The Ghost

by Henry Kellerman

  “That’s right, Frank, because of the drinking I couldn’t—you know.”

  Willy, still being held by his aide, in a slow and direct way then followed what he said to Frankie with more narration of his condition. It was Willy’s way of making short shrift of his confessional comment to Frank. It was also short in another way; that is, although Willy was uttering it all, hesitatingly and haltingly, his ability to convey it all was predictive of a reasonable if not full recovery of all of his cognitive faculties.

  Then his aide Judy added some confirmation:

  “See, Willy here is really getting better. The doctors say he’s healing well. They’re doing everything for him. Willy’s mouth is getting fixed with some new teeth. His arm and leg are examples of how the healing process is succeeding. Look how he’s already walking.”

  Willy picked up the narrative and declared with difficulty:

  “You know, my talking is not good because my tongue and side of my mouth still hurt when I try to talk.”

  With that, both officers who were on duty at Willy’s room congregated at this conclave.

  “We’ve been told,” one of them said to Frank and Al, “at the precinct they’re talking over whether it’s still necessary to have the twenty-four/ seven routine here.”

  “Who said that?” Al asked.

  “I’m not sure,” the officer answered.

  “Listen guys,” Al continued, “no one should leave Willy unattended here without the okay from either Mac or Lyle from the 48th. The order, whatever it is, should only come from Detectives Loris McIver, Mac for short, or from Detective Lyle Davis.”

  “Yeah, we know Mac and Lyle.”

  “Good, so you know their voices, right?”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  With that Willy’s aide, Judy, suggested that Willy should get back into bed. Willy agreed and off the two of them went. The cops were about to follow but Al held them back.

  “Listen guys, there’s something going on that isn’t clear yet. I’ve recently returned from Europe on a crazy wild goose chase and it was about things connected to Willy. The fact is we’re not sure whether he still might be in danger. So, the order not to guard him must come from Mac or Lyle. In fact, I’d also like to know about that kind of order if you get it because then Gloria here, me and Frank could be replacements in the event you guys are ordered off the case. In my opinion, certain issues have not been put to bed. Not yet. We need more information.”

  At that moment who walks in but Mac and Lyle escorting the Whartons.

  “Stevie insisted,” said Mrs. Wharton. “She insisted.”

  It was in a sweet voice but not entirely shy that Stevie didn’t just ask where Willy’s room was—she proclaimed it:

  “Which room is Willy’s—please?!”

  The officer in the hall heard her and pointed to Willy’s room outside of which he was stationed. At that point, they walked to Willy’s room and entered. Stevie was first one in.

  Willy, in his whacky outfit of bandages through which he was barely talking spotted her instantly and shouted:

  “Stevie!”

  “Oh, Willy,” she said, “you’re talking. They told me you might not be ready to talk yet.”

  “I am,” Willy said very slowly. “I am. Stevie, I’m sorry I got you into this. I don’t really know what happened, but I’ll bet it was bad. I’m really sorry.”

  “It’s okay now, Willy. Now it’s okay. We’re all safe. And you know I was happy to help.”

  “Okay,” Willy said, as he nodded. “But I still feel bad that I got you into trouble.”

  With that exchange, Willy motioned for Stevie to come closer to his bed, and she did so. Everyone could see how close they were and in the best sense, close—as though best friends, even like best siblings. Willy looked around at everyone, leaned a bit toward Stevie standing next to the bed and whispered:

  “Do you still have it?”

  Stevie shook her head, no.

  “Who has it?”

  Stevie leaned closer still, and said:

  “Your police friends and Al, and your uncle, and Gloria know all about it too.”

  Willy nodded, looked up above at the canopy of the bed and thought for a few seconds. Then he asked everyone to come closer.

  “Has anyone read the microfilm?”

  It was then that Frankie knew Willy had opened the package and knew its contents.

  “Willy,” his uncle said, instantly figuring things out. “I think you opened the package even though you told me you had never done that. I’m right? Right?”

