“Good man, Prof, I knew I could count on you,” Churchill replied.
32.
Personal and Confidential
The Cedars,
Sands Point, Long Island
Sunday, 22 May 1932
IT was a beautiful spring day and the sun was streaming in the kitchen window as Mattie brewed a pot of tea. Mattie loved Sundays at The Cedars. Long rides on the beach with Bourke and Paddy followed by a delicious dinner cooked by Cockran’s mother-in-law, Mary Morrissey. Mattie had her own bedroom, of course, in order to keep up appearances. Mattie knew that Mary wasn’t fooled. But appearances were important and Mattie dutifully followed the rules, carefully mussing up her unused bed each morning. She intended to stay in the good graces of Mary who had even confided on one occasion that she couldn’t understand why Bourke hadn’t proposed.
Today, however, was special. Her twins story was being published. She and Cockran had spent the last week together. He had met her in Detroit Tuesday morning and they had flown to Chicago. It took her two days there instead of one to track down the marriage certificate of the female victim, Annette Harrison Andrews. She lived in Chicago but had been married in Gary, Indiana. Her maiden name matched the name of the male victim in St. Louis, Anthony Harrison.
The same was true on Thursday in St. Louis where she found the birth certificates for the Harrison twins. Annette had been the oldest, by twenty-seven minutes. Mattie and Cockran had flown back to New York on Friday. She met Ted Hudson on Saturday at The New York American and, after her brief call to Churchill, they had spent all day writing the story.
Mattie heard a car outside and saw the green Packard pull in beside the long porch. Moments later Cockran was inside with a big grin on his face. “Here you go, vampire hunter,” he said, handing her one of the three copies he held under his arm, the other two being for him and Paddy, who kept his own scrapbook of Mattie’s articles.
Mattie frowned. Vampires? Then she looked at the big black headline. TWINS PREY TO UNKNOWN VAMPIRE KILLER. Underneath that, in only slightly smaller type, was POLICE FORCES BAFFLED. Damn it! Ted Hudson! That devious bastard! Once they were both back in New York, Ted had resurrected the vampire angle which he wanted to hype. They had argued for hours yesterday and finally Hearst himself had to intervene. He sided with Mattie. They would not hype the vampire angle. The twins connection was startling enough.
Mattie quickly scanned the story, relieved to see the copy was unchanged.
“What’s the matter?” Cockran asked. “You don’t seem pleased.”
Mattie smiled. “No, I’m pleased. The story is fine. It’s just that damned vampire headline. That snake Ted Hudson snuck it in behind my back!”
Cockran grinned. “Heaven forbid that the phrases ‘I told you so’ and ‘I warned you’ should ever pass my lips.”
Mattie shot him a warning look but the bastard’s grin just grew wider and she smiled in spite of herself. “I thought I had won when Hearst took my side in favor of not hyping the vampire angle. It never occurred to me that Ted would do an end run around both of us to the headline writers. Damn it! It makes the story seem less serious. The fact is, it’s only one man, not a vampire, and I’ll bet Owney Madden knows who this mysterious Dr. V is.”
“Why not tell the police about Madden?” Cockran asked.
“For the same reason Madden’s name is not mentioned in the article. We have no sources. At least no live sources. Ted Hudson killed them both. Remember?”
“Good point. So what’s next?”
“We wait and see what turns up,” Mattie replied, directing Cockran’s attention to a box set off in the middle of the story.
$500 REWARD
The Hearst papers are offering a $500 reward to anyone providing information leading to the arrest and conviction of the persons responsible for these crimes. Contact Mattie McGary or Ted Hudson c/o The New York American, 50 Broadway, New York, New York.
MATTIE and Cockran had gone for a late afternoon walk on the beach and were just returning when they saw Paddy running up to greet them.
“Mattie! Mattie! You had a phone call from Mr. Hearst. He wants you to call him right away. Here’s the telephone number,” he said, thrusting a piece of paper at Mattie.
Once inside, Mattie called the operator and had her place a long distance call to William Randolph Hearst’s castle-like home in California, San Simeon.
