by David Barry
Depressed by the feeling that time was running out, Bill walked back to the subway, mulling over the problems of finding an accomplice. The only way was by frequenting some of his old haunts and hanging around with the criminal fraternity. But this was risky. Sometimes it was hard to tell the criminals from the undercover cops. And he was one of America’s most wanted men, so no doubt the FBI were also out to get him
On his return journey to Bergen Street, the back seats in the rear subway car were occupied, so he had to sit facing the centre aisle. As he raised the newspaper in front of his face, a strong sense of being watched assailed him. It was like a sixth sense, the uncanny feeling that a pair of eyes was staring at him through the paper. He dropped the paper slightly, and sure enough, there was a young guy of about twenty staring intently at him. Bill shifted his position, sitting slightly to one side. He pretended to be reading, but was trying to see out the corner of his eye what this young guy was like. He was comforted by the fact that he was wearing black suede shoes, and a colorful, striped windcheater with a number on the front. He didn’t look remotely like a detective, more like a hip young guy who frequents dance halls.
At Bergen Street, as the doors slid open, he got up quickly as if he’d almost missed his stop. So did the young guy, and followed him out. Bill tried not to panic. Maybe this was also the young guy’s stop. He took the stairs two at a time, rushed out into the sunshine, and hurried along for a couple of blocks. He could see the young guy was still following him, but on the opposite side of the street. But by the next block he had disappeared.
Bill stopped and looked around for him, but he was nowhere to be seen. Although it was warm, he experienced a grave-treading shiver, like a kick in the spine. Jesus! He was becoming paranoid. He stood perched on the edge of the sidewalk and took another look round. Everything seemed normal. People going about their business, enjoying a leisurely Sunday. He walked on until he reached his Chevy. He unlocked it and raised the hood, to see if he could sort out the battery fault. He became so involved with the mechanical problem, he quickly forgot about the young guy, and didn’t notice the two cops standing behind him.
‘What’s the trouble?’
Bill almost banged his head on the hood. He straightened up and squinted into the faces of the young cops, who stood with their back to the sun.
‘Having problems with the battery, I reckon. ‘
‘Let’s see your owner’s license,’ said the cop.
Bill got the licenses out of his jacket pocket and handed them over. He was relieved to see the cops were more interested in the bill of sale than the forged license. He knew that automobiles were checked in this neighborhood as a matter of routine, as auto theft was a rising crime.
Diverting their attention from the driver’s license, he pointed to the bill of sale, and said, ‘Can you believe that? Brand new Chevy, less than a month old, and already it’s developed a fault. They don’t make them like they used to. ‘
The cops stared at each other. Then one of them handed Bill back his papers.
‘Seem to be in order,’ he grunted.
The cops walked away. Bill wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his wrist, stretched under the hood and began tinkering again. He checked all the connections; still he couldn’t see what the problem was. He got in the car and tried the ignition, just in case he’d righted a loose connection without knowing it. It clicked again. Still nothing.
As he was getting out to have another look under the hood, he saw the two cops with a man in a blue serge suit striding across the road towards him. He knew the man in a suit was a detective, he could tell by the belligerent yet defensive walk, a demeanor that was prepared for a confrontation.
‘You’d better come to the station with us,’ he snapped.
‘Why? What’s wrong?’
‘You look like Willie the Actor,’ said one of the cops.
The Police Headquarters was not far away on Bergen Street, and the cops walked one either side of Bill, the detective following behind. As Bill was marched in to the police station, the young guy in the suede shoes was leaning against the front desk, talking to a sergeant and looking pleased with himself.
So in the end, Bill thought incongruously, it was a young hep-cat in suede shoes that had brought Willie the Actor to his knees.
As soon as he was taken into one of the interview rooms, a lieutenant, the two cops and the detective threw questions at him. At first he denied he was William Sutton, but when they got the fingerprint man to take samples, he knew it was just a question of time before it was proven. Now it was over. No more lying, cheating, hurting the people he loved. No more going into hiding and waiting for the sharp rap on the door. No more fear. The big escape was well and truly over. And all his life, he realized, he’d been escaping from himself as much as the authorities.