  Speaking in a whisper and again slowly, Willy spilled the beans. He was talking, but as before, quite slowly.

  “I lied, Frank. I did open it. And I did more.” He stopped and took a breath. “I asked my science teacher, Mr. Yancey, what it was and he told me and said I should see the librarian at the big library in Manhattan. You know it was a little thing inside another wrapper inside the package. I took the El at Claremont all the way to Manhattan. That took me not to far from the library at 42nd Street and Fifth Avenue. I asked about microfilm and I got sent to a lady who knew about it.

  “When I got there, I showed it to her and she told me what it was. She told me what microfilm was which was what Mr. Yancy had said. But this lady knew more about it than Mr. Yancey. She told me that this library in Manhattan was important in the country and that it had one of the first machines that other libraries didn’t have. It was called the Coddinger Magnifier — I liked the way those words sounded. It could magnify whatever was on the microfilm.

  “I told her I wanted to see what was on the microfilm. She took out from her drawer what she told me was a microcard. She did something with the card in the machine and then I could read what was—jibberish to me.”

  Al immediately asked: “Willy, did the librarian also read it?”

  “No, I don’t think so because she was standing behind me and my head was close to the machine. She wouldn’t have known what it said either.”

  “Do you know her name.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Roth. I remember her name.”

  With that answer, Frank and Al looked at each other. They each could tell what the other was thinking. They both knew that the name Roth sounded Jewish and if so, she’d be aware it had something to do with Nazis so that she could report to someone what had transpired. And that could open the possibility that the story would wind up in the news.

  They decided on the spot that the microfilm would indeed need to go to Simon Wiesenthal immediately. They also repeated what had been already decided—it would not be mailed. For sure, the microfilm needed to be delivered by hand. And, of course, as had been decided by their so-called Justice Group, it would be Al’s job to deliver it personally—backed up by Jimmy and Imi. That meant he’d need to call Jimmy and to have Jimmy alert Wiesenthal of their plans. He knew he couldn’t call Hugh and tell him about such an urgent plan because obviously, Hugh’s phone was tapped. They had also figured that his mail was vulnerable. So, Hugh was out. But this time, Al thought that Maxie should be invited in. He decided that he would tell Jimmy to call Max and to tell him what was what and to tell him they needed him.

  * * *

  At that precise moment then, there were two plots simultaneously hatching. One with Al planning a European trip and the other with Karl and Wenzel planning to boost a microfilm from the property-office and evidence-section of a police precinct. It’s actually a holding-pen for all sorts of items related to cases. In this case, stored at the 48th station-house in the Bronx. What they didn’t know was that the microfilm stored there was not the real thing. It was a disinformation micro.

  But at that moment Al was not finished with the Mrs. Roth deal.

  “Willy, did Mrs. Roth ask you anything else, like your name or address or something?”

  Willy answered immediately and thoroughly but slowly.

  “I thought about that, because she didn’t take any information from me. After I looked at what w
as on the microfilm—all those letters—and most of all there was a Nazi swastika on the top of the pages. I got some kind of idea of what it was about without even knowing what it was about. Know what I mean? But definitely something with Nazis.

  “There were columns with jumbled letters like a code. Lists and lists of it. I remember that. The first line started with a capital E and the next line started with a capital M. Then there was a second column and a third and fourth one. That’s about it. It wasn’t clear. I had the hunch it was about names and places.”

  Gloria looked at Frankie, Willy’s uncle, and said:

  “Frank, that’s why Willy’s in the advanced program. He’s very smart.”

  Addressing Willy, Gloria queried:

  “Willy, the first column might be lists of people’s names? Could that be?”

  “Yeah, Gloria, that’s what I thought. The first column could be names of people and the other three columns something about them. That’s what I thought.”

  Willy looked at his uncle with a bit of evident remorse and just barely eked it out:

  “Frank, I’m sorry I lied. I couldn’t help myself. I had to see it for myself. Mom was always very careful about it. I remember how she looked when she talked about it. I couldn’t give it to you because. . . .”