“Hearst residence, Miss Davies speaking.”
“Marion! It’s Mattie. Answering the phone now, are you? How’ve you been?”
“Mattie! It’s been ages. I’m fine. The staff is off today. How are you?”
“Great! Did you see my new story?”
“I did. It’s really scary. Were you calling for W.R.?”
“Yes. I’m with Bourke at The Cedars. The Chief left a message for me to call.”
Moments later Hearst was on the phone. “Mattie, I’ve just had a call from The New York American. A letter was received addressed to you ‘personal and confidential.’ I’m having a messenger deliver it out to Sands Point. Let me know what it says,” Hearst said.
“Will do, Chief. You’ll be the first to know.”
Cockran fixed martinis while Mattie settled down to reread her story. Thirty minutes later there was a knock. Cockran retrieved the envelope and Mattie tore it open and read aloud:
Dear Miss McGary,
I work for the Carnegie Institution at its Station for Experimental Evolution, a biological laboratory at Cold Spring Harbor on Long Island. I read your article today in the Sunday paper. I don’t know what to do, but I’m very afraid more people may die. Please meet me tomorrow at 7 p.m. on the observation deck of the Empire State Building. I’ve seen your photograph. I’ll find you.
“What do you think?” Mattie asked.
“Interesting,” Cockran replied.
“Do you think I’m still in danger from Madden’s men or ex-MID agents?” Mattie asked.
“Not from Owney. Bobby told me that once the story was out in the public eye, Madden wouldn’t dare move against you. As to former MID agents, I don’t know. So be careful.”
“You want to join me?” Mattie asked.
“I do,” Cockran replied. “But I can’t. Donovan and I are having dinner tomorrow night with a client who wants to form a German subsidiary for his chemical company.”
“Do you think I should take Ted? It’s still his story too.”
“Ordinarily, I’d say no on general principles. But having him along for protection is probably a good idea. Besides, you and I still will be sleeping together afterwards.”
Mattie smiled. “Is that a promise or a proposition?”
“Both.”
33.
Three Obstacles
Hamburg, Germany
Monday, 23 May 1932
BRUNO Kordt reminded Sturm of someone else. He sat across from Sturm in the corner of a dark Hamburg beer cellar, the smoke from their Eckstein cigarettes gathering above them in the low stone ceiling. He was seething in frustration, his tie loosened and several buttons of his vest undone, his muscles tensing under his clothes. But it wasn’t another man of whom Sturm was reminded. Rather, Bruno’s body language reminded Sturm of his family Alsatian after an afternoon spent straining at his chain to chase a field rabbit. His mind understood that he could not chase the rabbit, but his body would not accept it. Yes, Sturm thought, swap the stein of pilsner for a bowl of water and you had the same frustration in the body of his young protégé.
Bruno leaned back, exhaling smoke. “For all the legendary tales of New York gangsters, I expected much more from the Americans,” he said. “They are nothing but amateurs!”
“Reputation and performance are not the same.” Sturm said.
Bruno took a swallow of pilsner. “I have failed before,” he said. “I can handle failure. I am not angry because of my mistakes. But this! My success was entirely dependent on what I was told by these agents of Manhattan! Amateurs!” He slapped his ope
n palm on the thick mahogany table and took another drag on his cigarette.
Sturm let him talk. He encouraged these informal evenings so that Bruno could loosen up and express his frustrations. Sturm enjoyed the casual atmosphere but he never forgot Bruno’s purpose this evening: to plan the abduction, interrogation, and murder of Manhattan’s wife.
On the short train journey from Norden to Hamburg, Sturm had identified three key obstacles to his plan for Ingrid. The first was that Bruno could not know of the plan. The chance that Bruno would turn on Sturm was high, too high to risk. The ideal outcome would keep Bruno completely in the dark so that their mentor-protégé relationship remained unchanged.
The second obstacle was the most open to chance, the most difficult to control. Sturm must find a way to speak to Manhattan’s wife unobserved. But when he did so, would she recognize him? Would she trust him? He knew where to hide her, but how would she react.?
