“I’m not sure you would call it stealing,” John replied, his eyes locking onto hers. “And, I am a real priest.”
“This beats all I’ve ever heard,” Lane noted. “Now we’ve got clergymen entering the crime game.”
“Listen,” John suggested, “this is not really the way it looks. In my coat pocket I have a letter signed by Judge Ben Jacobs granting me immunity if something happened during our little ruse.”
“Ruse?” the reporter shot back, “you call skimming a hundred grand a ruse?”
“Miss . . .” the priest stopped as if waiting for a response.
“Tiffany Clayton, I’m a reporter with The Chicago Star.”
“Miss Clayton, I know your work. In fact, earlier this year, you wrote a story on the large number of children in Europe who were being warehoused in overcrowded orphanages.”
“Yes,” she quickly replied. “Many of the kids affected lost their parents in either the mass extermination of Jews in concentration camps or due to Allied bombing. Who knows how many more are living on the streets, even now?”
“Have you done a follow-up story?” he asked.
“No,” she admitted. “I did that one piece and moved on.”
“You should write another,” he grimly replied. “You need to expose the red tape we have to go through to get those children into the United States. These kids are lost, hungry, and because there is no longer room in the orphanages and they have no families, many are living on the streets, sleeping in doorways, and digging through trash for food.”
Tiffany nodded, “So the money you collected is to feed them?”
“Not exactly,” he explained, “we have families right here in Chicago willing to adopt some of these children, but we can’t legally bring them in. The money we are raising is to create false papers and pay a few bribes. What we have in our fund will pave the way for almost eighty children to become a part of a family here.”
“That’s illegal,” Lane noted.
John looked toward his three companions in crime. “We have found these children very good homes. They will be loved and well taken care of. But if they stay where they are most will likely die long before their reach their teens. None of them will probably ever have a chance at an education. No child deserves to grow up like this. We have the means and those willing to save them right here in the United States.”
“That’s noble,” Lane noted, “but it is still against the law.”
“Are you suggesting we wait on Congress to change the law?” John asked.
“That’s the way things work,” the cop argued. “When the law is changed then you can bring the kids in.”
The priest looked to Tiffany. “Do you think that’s right?”
It was an interesting question, and she really didn’t know how to begin to answer it. Lane was correct, these clergymen were breaking the law, but if put into the same position wouldn’t she have done the same thing as the priest? Wouldn’t she have done whatever it took to save as many as she could? She didn’t know.
“Father John,” she began, “there are times when the law keeps us from doing what in our hearts we know is right. At that time, we have the right to push our government to change the law. That’s the way the system works.”
The priest nodded as his eyes moved from Lane and then to Garner. “Were you two men in the service?”
“We were Marines,” Garner answered.
“Did you kill people?” John asked.
“Yes,” the investigator replied, “we both killed many people. But that was in war.”
The priest looked back to Lane, “Did you ever kill someone who didn’t have a gun in his hand? Did you ever shoot a man who was resting and not fighting?”
The cop shook his head, and, in a weak voice asked, “If you made it to one hundred grand, exactly how many could you save?”
“Seventy-seven,” came the quick reply.
Tiffany studied Lane as he lowered his gun, slipped it into his coat pocket, slowly walked over to a crate, and sat down. As she watched the man’s eyes fill with tears, she didn’t know what to do. Glancing over to Garner, she lifted her eyebrows. All she got back was a weak shrug.
“Lieutenant,” the priest broke the now painful silence, “I need to ask this again. Did you ever shoot someone who was not prepared to fight?”
Lane took a deep breath, rubbed his brow, and nodded.
John solemnly asked, “Then, was that, by the laws of the United States, not legally murder?”
“War is different,” Garner quickly chimed in. “You are assigned to kill people. If you don’t, they might well come back to kill you or one of your buddies.”
“I know that,” the priest said, “I’m not judging you. I’m just pointing out that in a court of law there might be times, even in a war, when a man could be considered legally guilty of murder.”
“We could argue the merits of law,” the investigator suggested. “We could debate them all day long. If you want to consider me a murderer, I guess you can. I have killed men during lulls in battle when they were resting and didn’t know they were about to be shot, but my country would not look at what I did as legally wrong, and even though I did end more lives than I could possibly know, I don’t believe I ever committed a crime.” Garner glanced toward the cop, and added, “and neither did Lane. He’s a moral man and, because of that, he carries the weight of what we were ordered to do with him every day. Thousands of us do, but what happened in war can’t serve as a justification for what you’re doing now.”
The priest sadly nodded, “I’ve listened to the confessions of many men who brought the horrors of war home with them. I have assured them of the same thing you have just told me. But I would argue there is justification for our actions. You fought to protect the children whose lives we four are trying to save. You said that if you did not kill certain men when you did, they might have later killed you. If we wait until the government changes the law, then the children we have picked out to come to Chicago might die as well. Now, I will agree that what we are doing is not technically legal, but it is moral.”