  Frank interrupted him: “Gloria’s right, Willy. Gloria’s right—and so are you. Don’t worry about it. Everything’s alright now.”

  “I think I need to sleep now. Stevie come to see me again. Okay?”

  * * *

  The phone rang in their room at the Waldorf. Karl answered it.

  “No names, please,” the caller said. “I know you know who this is. Meet me right now down in the lobby. I’ll be at the far end, opposite the main Park Avenue entrance. Go to the phone booths at that far end. I’ll be on one phone, you lift the receiver of the other one as though each of us is talking to different people. Understood?”

  “I leaving now,” Karl answered.

  Karl and Wenzel rushed to the elevators. One, two, three, they were on the main floor. To the back end they went. The mystery man, Parker Martin, was on one phone and Karl got on the other. They were standing right next to each other.

  “They have the thing at the 48th Precinct in the Bronx. It’s one block above Tremont Avenue, on I think Bathgate Avenue.”

  With that, Karl said “Yah, gotting it”—and as he turned to leave he furtively slid a briefcase on the floor with his foot, over to Martin, passing ten thousand dollars to him in the briefcase. Martin leaned down, didn’t look at them, zipped opened the briefcase, Martin looked in, zipped it closed, turned toward the main entrance on Park Avenue and walked the length of the lobby out of the hotel

  Back in the room, speaking German to one another, Wenzel asked Karl if he had any idea of how to execute the heist they sorely needed to achieve.

  “Only one way to do it, Wenz. We burn it down. Everyone dies and the package dies too. We burn it all down.”

  “What about the two of our men they have captured?”

  “What about them? I said everyone inside dies in a blaze. Didn’t you hear me say ‘everyone’?”

  Wenzel looked at him and immediately felt more at ease. The ambiguity of it all evaporated for him. Burn it down meant just what it meant. Not wanting to squander any time they got right to it. They were going to get there in the wee small hours, at about two or three in the morning, pour whatever it was they were going to use around the circumference of the precinct along with tossing whatever it was they were going to toss into the precinct itself.

  “We make it so the fire is too massive so no one can leave the building,” Karl thoughtfully announced. Then he knew what they would use. “Chlorine triflouride. That’s it. Heydrich used it once and said it was like the world was on fire. That should do it—chlorine triflouride. No one would have a chance no matter what kind of help they’d get. No one and nothing could survive chlorine triflouride.

  Karl continued: “The Bishop told the story that some months before Heydrich was assassinated when he was ordered to liquidate a village in one of the eastern countries—I don’t remember which it was—he herded more than one hundred Russians—oh yes, it was Russians, it was a Russian village—he herded them into the Town Hall, and used the chlorine triflouride to kill them all. The chemical was recommended by one of our scientists. The Bishop said that Heydrich swore the blaze was so overwhelming that it could get out of control and consume even those setting it. According to Heydrich, Hitler then ordered it only to be used when absolutely necessary.

  “Wenz, for us, now, it is absolutely necessary. The Bishop’s American chemist who lives in a section of New York City known as Yorkville has always been helpful when the Bishop called on him. There are so many Germans in Yorkville, it should be named German-Town. This chemist will be able to acquire and deliver it.”

  The call to the chemist was made and the request was promised “as soon as possible.”

  When asked what “as soon as possible” meant, the chemist answered, “two or three days.”

  Karl didn’t tell the chemist where he’d be staying but said he would call him every day for the next two or three days. And it happened. Karl and Wenzel called the chemist on the second day and sure enough everything was ready. They found the chemist’s house in Yorkville at about midnight, and only then picked up the chemicals. There were no words exchanged. They had a car and Wenzel had also purchased several cans of kerosene. Earlier in the hotel, he had fashioned four torches—two small and two larger. Karl was oddly, and perhaps even amusingly observing him doing it so assiduously.

