” She then laid out the scenario of the argument they would have within earshot of the man in the bar. Hudson agreed to play along

  Mattie promptly rose. “We’re finished, you bastard!” she said and threw the remains of her water glass into a surprised Hudson’s face. That hadn’t been part of the plan but she liked to improvise. Moments later, she took her long navy wool coat from the coat check girl and had started to put it on when Hudson caught up with her.

  “Please, dear, forgive me. If you take me back, I promise I’ll change.”

  “We’re through!” Mattie said. “Leave me alone or I’ll call a cop!” As she buttoned her coat and walked out the door, she could tell from the corner of her eye that the man in the bar had heard it all. While the stained glass in the restaurant’s window made it difficult to see clearly, she could see a figure stand and pay the bartender.

  Mattie turned left on Short Vincent, away from Public Square. A soft mist was falling, and she pulled a beret from her pocket and put it on. The street itself was a garish display of color and people out for a Friday evening. Nightclubs, strip joints, restaurants, hookers and bars vied for the attention of passers-by with nary a cop in sight. What Cockran had told her about Cleveland was true. The most corrupt police force east of Chicago. Pittsburgh had been positively sedate compared to this. Mattie was propositioned by drunken sailors twice before she reached Ninth Street. She hesitated, unsure whether to head south to the main thoroughfare, Euclid Avenue, which would take her back to Public Square and their hotel, or north toward the lake. She looked north and it seemed darker, more foreboding. And better, she thought, for what she had in mind. She surreptitiously removed her Walther automatic from her purse, slipped it into the right-hand pocket of her coat and turned left towards the darkness of Lake Erie.

  The lights faded in the distance as Mattie crossed Superior Avenue. She looked both ways before crossing
and spotted her tail. She was hoping to find an alley but none presented itself. Halfway down the block she found what she needed. She turned left onto Rockwell and sprinted twenty yards more until she found the recess of a loading bay. She stepped into the shadows, her navy coat and beret making her nearly invisible. When the tail turned onto Rockwell, he would see an empty street.

  The man passed her place of concealment and Mattie, automatic drawn, jammed it into his back. “Don’t move,” she said. “Raise your hands and turn around slowly.”

  The man did and Mattie instantly recognized him from his tan overcoat and fedora as the bruiser in the bar, the one who had followed her from Public Square.

  The man laughed. “A woman! The boys are never going to believe this. A frail got the drop on Eddie Monahan.” The face was Irish, but the voice was pure New York, straight out of Hell’s Kitchen. “Listen, sister, you better give Eddie that little pop gun of yours before it goes off and someone gets hurt.”

  “Move it, buster, or you’re the one who’s going to be hurt. We’re going to have a little talk,” Mattie said. Just then, Mattie felt a big arm circle her waist and felt a gun barrel pressed firmly into her back.

  “Hey, Eddie,” a voice behind her said, “need some help taming this skirt?”

  Bloody hell! Mattie thought. There were two of them! How had she missed it? And they were armed and Hudson wasn’t. Damn!

  “Nah, Frank, I can handle it,” Eddie said as he relieved Mattie of her weapon and tucked it into his belt. Then Eddie sent his fist deep into her belly. She gasped and folded over.

  “Hold the bitch up,” Eddie said. Mattie felt herself pulled upright and then another fist buried itself in her belly and she thought she was going to be sick.

  “Take her back to that loading bay,” Eddie said. “That bitch pulled a gun on me.”

  Mattie, weak from the blows, felt herself almost lifted off her feet as she was dragged further back into the dark alcove where she had been hiding. Where the hell was Hudson?

  Eddie followed them into the loading bay. “You need to be taught a lesson, Missy, to keep your nose out of places it don’t belong. Drop the story you’ve been working on. Or else. Now, in case you’re hard of hearing,” Eddie said, taking off his coat and grinning at her, “I’m gonna give you that lesson. I guarantee you won’t forget it.”