The third obstacle was the most delicate. The actual plan to kill her must be entirely Bruno’s idea. If Sturm designed the operation and it failed—as he intended it to fail—Bruno might suspect Sturm. The plan must belong to Bruno so that the failure belonged to Bruno. He must have no time to suspect Sturm. That would afford the opportunity to hide Manhattan’s wife.
A crowded public space. Keep Bruno in the dark. Make the plan Bruno’s own idea. Those were Sturm’s watchwords tonight. But he needed to learn the latest. So Bruno told him everything about New York. The first operation went smoothly. Some local magistrate, a Jew, who needed to be eliminated, which Bruno handled with an automobile accident.
“A woman, too. I couldn’t believe it. But they told me she was corrupt, bought out by Manhattan’s enemies,” Bruno said through a haze of smoke. “But I didn’t like that she was a woman. I don’t care if she was corrupt, it felt wrong to kill a woman. Excessive.”
Sturm listened carefully to a hint of remorse. Might it carry over to Bruno’s next assignment? Sadly, no, he thought as Bruno learned forward, clearly intending to impress his mentor. “But an assignment is an assignment and I will not fail however distasteful I might find it personally. Isn’t that what you’ve always told me?” That was, in fact, what he always told Bruno. The assignment came first. Sturm could only nod in response. Keep Bruno in the dark.
“Then they gave me the details of the second operation. Killing another woman!”
“Manhattan’s wife,” Sturm said.
“Precisely.” Bruno had started by following Manhattan’s wife, but it hadn’t been easy. Manhattan’s agents would not reveal her name, in keeping with the Geneva Group’s standing policy restricting access to the identities of its members. So Bruno was given only a photograph and a tip on the wife’s recent whereabouts. Bruno located her quickly but he could not get close enough. She had protection with her, a hard-eyed and menacing Irishman. Bruno had followed long enough to see the two board the Bremen of the North German Lloyd Line.
His mission now compromised, Bruno left word with Manhattan’s liaison, contacted Berlin and boarded the next direct ocean liner to Germany which had arrived a full day before his target’s ship. Already, he knew she had reservations at the Vier Jahreszeiten.
“How do you plan to finish it?”
Bruno put down his empty glass of pilsner. “The room service ploy. I already have a good relationship with the manager and I know the room where she will be staying.”
It was unimaginative, but simple and effective. Sturm analyzed the plan, as he would any plan, searching for weaknesses and unintended consequences. “No good,” Sturm said quickly. “It will look like a professional hit.” He took a sip of his lager. “How would you interrogate? Manhattan wants to know what she’s learned about certain confidential matters.”
Bruno started to answer but stopped himself. “You are right,” he said angrily. “The noise from her screams would be unacceptable.”
“We will need an isolated location for her interrogation but, like her death, we must also take her in a way that does not raise suspicion.
“Yes, she must disappear from someplace public,” Bruno said.
Good, Sturm thought, he had taken the bait. “Precisely.”
Bruno leaned forward on the table. “Could we approach her in an official capacity?”
“Yes, that is possible,” Sturm said, pleased at Bruno’s ingenuity.
“She is booked on a train the next day, der Fliegende Hamburger. I could have the hotel manager inform her that there has been a problem with her ticket, something having to do with her American citizenship,” Bruno said, “something that would force her to clear up the problem at the ticket counter in the station. I would be waiting there in a staff uniform. I can innocently guide her down to the offices at the far end of the platform, away from the crowds. There, in private, we can force her into a waiting motorcar and remove her to a secure location for the interrogation. No one will notice. With the North Sea nearby, her body will never be found.”
Sturm considered this and took a long draft of his lager to buy himself time. “It might work, but it will require our best efforts. We will have to track her from the hotel to the rail station. She may be with her lawyer. Or her lover. We must prepare for every possibility”
Bruno appeared deflated. “But you think it is a good plan?”
