Authors: Michael Murphy
I smacked my cane on the desk. “The Golden Legion’s plan to replace Roosevelt with a man on a white horse.”
His face drained of color. “I … I don’t know what you mean.”
“Sure you do. We’re here to offer you a deal.” We had no authority to cut a deal, but I had to start somewhere.
Beads of perspiration dotted his forehead. “Laura …” His appeal trailed off.
I walked to the window and gazed over the city I thought I’d left for good. “It must be wonderful thinking you’re on top of the world. It’s a long way down to a federal jail cell. We have proof linking every member of the Golden Legion to treason.” We didn’t.
“Not … not me.” Cornwell wiped his brow with a handkerchief.
I crossed my arms in front of my chest. “You’re part of a group of influential bankers who think they run this country. You and your coconspirators at the Golden Legion oppose Roosevelt and his policies, particularly removing the country from the gold standard—”
“Of course we do, but that doesn’t make us—”
I smacked both hands on his desk. “It makes you traitors. The Golden Legion financed a troubled unemployed bricklayer, Giuseppe Zangara, to kill the president.”
“I knew nothing about that until—”
“After Zangara’s attempt failed, you saw to it he’d be subject to swift justice. He was executed before he could talk.”
Cornwell tapped his fist against his chin. “This sounds like a plot from a mystery novel, Mr. Donovan.”
“Oh, it’s real all right. Now Roosevelt’s president. He’s done what you feared. You can’t kill him now, so you’re going to do what other scumbags like you did in Italy a decade ago and
Germany earlier this year. You’re going to get rid of a leader the people elected and replace him with a fascist dictator.”
“You’re … you’re mad.”
“Damn right I’m mad. I’m furious. You arrogant fools know the country wouldn’t go for someone like Mussolini or Hitler. You need someone who’ll ride into Washington on a white horse and appeal to the masses who think Roosevelt’s either gone too far or not far enough.”
“And … who is this man—”
“Oliver Greenwoody.”
Cornwell sank back into his chair.
I sat beside Laura who took up the narration in a far gentler manner. “We also know you were the only one in the Golden Legion who wouldn’t go along with Spencer Dalrymple’s plan. You weren’t there when they planned the assassination in February, and you’re not at the hunting lodge where they’re putting the final touches on the plan to take over the government.”
I banged my hand on the desk. “But you’re an accessory after the fact. That should get you twenty years.” I pulled a pen from a holder on his desk and tossed it in front of him.
He stared at the pen. “What do you want me to do?”
“Names, dates, times. A full confession.”
Laura touched his hand. “It’s the only thing that will keep you out of prison, Averill.”
“It’ll make you a hero to the nation. Your bank will make millions on the publicity alone.”
He stared at the pen a moment, while no one spoke, then reached into his drawer and pulled out a stack of writing paper. With a trembling hand, he began to write.
I sat and tried not to show my elation and sense of victory to the man as he completed a document no one could ignore. The confession would bring down the nation’s most powerful bankers, including Spencer Dalrymple III. Laura and I’d soon get our lives back.
By the time Averill Cornwell finished the first page, a box buzzed on his desk. It buzzed a second time. “Mr. Cornwell, there’s someone to see you.”
His trembling hand touched the red button on the box. “I’m busy, Miss Morehead.”
The door flew open. Inspector Stone burst into the room sucking in gulps of air.
What was he doing here? Had he followed us? “You’re just in time, Inspector.”
Stone caught his breath. “Unfortunately for you and Miss Wilson, I am.” He reached inside his jacket, pulled out a pistol, and aimed it at Laura and me. “Let’s go, Donovan.”
What the hell was going on? Had Dalrymple paid off Stone?
Laura jumped to her feet. “Jake, what’s happening?” She looked frightened, and this time she wasn’t acting.
“I’m sorry.” Stone gestured toward the door with the gun. “Really, I am.”
Laura snatched a letter opener from the desk and threw it at Stone.
The inspector ducked. The blade stuck in the far wall. He glanced back at the blade then glared at Laura. Red-faced, he raised the gun as if to strike Laura.
I jumped up and stood between Laura and the angry cop. “What did you expect her to do?”
“I expect her to go quietly.”
Trying to figure a way out of this mess, I grabbed my cane and shot Laura an unjustified look of assurance. I followed her to the door and glanced back at Averill Cornwell and what Laura and I had come so close to accomplishing.