As a strange silence fell over the room, Tiffany looked from the money still on the table to Garner. The investigator’s eyes were locked on Lane. Moving her gaze to the cop, she noted the tears now rolling down his cheeks. She almost moved forward to comfort him, but she knew that was not what he would have wanted. He had to face the past alone and he had to find a way to reconcile that past with what was going on in the present. So she held her ground and waited for the cop to regain a sense of control. It took several minutes. During that time, no one moved or spoke.
Lane, his voice thin and unsure, finally broke the silence. “Father John, you mentioned that Judge Jacobs knew about this.”
“He does,” the priest replied. “In fact, after a trip to Europe a few months ago, he fought to get laws changed. When the powers didn’t move quickly enough, he hatched up this plan with us. He arranged for us to get papers and uniforms so we could appear to be just a part of the group raising money for the local charity. We all agreed that we would first make sure the local needs were met before we diverted funds to our cause.”
Tiffany looked to Garner and noted, “By participating in this Jacobs was risking his spot on the bench and his shot at being governor. If this had gotten out it would have killed his political career.”
“Yeah,” the investigator agreed. “It would have done even more damage than the photos we found.”
“For the time being,” Lane asked the priest, “where do you keep the money?”
“It’s hidden at my church,” John quickly replied.
The cop pushed off the crate and walked over to the quartet of clergymen. After sizing each of them up, he asked, “When do you have to have this money in order to fulfill your mission?”
“The day after Christmas,” the priest explained.
“For the moment, I won’t write this up,” Lane promised. “Tomorrow I’ll talk to
Jacobs. If he confirms your story and is willing to risk his future for these kids, then I will look the other way. Where can I find you?”
“St. John the Baptist,” came the priest’s reply.
“Okay,” the cop shot back, “why don’t you finish the count and get this cash put away.”
Wordlessly the quartet retook their seats and continued their work. Meanwhile, as Tiffany watched, Garner walked over to Lane and put his hand on the other man’s shoulder.
“You sure about this?” the investigator asked.
“Did I ever tell you how many?” the cop sadly noted.
“How many what?” Garner asked.
Lane shook his head, “It was seventy-seven. That’s how many I killed as a sniper.”
Tiffany marched quickly forward to join the men and made a suggestion, “Maybe this is God’s way of evening the score. Maybe he’s giving you a chance to save seventy-seven as a way of you forgiving yourself and moving on.”
“You believe that?” Lane asked.
“Yeah,” she assured him. “I mean, look at it this way. I stumbled onto this little scam when no one else did. Your friend from the war helped me investigate it, but rather than write a story, which is what I do, I turned to you for help. Why? Because I wanted to see the money get to the place it was meant to be. That was a lot more important to me than a byline or a bonus. So I think there are far too many ifs there to just have happened by chance.”
“She’s right,” Garner agreed. “Lane, Christmas is a time of light and it’s way past time some light shined into your life. If this puts the war behind you and lets you get back to being who you were before this all happened, then I can’t think of a better gift for you or for those who love you.”
“And,” Tiffany added, “there are two people here who do love you.” She waited until Lane’s eyes caught hers before adding, “Even if you have stood me up and stuck me with the check more times that I can count.”
39
Tuesday, December 24, 1946
10:05 A.M.
It was a few minutes after ten when Bret Garner walked into the main door of The Chicago Star. After climbing a flight of stairs, he strolled into the second-floor newsroom to find a whirl of activity. More than twenty people were busily pounding away on typewriters likely attempting to finish stories so they could leave early and spend Christmas Eve with their families. Thus, it was almost as noisy and as much a madhouse as the scene he witnessed in Marshall Field’s the day before. What was it about this time of the year that made people crazy and happy at the same time? After a quick survey of the chaos masquerading as a major newspaper, he spotted Tiffany Clayton, a phone to her ear, sitting on the corner of a desk near the back of the large room. She appeared more together than anyone in the entire building. That in itself was kind of scary. He was about to head in that direction when he felt a firm hand on his shoulder.
“I’d wait until she ends the call,” Lane Walker suggested. “I’ve found that she doesn’t like people listening as she talks.”
Garner nodded while glancing to his former war comrade. The cop looked like he’d gotten a good night’s sleep. Maybe the events in the warehouse had proved sound therapy.
“Bret,” Lane asked, his tone relaxed and easy, “do you know how Tiffany got her name?”
“I’ve heard the story,” the investigator replied with a sly grin.
The cop folded his arms, rocked on his heels, and nodded while shooting his friend and rival an admiring smile. “It’s still hard to believe that her father once worked selling diamonds to folks in New York City and gave it all up so his daughter could have a normal life. I mean, that’s so noble and unselfish. I wonder if I would have done that if I had been in his place.”
One look convinced Garner that Lane had actually bought Tiffany’s story. The investigator was tempted to set the record straight, but as he considered how to best break the news, it dawned on him that it would be just like telling a kid Santa wasn’t real. So, rather than burst the bubble, he let the moment pass. A few seconds later, the reporter dropped her phone back into the cradle. It now appeared to be time for the meeting they’d scheduled the night before.
Rather than give them a chance to walk over to her desk, Tiffany strolled across the newsroom and waved for the men to follow her out the door. The pair continued to walk just behind the reporter up a flight of steps, down a hall, and into The Star’s records room. She ushered them over to a table and pointed to chairs. Only after all three were seated did she open what appeared to be a staff meeting, and there was no doubt who was the chairman.