The barman brought over a fresh stein of pilsner for Bruno and another glass of lager for Sturm. Sturm raised his glass. “It is a good plan, Bruno. A good challenge, something to hone our skills for more important operations in the days to come.”
“Ja, in two days’ time, Manhattan will be free of his wife,” Bruno said. “Permanently.” They each raised their glasses and touched them lightly together in a toast.
34.
Helen Talbot
New York City
Monday, 23 May 1932
MATTIE picked up a taxi on Fifth Avenue outside Cockran’s townhouse and headed downtown to Grand Central Station. Following Cockran’s instructions on how to evade surveillance, she quickly dashed inside and was swallowed up in the crowds of commuters and caught another taxi. If someone were following her, she didn’t notice.
Arriving at the Empire State Building, she walked into the lobby and met Hudson.
“Hi, gorgeous. I’ve missed you,” Ted said, kissing her lightly on her cheek. “I take it the boyfriend has more important things to do tonight than be with you?”
Mattie rolled her eyes. “Something like that. Look, Ted, if you want your byline to stay on this story, don’t piss me off. One more crack about Cockran and I’m pissed off. Capisce?”
“Capisco,” Hudson replied in correct Italian to Mattie’s surprise. Well, she thought, he was an intelligence agent.
“Seriously, Ted,” Mattie said. “My source is skittish. I don’t even know if it’s a man or a woman. Make yourself inconspicuous. We don’t want to scare off whoever it is.”
“Understood,” Ted replied as they headed toward the elevators.
At the top, Mattie left Ted behind and moved out onto the observation deck alone. It was an overcast night. She looked up and could see the glow of the lights shining through the cloud and illuminating the art deco spire on top of the building. There literally was nothing to see, so Mattie walked around the perimeter of the observation deck, waiting for someone to approach her. Then she felt a strong hand grip her wrist, pulling her towards the building to a place in the shadows, twenty feet away from the screened enclosure of the outer ring of the observation deck.
Mattie looked down at a small woman, wearing a gray raincoat with a navy blue scarf covering her silver-gray permanent-waved hair. She wore rimless spectacles and kept glancing to her right and left, reminding Mattie of the darting glances of a small bird.
“Miss McGary, my name is Helen Talbot. I sent you the note. Thank you for coming.”
“You’re welcome,” Mattie said. “But tell me. What has you so scared?”
“I’m on the Carnegie Institution’s payroll but I actually
work at the Eugenics Record Office at Cold Spring Harbor. I’m a private secretary but I also work with the I.C.E. analytical machines and punch cards in data processing. In February, I made a special run with the machines at the request of my two bosses Dr. Davenport and Mr. Laughlin. They wanted me to search through the Cold Spring Harbor data base on hundreds of twins in the United States which they had collected for the past twenty-five years. They wanted twenty twin adults of either sex who lived alone and apart from each other. At least ten of the twins had to be identical.”
Eugenics? Mattie thought. Cold Spring Harbor? That was only a short way up the coast from Bourke’s place on Long Island. And she had heard the names Davenport and Laughlin before. From Cockran. His court battles against forced sterilization. His dislike for Ted Hudson was exceeded only by his contempt for what he termed the pseudo-science of eugenics and the men behind it like Davenport and Laughlin. But how did twins fit into the picture?
Helen Talbot paused as if to catch her breath, and then continued, the words spilling out and tumbling over one another. “I didn’t think it was unusual. I receive all sorts of data base search requests. After all, twins are always visiting the laboratory for tests and interviews. I put together the list for them. Ten sets of twins. I remember the names. But now I’m scared.”
“Why is that?” Mattie asked.
“Ten of those names were carried in your article yesterday as victims.”
Mattie gasped and struggled to maintain her composure and find her voice. “What about the other ten names?” she finally asked in a halting voice.
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Helen Talbot replied. “According to your article, half the names on that list are dead. I fear for the other ten.”
“Who are the other ten people on the list?” Mattie asked.
Talbot reached into her purse and handed Mattie a typewritten sheet of paper. “The identical twins. All twenty names and their addresses are listed on this sheet.”
The Gemini Agenda Page 19