“Hell’s Kitchen, isn’t it?” Mattie asked.
“What do you mean?” Eddie asked.
“I mean that you grew up in Hell’s Kitchen and I’ll give you two to one odds you work for Owney Madden,” Mattie said.
The man’s eyes widened and Mattie knew she had struck pay dirt. All she needed now was the full name of Owney’s customer who had hired Eddie and Frank.
“I’ll be right back,” Mattie said, “after I slip into something more comfortable. Ask him who hired him and why he wanted me mugged.”
MATTIE had worn her little black cocktail dress to dinner and she could tell by the expression on Hudson’s face that her idea of “something more comfortable” had not met Ted’s expectations. Mattie was now wearing her typical workday ensemble of tailored khaki trousers, a crisp white cotton blouse, one button open at the neck, and a pale brown pair of leather boots.
“Any luck with finding out who hired him.?” Mattie asked. She noticed Eddie’s face was swollen from further blows and blood trickled from a small cut above his ear.
Hudson smiled and grasped the man’s chin. Then he slapped him hard on the side of his face. Twice. “We’re making some progress. Aren’t we, Eddie? You said his name was “Dr. V” but what’s his real name?”
“I don’t know. Honest. I don’t know, Eddie replied. “I just go wherever Owney sends me and do what Dr. V tells us. Just like now. Frank got a call from Dr. V yesterday. He told us to get to Cleveland and we caught the night train. Instructions were left at American Express. Wait for the red haired broad at the airport, follow her and scare her off the story.”
“Let me, Ted,” Mattie said as she stepped in front of Eddie. “Why scare me off?”
“Hell, lady. I don’t know. I just do what Owney tells me. I don’t ask no questions. Not very healthy if you know what I mean. Besides, Frank says what we’re doing is patriotic.”
“I assume Frank also works for Owney?
“Frank? Nah, he’s some ex-Government guy. He’s pretty close-mouthed about who he works for. Told me we were a team but I didn’t have a ‘need to know’ who he works for. He’s the one Dr. V talks to and then I just do whatever Frank tells me.”
“What do you do for Dr. V?”
“We mostly snatch people. Knock ‘em out with chloroform and bring them to wherever we’re told.”
“Why?”
Eddie shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know. Frank just says we’re making America stronger. We snatch the guys and take them to a warehouse.”
“What about girls? Do you snatch them too?” Mattie asked.
“Sure. Both men and women. We take the women to a hotel first. We pick them up again several hours later. They look like they had a good time but they been drugged or something. Most can barely talk. Without their clothes, they weren’t bad-looking broads, either. My job is to dress them and carry them out of the hotel, pretending they’re drunk. Just like you two brought me in here.”
“Where do you take them after that?” Mattie asked.
Eddie shrugged again. “Same kind of place where we take the men in the first place. It’s different in each city. It’s usually a warehouse in a rougher part of town.”
Mattie smiled at Eddie and he smiled back. “Anything else you’ve done for this Dr. V?”
“No, that’s about it.”
“Are you certain?” Mattie asked. “Did I mention that my friend Bobby Sullivan won’t be happy when he learns what you and Frank tried to do tonight?”
“Bobby Sullivan is your friend?” Eddie asked, his eyes growing wide.
“A close friend.” Mattie replied and waited.
Eddie seemed torn but finally he spoke. “Wait, there was something else. Not always. But sometimes, he gives us names and has us go check birth certificates. If we find them, we bring him copies.”
“Birth certificates?” Mattie asked. “Why?”
“Beats me,” Eddie said. “Frank told me it was none of my business. Sometimes the names are the same as people we’ve snatched. Sometimes they’re not.”
Mattie walked over to a stained glass window, turned the handle and swung it open. She looked down on Cleveland’s Public Square. “Take this piece of trash out of my room. Then get some sleep. We’re flying to Findlay first thing tomorrow morning.”
“Sure thing,” Hudson said and grinned. He cut Eddie’s bonds and jerked him to his feet. “We appreciate your cooperation, Eddie.”