Cornwell picked up his confession. With a flick of a lighter, he lit the end of the paper then set it in a brass ashtray at the corner of the desk. A wisp of smoke curled toward the ceiling. The document proving members of the Golden Legion were traitors curled into gray flakes of ash.
Chapter 17
A Good Day for a Swim
I’d misread people before but never as completely as I misjudged Stone. I sensed Hawkins was dirty that first day in the hospital, but Stone had been a friend of Mickey’s since they joined the force together.
I clenched both fists to control my frustration and rage over the inspector’s betrayal. Laura appeared unfazed as he led us out of Cornwell’s office, but her confident demeanor was surely an act. A closer glance revealed how frightened she really was. She had reason to be. Stone worked for Dalrymple.
The inspector gestured toward the elevator with his revolver. We passed the secretary’s empty desk. Honey Morehead stood with her back flat against the far wall, eyes wide, a trembling hand over her mouth.
Stone stuffed the gun in his shoulder holster. He kept his hand inside the suit coat as he followed us into the elevator and nodded to the operator. “Lobby, please.”
We rode the elevator in silence to the first floor. Outside Stone tossed me his keys. “You drive.”
Laura sat in the backseat, appearing strong and confident, while Stone sat beside me with his gun pointed at my head. Before I’d figured out how to use my cane against him, he tossed it on the floorboard in front of him.
“Where to?” I asked.
“Just drive.”
I made eye contact with Laura in the rearview mirror. “I’m sorry about this. I trusted someone who’s untrustworthy.”
Stone pretended to wipe a tear from his eye. “Careful, you might hurt my feelings.”
Laura leaned forward and patted my shoulder.
“Ain’t that touching.” Stone rolled his eyes.
Maybe I could bargain with him. “I’ll do whatever you want. Just let her go.”
“I was told to deliver the two of you. Orders weren’t too specific about what condition you’d be in, so pipe down. Let’s shove off.”
I started Stone’s car. Only Laura’s presence kept me from ramming the car into a light pole so I could wrestle the gun from him. I pulled away from the curb thinking how Stone and
Hawkins tried to pin Jimmy Vales’s murder on me. Now it made sense. They didn’t want me snooping into the Golden Legion. “You have any idea what you’ve done?”
“Don’t really care. I get paid to do a job, not ask questions.” I took heart from Stone’s nervousness. He glanced over his shoulder, appearing worried we might be followed. He ordered me to take several turns and run a couple of red lights. Apparently Dalrymple and his friends didn’t control all the cops in the city.
We made it to the East River just after noon. Stone directed me to a deserted wharf where a familiar white limousine sent chills up my neck. Parked beside the pier where a commercial fishing boat was moored, Dalrymple’s limo energized my resolve to get Laura and me out of this jam.
“A fishing boat.” I shut off the car and rolled down the window. The smell of wet garbage drifted off the water. “I love to fish. If you ever make it down to Florida, I’ll take you out on my boat … and use you as bait.”
A broad-shouldered driver climbed out of the limo. He crossed both arms and nodded.
“You’re first, Donovan.” Stone gestured with the revolver. “Leave the cane.”
Damn. I got out and winked at Laura who returned a confident smile. The driver opened the back door of the limo. I climbed inside, looking for something to use as a weapon.
Dalrymple’s smug face greeted me. “You try anything, my driver will slice Laura’s throat.”
“So talk.”
“If it’s any consolation, you’ve complicated my plans since your return to the city.” He smoothed his mustache, his predictable nervous habit.
“It will go better for you if you turn yourself in.”
Dalrymple let out a bombastic laugh. “Laura told me you had a terrific sense of humor. If circumstances were different, we might even be friends.”
“You mean like if you weren’t a traitor plotting to overthrow the government?”
Dalrymple’s eyes narrowed into slits. “I’m not overthrowing the government. I’m returning the republic to the system for which it was intended.”
“The people will disagree with you.”
“The people.” Dalrymple dismissed my comment with a wave. “The public will be relieved when they’re back to work.”
Debating with a madman was useless. “Plenty of innocent people have already died so you can install a fascist dictator you can control. How many more?”