“When are we going to confront Jacobs?” she demanded. “Now I’ve even got a few more things I want him to explain.”
“I’ve done some checking,” Lane explained. “He has a meeting this afternoon and is scheduled to be home around four. He gave his maid and cook time off for the holidays, so he should be there alone. I think around five would be the best time for us to spring what we’ve learned and see if we can get him to confess what he knows about the killings.”
Garner nodded, “That sounds good to me, but I need to have some questions answered before we get there.”
“As do I,” Tiffany added. “Let me go first. Based on what we found out last night, why would a guy who is dirty take a chance on the Santa scam? Why back the four clergymen? And if he is not dirty, then why take the risk of killing his reputation and costing himself the opportunity to be governor by becoming a part of this scheme?”
Lane smiled, “I’ve actually done a bit of homework on that. According to his friends, his wife, Elizabeth, who died a couple of years back, had a huge impact on him. She got him going to church and pretty much changed his outlook on life. Though he has not used it for publicity, thanks to her he became more focused on charity work. After she died, he doubled up his efforts. It seems she was very big into children’s programs so, when you look at it in this light, what he is doing for the orphans makes perfect sense.”
“I can buy that,” Tiffany assured him. She smiled and added, “Woman do have the power to actually push men in the right directions.” She raised her eyebrows and chuckled, “Though I have not had much success in that area with you. So I will give Elizabeth credit for last night, but that doesn’t begin to answer all I need to know.”
“I can accept the charity part as well,” Garner agreed, “but what bothers me is why did Jacobs order the hit through Delono on Velma? I was there, I got the orders, this was about as cold-blooded a job as I have ever seen. It had to come from Jacobs. Nothing else makes sense.”
“That’s bothering me too,” Lane admitted. “That’s one of the areas I’m going to corner him on this afternoon, along with why Elrod would be a party to it.”
Tiffany rapped her hand on the table to get the men’s attention. “Along that line, I tracked Velma down.”
“Really?” the cop asked.
“Why would I lie about that?” she shot back.
As Lane drew back and licked his wounds, Garner broke in, “So, what did you find out?”
“Velma Lombardi Jacobs is now known as Betty Hopkins. She’s lived in Hot Springs ever since Capone spirited her out of town and got her a divorce. Big Al changed her name, set her up with some money, and thanks to her talent, she worked her way into singing at some of the clubs and casinos in the city. She was absolutely sure she’d left the past behind until a few months ago when Ethan Elrod caught her act and came to her dressing room after the show.”
“How did Elrod find her?” Lane asked. “Had he been looking? Did he put investigators on the trail?”
“Who knows,” Tiffany explained, “but Elrod told Velma it was nothing but blind luck. He was in Hot Springs on a vacation, picked The Vapors to catch a show, and she was on the bill. But here is where it gets interesting; according to Velma, they’d never met. Yet, he knew all about her marriage to Ben Jacobs right down to the blue jade engagement ring.”
“How?” Garner chimed in. “I thou
ght Elrod and Jacobs met after all that went down.”
“I don’t know,” the reporter admitted, “and he wouldn’t tell Velma either.”
“So,” Lane asked, “what was this meeting between Elrod and the woman all about?”
“From what I could gather,” Tiffany explained, “when the DA spotted the woman, two things entered his head. The first was the ring. When he found out she still had it, he demanded she sell it to him. As she never wore it, his generous offer was easy to accept. The other thing he told Velma was to stay away from Chicago.”
“So,” Garner noted, “he was protecting her.”
“Or,” Lane cut in, “he was protecting his friend.”
“But,” the woman asked, “why sacrifice Sunshine? Why be noble and save one woman just to set up another to be killed?”
Lane nodded. “This is going to sound cold and harsh, but if you work in law enforcement long enough there are times you cease looking at the criminal element as people. You see them as cogs in a machine, and it’s your job to stop that machine from working. It doesn’t matter if it is a petty crook, a prostitute, or a mob boss, they all seem to lose their humanity after a while. You just want them gone, and there are times when you even celebrate their deaths. After all, when they die that’s one less problem you have to deal with.”
“That’s horrible,” Tiffany chimed in. “People are still human. Anyone with a soul has to believe that.”
“No,” Garner corrected her, “it is understandable. No doubt most of the Japanese men I fought in the war were pretty good guys. They had families they loved and dreams they wanted to live. Yet, it became so engrained in my psyche that I ceased looking at them as real people and instead saw them as a cancer that had to be removed in order for the right side to live and prosper. I feel horrible for thinking that way now. I mean, each life has value, but when I was in the war it was all about conditioning. I was conditioned to think of the enemy not as people, but as a disease that had to be cut out. After all the years Elrod served in the office of District Attorney, after all he saw, then it is not inconceivable he might have fallen into that trap as well. Thus, even though it breaks my heart to think of this, he might have gotten to the point where he no longer saw Sunshine as a person. To him she might have become a problem to be eliminated in order to make the world a better place.”
The Fruitcake Murders Page 24