Eddie looked down and began to rub his wrists when Hudson suddenly hit him from behind with the revolver he had borrowed from the Cleveland cop and the thug crumpled to the floor. Hudson effortlessly picked him up and slung him over his shoulder.
“We’ll take the back way out. See you in a half hour for our nightcap.”
Mattie looked at her watch. 12:50 a.m. She sighed. She did owe Ted a nightcap for what he’d done tonight but she just wasn’t up to it. Her stomach was still sore from Eddie’s two punches. She took the elevator to the tenth floor and left a note for Ted on the door with a rain check for tomorrow on the nightcap. Back in her room, she stripped and went to sleep.
23.
Going Home
Friedrichschafen, Germany
Friday, 13 May 1932
KURT von Sturm arrived at the train station in Friedrichschafen and looked immediately for the post office. He walked with a light step, the stamped and sealed letter to Hugo Eckener resting in his hand. If Eckener granted his request for command of an airship, he would tender his resignation to the Geneva Group and nominate Bruno Kordt as his successor.
Sturm saw the LZ-127 soaring overhead again, surely a good omen to accompany his decision. He knew the airship’s primary purpose in its regular excursions over Lake Constance was not the revenue it generated, but the training it gave the crew in between its transatlantic passenger flights. Three days to North America. Half the time it took an ocean liner.
Time, Sturm thought, recalling Zurich’s words to him two days before. There never was enough of it. Without meaning to, he found himself thinking of the last time he crossed the Atlantic aboard an airship. With her. And wishing it had taken longer to cross.
Sturm blinked his eyes sharply, turning from the zeppelin hanging in the sky, trying to break his mind away from the memory. Why think of her now? Place her in his past and think of her no more. Falling in love had been a weakness he could not afford.
There were more important things in life. Germany. A strong Germany. One that would stand up to the insults of her enemies; one that would tear up the Versailles Treaty that crippled his country; one that would reclaim the German-speaking territories taken from the Vaterland, including Posen where his own family estate lay in Polish chains. Deep down, he knew that if the woman he loved had not left him for another, he would have started then the new life which the letter he carried represented. It was a weakness that would have led him to betray Germany if only she would have loved him back.
Yet now, letter in hand, he was poised to do just that. Why? Certainly not for the woman he loved. She was out of his life. Forever. No, it was the growth in his protégé Bruno Kordt that would make it possible. Thanks to Sturm, Bruno was ready. He dropped the envelope in the post box and moved on toward the platform. He checked his watch and stopped at a public telephone booth and waited. In less than a minute, the phone rang and he heard Bruno’s familiar voice.
“Geneva has made a request for a mission in New York to settle some difficulties that Manhattan is having,” Sturm said.
“When do we leave?”
“We don’t,” Sturm said. “I turned the request down. I’m heading home for a holiday with my family and I won’t have it interrupted.”
“As well you should, Kurt,” Bruno said. “Old bones like yours need their rest.”
“Just as children like you need their afternoon naps.”
He could hear Bruno chuckle under his breath over the phone. Bruno was twenty-nine, almost ten years younger than Sturm. He’d been dra
fted when he was only sixteen years old, the Imperial German Army desperate for warm bodies to throw into the Spring Offensive in 1918. As a result, Bruno had grown up very quickly.
“Nap time must wait, I’m afraid,” Sturm continued. “I think you are ready for a Geneva assignment. On your own.”
“I welcome any challenge. What is the assignment?”
Sturm told him what he knew. It wasn’t much other than the assignment required his travel to New York where he would be directly serving Manhattan’s interests in America. He detailed Geneva protocols that he had heretofore kept from Bruno — how to communicate with Geneva, what information to send, daily updates on location and progress. Bruno took the information as Sturm named the contact in New York, Bruno’s go-between for Manhattan.
“Upon learning that I turned the job down and offered you in my place, Manhattan agreed but insisted that he have no direct contact with you whatsoever, in case you fail,” Sturm said. “Don’t be offended. I know you; he doesn’t. You won’t fail.”