The fingerprint man had left to check the prints, and the lieutenant frowned thoughtfully and sucked his teeth.
‘Have you frisked this man?’ he asked the others.
The way they exchanged looks, he could tell it had been overlooked.
‘Do it now!’ he snapped.
‘Stand up!’ one of the cops said. ‘And lean over the desk, legs apart. ‘
The cop ran his hands from Bill’s armpits down to the bulge on his waist. Then he slid the . 32 automatic out of its sheath and laid it on the desk. They all stared at it, then the lieutenant fixed Bill with a gloating, triumphant look. .
‘Well, well, well,’ he said. ‘Now empty your pockets. ‘
Bill took everything out of his pockets: pack of cigarettes, book matches, bunch of keys and wads of banknotes.
‘How much is that?’ the lieutenant asked.
‘Six thousand dollars. ‘
‘Why didn’t you bank it?’
‘It’s never safe in a bank. ‘
All the cops in the room exchanged looks and started to snigger, and would have enjoyed the laugh but for the fingerprint man bursting into the room.
‘That’s William Sutton!’ he said, pointing at Bill.
The lieutenant’s eyes glinted. ‘And that’s all the proof we need. ‘
Chapter Thirty
May, 1950
Prior to what would be a lengthy trial, Warden Klein of the Long Island City Jail put Bill under constant surveillance. A guard was on permanent duty outside his cell, the bars of which ran from floor to ceiling.
Early on a Monday morning Bill scribbled some pencil notes in the margin of an exercise book, but the guard had a hacking cough and he found it difficult to concentrate. He looked up and caught the guard’s eye.
‘Sounds like you might be coming down with a cold, Jim,’ he said.
The guard shrugged and smiled. ‘It was our baby’s christening yesterday. We had quite a party after. I think I smoked and drank too much. ‘
Bill continued making polite conversation for a while, then picked up a copy of The Grapes of Wrath.
‘I hope you won’t think me rude, Jim, if I carry on reading until my lawyer gets here. ‘
‘Sure, Bill. Don’t mind me. ‘
He recalled the beating he had taken from the cops prior to his sentence at Sing Sing and reflected on how different things were now. Because of his non-violent felonies, and his daring escapes from Sing Sing and Holmesburg Prison, the newspapers publicized his escapades as if he was a latter day Robin Hood. He had become something of a celebrity, and he noticed that even the cops and guards seemed to treat him with grudging admiration now.
But not everything was plain sailing. He had asked Warden Klein if he could have a typewriter and a fountain pen, and these had been denied. He knew the warden suspected him of possessing the same powers as Houdini, but he was aware that it would be a lot harder to escape from the Long Island jail than from any penitentiary.
&n
bsp; He resumed reading the Steinbeck novel, reflecting on how much tougher the lives of the squatter families were than America’s most wanted man. At least he had three square meals a day, and any book he cared to read.
He heard the rattle of keys and looked up. His lawyer had arrived.
‘Morning, Mr Herz,’ said the guard, unlocking the cell.
The lawyer was heavily built with dark, curly hair, and for a such a large man in his mid-forties was surprisingly agile and boyish.
He chuckled pleasantly and acknowledged the guard by saying, ‘You look like I feel. ‘
The guard laughed politely and locked him into the cell. He sat opposite Bill and his smile vanished. It was down to business.
‘When you were caught,’ he said without any preamble, ‘you were packing a gun. If a man has a gun on him, this suggests he has every intention of using it. ‘
‘I’ve never fired a gun in my life,’ Bill protested. ‘But when I robbed those banks I carried one. You think they’d have handed over the money if I’d threatened them with a baseball bat? And I was carrying the automatic when I was on the run because if I was spotted on the street by someone, I could threaten them, then run for it. If someone came towards me, I’d already made up my mind to shoot above their head. ‘
The lawyer stared impassively at him, wondering whether to believe him or not.