  They exited the hotel but didn’t check out. It was a touch before midnight. They located the chemist’s address, and rang the doorbell. The somber chemist handed them the chemicals and as they were in the process of leaving the chemist shut the door. They had brought along several large towels liberated from their hotel towel rack. And, they had the Wenzel torches with them along with four cans of kerosene.

  Wenzel had convinced Karl that the chlorine triflouride was much too dangerous and either or both of them could go up in flames. He persuaded Karl to think it over and then, Karl considered Wenzel’s back-up plan, and agreed to it.

  Now it was past midnight. They calculated that the police shift would be changing at about that time. They loaded everything into the car Wenzel had broken into a half hour earlier. Up to the Bronx they went. They found Tremont Avenue and after driving around for a few minutes they drove past the precinct on Bathgate Avenue.

  Wenzel said, “There it is, speaking in German to Karl, who was driving. They cased the precinct as best they could from the front of the building. The rest of the street was blocked off by other structures. They realized there was no way to ring the place as in surrounding the circumference of the precinct with either the chemical or the kerosene. So, the plan instantly changed. Karl decided definitely to use the chemical but Wenzel insisted on the kerosene. A quick irritable discussion in rapid-fire German broke out between them.

  “How are we going to get the kerosene into the precinct,” Karl began, practically raving.

  “Simple,” Wenzel answered in an opposite Germasn rapid-fire way. “We walk up to the door, open it, each of us throws in two cans apiece and I shoot the cans and also any of the police in sight. I’ll have the machine-gun. It is no contest! We keep the car running outside, we get out fast and drive away, leaving the station to burn down. That’s how! Don’t be foolish. We cannot use the chemical because it will suck us in before we know. It’s obvious, Karl. Obvious. Remember what you told me Heydrich said.”

  “Okay, we do it your way. Make sure the machine-gun is loaded and don’t get shot yourself. And make sure you shoot all the cans.”

  At that point, there was no suspense and neither seemed nervous. God knows how many other such nerve-racking, diabolic and genocidal adventures they’d already had. They seemed to know what to do.

  They parked at the entrance to the precinct that
was flanked by at least five or six police cars parked diagonally to the curb. They kept the engine running and the car in neutral. Wenzel carried his machine-gun strapped onto his shoulder and one kerosene can in each hand. Karl did the same also carrying two kerosene cans and all the torches strapped also on his shoulder.

  As they approached the entrance to the station, there were no police standing outside of the precinct. Then as Wenzel directed, they walked in and both of them threw the cans into the precinct. Wenzel swung the machine-gun onto his hands, fired into all four cans while Karl threw in the torches all lit up. Wenzel was firing at will and at least six or seven in the precinct were down. All of those who were shot were badly wounded or dead. At the same time Karl was taking aim with his semi-automatic Mauser. He was not firing indiscriminately like Wenzel. He knew that other police would be entering from a different door. And so, they did. Two others came with another two following. They had their guns drawn and as soon as they saw it, all four started firing.

  The truth was however, that the fire now ablaze was raging and any one who would be hit by any bullet going whichever way was hit by pure chance. That’s how both Karl and Wenzel were hit—by pure chance. Wenzel was hit in the leg and arm. The leg injury was just a flesh wound and his leg bone wasn’t touched. His arm was also a flesh wound and luckily no bone was touched. Nevertheless, Wenzel crumbled to his knees holding his arm and groaning in pain. But as things went, Wenzel was lucky. He could have easily been killed.

  Karl was wounded in his left arm but managed to run out into the street. As he was about to jump into his idling car, Jack and Harry were pulling up in their police car, saw the commotion and blocked Karl’s escape. Karl fired on them but bad luck for him—he was immediately killed by a fusillade of bullets raining down on him from both Jack and Harry.

  By then, everyone was emptying out onto the street including the cops who were guarding Bishop Hudal’s man, Ewald, as well as Peron’s man, Eduardo, both who had been incarcerated—Ewald in the basement of the precinct and Eduardo in an upper-floor cell.