“I take no offense,” Bruno said. “A man must earn respect.”
“One more thing. Manhattan needs you as soon as possible. You will return by steamship but I have booked you on this afternoon’s zeppelin to New York. Catch the next train to Friedrichschafen. You will arrive early on Sunday evening in New York.”
The moment he disconnected the call, Sturm felt his body lighten, as though a heavy burden had been lifted from his shoulders. He was right to have sent the letter to Eckener. Bruno would not fail. He would be a worthy successor. Sturm made one last stop at a telegraph window to wire his mother and sister to tell them he was coming home for a holiday. He needed a rest, and so did the family Alsatian “Storm.” He would happily serve as his blind sister’s guide dog, so Storm could spend his time chasing rabbits to ground and gulls from the beach.
Sturm suddenly felt free, free of work, free of responsibilities, free to spend time with his family, free to be nothing more than his mother’s beloved, first-born child and his sister’s adored older brother. The man whose nom de guerre—to his sister’s everlasting delight—was taken from the family dog. Kurt von Strasser was going home.
24.
Twins!
Hancock County Courthouse
Findlay, Ohio
Saturday, 14 May 1932
MATTIE spied U.S. Route 224 within thirty minutes of take off and followed it straight into Findlay. They passed over the town square heading west over a large industrial complex with a tall brick chimney labeled “Cooper Tire.” Beyond was the airfield where Mattie feathered the autogiro gently to earth. A hired motorcar was waiting and within minutes they were in the center of town where the county recorder’s office was located in the Victorian-era courthouse. They walked down the marble halls to the recorder’s office only to find a locked wooden door, its frosted glass top half announcing that this was where the county’s records were kept.
Mattie was disappointed. Ted was undaunted.
“No problem,” Ted said, as he began wandering until he found a janitor.
Hudson promptly flashed his MID credentials; told the janitor that this was a matter involving the security of the country; and that the president himself would be grateful for any assistance the janitor could render.
Of course, Mattie thought, the $20 bill in Hudson’s hand probably played its part as well. In any event, the janitor had the necessary keys and she was soon within the county recorder’s office, searching for birth certificates. Hudson left Mattie alone to do this and went to call the offices of The New York American to see if there were any messages from MID for him.
“Have them give you my messages as well,” Mattie said, as she started to examine the labels on the many file cabinets to locate birth certificates.
WHILE Hudson placed his phone call, Mattie tried to figure out which records were kept where. She finally found the room where birth certificates were located. Mattie tugged at the door, but it didn’t move. It was locked. Damn, she thought, as she went back out in search of the janitor. She walked past the telephone booth where Hudson was still talking. Then, with the janitor in tow, she walked back to the recorder’s office once more. Whoever Ted was talking to clearly had upset him because, as she passed, she heard him say “Do it right the next time! Don’t screw it up again! I don’t care what you think, you moron! Or what someone else told you! This is not some training exercise. I don’t want you exercising any discretion in the field. Just follow my instructions precisely! Or else! You got that?”
Mattie frowned as she walked. She hadn’t known Ted had such a temper. Gossip travels fast in any business organization and she didn’t recall having heard anything like this about Ted. Self-confident to the point of being cocky? Well, sure. Everyone knew that. But a temper? No. Not like the dressing down she just heard him give to some young reporter.
Back in the recorder’s office, the janitor helpfully unlocked the door. Mattie found the file cabinet with “1895” on the label. She pulled out the drawer which had folders tabbed “M” and took it over to a nearby table. She located November and pulled it out. She opened it and began leafing through the certificates. There it was. James Roger Miller, born November 3, 1895 at 4:20 a.m. Parents John Burson Miller and Jane Brewer Miller. 311 South Main Street, Findlay. Mattie took out her reporter’s pad and began copying the information into her notebook. Having done that, she began to place the certificate back into the folder. She couldn’t explain why she did it but she placed the certificate face down on the left-hand side of the folder as opposed to face up on the right-hand side. She thought later that it must be how she unconsciously did things. It made all the difference. It was the key which broke the story wide open. Maybe she would have found the same key later in other cities, but maybe not.