‘Look, Mr. Herz, throughout my entire record you won’t find a single instance of my firing a gun at anyone. ‘
‘And what if you’d been in a tight corner? Would you have fired at a cop?’
‘Those two cops who collared me in Bergen Street, they weren’t sure if I was William Sutton or not. I could have shot them both and made a run for it. But I didn’t. I came quietly. You know I did. And they know I did. ‘
Herz nodded thoughtfully. ‘Okay. That takes care of the gun. Now let me ask you: prior to your arrest on Bergen Street, did you ride on the subway?’
‘Yes. But why is that relevant?’
‘Some young guy by the name of Arnold Schuster popped up from nowhere - contacted the papers, told reporters he spotted you in the subway, followed you, then tipped off the cops. ‘
‘There was a young guy who sat opposite me on the subway, got off at the same stop and followed me down the street. He must have tipped them off, because when I arrived at Police Headquarters he was standing at the desk, looking full of himself. ‘
Herz took a newspaper out of his case and showed it to Bill. The picture on the front page showed the suede shoes kid triumphantly waving a Willie the Actor ‘wanted’ circular in his hand and grinning at the camera. He wore a smart, light-colored, double-breasted suit. He had obviously dressed for the occasion.
‘That’s him,’ said Bill. ‘Good looking young guy. ‘
The lawyer gave Bill a wry smile. ‘The cops tried to keep this one quiet. Wanted to take all the credit for themselves. The two who arrested you on the street have been promoted a grade with a thousand a year increase. ‘
‘I hope they still get it. I like to think someone’s going to benefit from this. ‘
‘Whether they do or not, is not your problem, Bill. ‘
Bill nodded solemnly. ‘I know. My headache’s going to be proving I had nothing to do with the Sunnyside robbery. As I said before, I’m not pleading guilty to that one. ‘
‘I don’t expect you to. You don’t have to prove you’re innocent. You’re innocent until the District Attorney proves you’re guilty. Don’t worry. I’ll see you get a fair trial. ‘ He broke into a smile. ‘Now I have some good news for you. ‘
Bill felt his heart pounding. ‘Not Jenny?’
The lawyer nodded and smiled, indulging in his own amiability for a moment.
‘She’ll be along at three this afternoon. ‘
Huge tears of joy sprang into Bill’s eyes. Embarrassed, the lawyer searched for his pack of cigarettes.
Time loitered annoyingly that day. He could no longer concentrate on reading. He was too excited. Every so often little tremors of nervousness fluttered in his stomach. What if she despised him for being a criminal? Herz had assured him that she was longing to meet her father. But what if she had second thoughts on meeting him? What if she didn’t like him?
These thoughts bombarded him at regular intervals. To fill in the gaps between these concerns and more prosaic worries such as his appearance, he questioned the guard about his family; and when the guard spoke to him for any length of time, he hadn’t taken in a word of what was said. Eventually, after a final nerve-wracking half-hour, just when he thought he couldn’t bear it any longer, he stood up as he heard the door opening at the end of the corridor and a pair of footsteps walking towards his cell. And there she was! Gazing at him between the bars of the cell, with an air of curiosity and expectation.
‘There you go, Miss,’ said the guard who had accompanied her.
The rattle of the keys unlocking the cell doors was like the sweet tinkle of wind chimes. Bill was transfixed as his daughter walked timidly into the cell and stood before him, uncertain and a touch shy. As she looked into his smiling eyes she felt weak at the knees. She had imagined this meeting for hours and days, and now it was real, she was slightly at a loss. Slowly she held out her hand. He grasped it as if she was made of delicate porcelain and gave it a gentle squeeze. She was leaning slightly towards him with her head slightly cocked, and he realized she was offering him her cheek. As he kissed her, he fancied she smelled of sunshine and rose petals, just as she had when she was a tiny baby.