In the event, as she placed James Miller’s birth certificate face down on the left-hand side of the file, the next certificate caught her eye because it was a baby girl named Elizabeth. Curious, she picked up the certificate and examined it more closely. Oh my God, Mattie thought, as she read. Elizabeth Ann Miller. Born November 3, 1895. Time of birth 4:40 a.m. Twenty minutes later than James Miller. She quickly looked at the section where the parents were listed and found exactly what she expected. John Burson and Jane Brewer Miller.
Twins! Two of the victims were twins! Fraternal twins, to be sure, but twins. Coincidence? Nope. Her instinct yesterday about victims being related had been correct.
“Find anything interesting?” Ted Hudson asked.
“Oh!” Mattie said, startled. “How long have you been there?”
Hudson grinned and then smiled. “About five minutes. But you were scribbling in your notebook so intently that I didn’t want to disturb you. Your profile is magnificent.”
In truth, Mattie didn’t think her profile was magnificent. She thought her nose a tad too long. Still, it was never bad to hear a handsome man tell her she looked magnificent. Mattie explained to Hudson what she had discovered but, at first, Hudson couldn’t see the significance. “So they’re twins. So what? It’s probably just a coincidence.”
“Coincidence, my ass. If two victims are twins, more of them may be as well.”
Hudson remained skeptical. “But where does that get us? It doesn’t solve the crimes.”
“Two things, Ted. It gets us closer to finding the killer. Second, and the more important thing, is that if the other victims are twins also, we’ve got one hell of a story already.”
“Really? I just don’t see that all the victims being twins is such a big story.”
Mattie laughed. “If you don’t, it’s probably just as well you’re going back to MID.”
Mattie took careful notes from Elizabeth Miller’s birth certificate and then put the folder back in the file drawer. She turned to Hudson as they left the office. “You go over to the hotel and check us in. I’ve got to call the Chief right away and give him the news. I’m sure he’ll agree with me that this is a big deal and, when he does, you
find us the best restaurant in the city. This calls for a celebration. You and I are going to paint the town.”
TED Hudson signed the hotel register “Mr. and Mrs. Theodore Stanhope Hudson IV” for the second day in a row. After doing so, he flashed his MID credentials at the desk clerk. “We are on a sensitive government mission and are traveling incognito. My traveling companion is Martha McGary, although she will undoubtedly refer to herself as “Mattie.” Do you have that?”
The young desk clerk nodded.
“Good. She’s fairly tall and a real looker. She has red hair. When she comes and asks for her key, she will tell you her name. You will give her the key to 708, which is one of the two connecting rooms I have taken. It’s important. National security. Lives are at stake.”
The desk clerk’s eyes grew wide. “Yes, sir, I understand.”
“Good lad,” Hudson said, as he patted the boy on the shoulder with his left hand and slipped him a $5 bill with the other. He grinned to himself as he walked to the elevator. What was her Irish boyfriend going to think when the postman delivered copies of hotel bills from yesterday and today in the name of Mr. & Mrs Theodore Hudson along with room service chits signed by Mattie? Well, if said boyfriend were the jealous type and started making what Mattie knew were false accusations, that would make it all the easier for him to lure Cockran’s girlfriend back into his bed. And he knew there would be plenty of time to do just that. Maybe he’d even get lucky tonight after they finished painting the town. She was still one hot number.
But business came first. Back in his room, he began to work the phones. Mattie’s discovery was important, a critical development. Much had happened and there was much more to do. From past experience, he knew there often wasn’t as much time as you first thought.
PROHIBITION was a joke in small towns as well as big cities and the dining room of the Hotel Phoenix in Findlay was reputed to have the best wine cellar in town as well as the best chef. Over martinis, Mattie filled Hudson in on her talk with Hearst. “The Chief agrees with me that this is too good a lead not to follow up immediately. He’s splitting us up.”
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