The guard re-locked the cell, and said, ‘I’ll be just a little way along the corridor. ‘
Bill flashed him a grateful smile. ‘Thanks, Jim, I appreciate it. ‘
As soon as Jenny had sat down, Bill slid onto the edge of the bed opposite her, and gestured helplessly with his hands. ‘Last week you were nineteen years old,’ he said. ‘I didn’t forget. I’ve never forgotten your birthdays. It’s just - I was in a tight jam. I wish I could have gotten you something. ‘
‘This visit is the best present I’ve ever had. ‘
Her sweet smile, her innocence, and the loving way in which she looked at him, compounded the remorse he felt, and he began to stammer, ‘I - I’m sorry Not much of a father, am I? A criminal. ‘ He gestured hopelessly at the cell.
‘I don’t care what you’ve done,’ she whispered. ‘I love you because you’re my father. I’ll always stand by you. ‘ She added defiantly, ‘I don’t care what you’ve done. ‘
‘Thank you, Jenny. Thank you. ‘ He swallowed noisily. ‘I just wish I could have been a better father. ‘
‘You’re not a bad man. I know you’re not. You’ve never harmed anyone. ‘
‘That’s not true. Most of the guys I worked with died from violent deaths. And I lied to your mother, Jenny. She had no idea I was a criminal. I deprived her of a husband and a normal family life. I’m glad she remarried. I really am. And has he been a good step-dad to you?’
‘He’s been wonderful. ‘ She stared at him a little while, as if photographing the moment. ‘But you’re my father. You always will be. ‘ Then she fumbled in her handbag and brought out the telegram he had sent her when she was two years old. He wiped the moistness from his eyes as she held it out for him to read, but he knew the words off by heart.
“LOVE AND KISSES TO MY DARLING ON HER BIRTHDAY. LOVE. DADDY. “
‘You kept the telegram, all these years. ‘
‘Mom kept it for me. She gave it to me on my sixteenth birthday. That’s when she told me all about you. All those years up until that time, I thought you’d left us, walked out on us. It came as a great shock, knowing that it wasn’t through choice you’d left. I wish she’d told me the truth much sooner than she did. I could have handled it. I know she meant it for the best, but. . . ‘
‘You were o
nly three months old when I began my sentence. Your mother came to visit me, and we both agreed that she wouldn’t tell you until you were older. ‘
‘But if she’d told me, I could have come to visit you. By the time she told me, it was too late. You’d escaped by then. ‘
Bill’s voice was almost a whisper now. ‘It was you we were thinking of, Jenny. School children can be very cruel. If they’d known your father was a jailbird. . . ‘
Her eyes flickered defiantly. ‘I told you: I could have handled it. ‘
‘I don’t doubt it. ‘ He gave her an affectionate smile. ‘When you were very young, and you asked about me, how did Louise - your mother - tell you?’
‘She said lots of kind things about you. She said it wasn’t your fault. You were a loving father, but you had problems. ‘
‘What kinds of problems?’
‘Health problems. She said it wasn’t your fault. You didn’t know what you were doing - that you were a lost soul. We used to pray together that one day you’d regain your sanity and adjust to living a normal life. ‘
‘You know, Jenny, what your mother told you was not so far from the truth. There was something seriously wrong with me to do what I did. I used to have long conversations about it with the prison psychiatrist. ‘ A scar-like frown creased his forehead. ‘But since escaping from Holmesburg, I did manage to go straight. And I didn’t do the Sunnyside bank robbery. You can believe that, can’t you?’
She nodded fervently.
‘But whether they find me guilty or not is academic,’ he continued. ‘The past sentences they dished out’ll run for the rest of my natural life. Maybe I can achieve peace of mind, find a way of paying back society for the things I’ve done, but I’ll never be able to walk with you in a park, take you to a restaurant or the movies, do any of the things that I’ve dreamt about. ‘