His arrogant smirk was more disconcerting than his laughter. “You’ve written too many murder mysteries. I don’t intend to kill you or Laura … unless I have to. I still need you both. For example, I need you to tell me who you’re working for.”
“Laura only went along to help solve Mickey O’Brien’s murder.”
“You cooperate, I’ll let you live. Ever been to San Francisco? The ocean view from Alcatraz might remind you of Florida.” He gazed out the window with a wistful look toward Stone’s car. “Laura’s still useful to me. We have a ball to attend tonight. On Friday we … never mind about my plans. If she thinks she’ll keep you alive, she’ll do as I say.”
“You don’t know Laura. She’ll cut off your balls and jam them down your throat the first chance she gets.”
He glared with maniacal rage. His hand shook as he rapped twice on the side window. Dalrymple wasn’t merely a smug, calculating businessman; he was an on-the-edge-of-insanity megalomaniac.
The driver pulled the door open and yanked me out of the limo.
“Your fly’s open.” When the driver glanced down, I straightened my tie and winked at Dalrymple. “See you soon.”
He chuckled. “If we ever meet again, it will be through the bars of a prison.”
I couldn’t help but smile. “I’m certain of it.”
Stone opened the rear door of his car. Laura stepped out. Her eyes misted. She blinked away the tears and stood with her head held high, this time not for Stone’s benefit, but for mine. “See you soon, Jake.”
“Count on it.”
The driver opened the door to the limo. When Laura slipped inside, he slammed the door, ran around to the front, and climbed inside. The limo sped away, kicking up gravel.
I clamped my eyes shut at the sight of Laura taken from me. I’d do whatever it took to free her. I turned and stumbled.
Stone pointed to the fishing boat.
“I need my cane.” I grabbed my leg.
“No you don’t.”
“Decks get wet and slippery.”
Stone reached inside the car and tossed me the cane. “Get moving.”
At the edge of the dock I stepped on board the rusty gray boat with
Betsy Ross
painted on the hull in fading blue script. Lobster traps were stacked along the wheelhouse. A winch with a rope and a heavy metal hook for setting traps hung over the bow like a hangman’s noose.
Stone climbed on board and drew his gun.
I ignored the weapon and stared. “Only one of us is going to leave this boat alive.”
For the first time since he entered Averill Cornwell’s office, Stone didn’t look so sure of himself. He glanced away, took my cane, and tossed me a pair of handcuffs. “Put these on.” When I hesitated, he raised his gun and aimed the barrel between my eyes.
I cuffed my wrists in front of me as the door to the wheelhouse opened. Dalrymple’s Nazi friend, Karl Friedman, came out. He wore a thick blue peacoat with a red swastika embroidered on the collar, and black leather gloves. His expression of triumph stung nearly as much as the sight of Laura driving away in Dalrymple’s limo. “Good morning, Mr. Donovan. Lovely day for a cruise, no?”
He took my cane from Stone and studied the handle. “Superb German craftsmanship.” With a laugh, he twisted the handle and removed the dagger. He tossed the shaft overboard then ran a hand along the blade. “This might be useful later.” He stuffed the dagger inside his coat. “Let’s get on with it.”
Stone untied the mooring rope. He gave the dock a shove with his shoe then headed for the wheelhouse. A moment later, a gray cloud smelling of diesel spilled from the smokestack. Propellers churned the water, and the boat eased away from the dock.
“Have a seat, Mr. Donovan. It’s going to take a few hours.”
I tried to imagine the destination and took a guess. “Dalrymple’s hunting lodge.”
“You’re an intuitive fellow. I salute you.” The Nazi clicked his heels together and gestured toward a bench on the starboard side.
I plopped down and leaned back against the wheelhouse.
Friedman stood beside me. He pointed out the city skyline, including the new Empire State Building, as I tried to figure out a plan to overpower the pompous Nazi and the crooked cop.
From the East River, we made our way into Long Island Sound. Once in open water, we passed steamers and barges. We followed the shoreline north toward thick angry clouds. An hour later, Stone cut the engine to the boat. The wind whipped across the bow. The boat began to toss.
The Nazi sucked in a long gulp of air. “This is more like it. Reminds me of the North Sea.”
“Maybe you should go home if you miss it so much.”
“In due time.” He sat beside me. “My father was a real baron, before the Great War. A generous landowner, benevolent in so many ways. What he didn’t lose because of the armistice, the government took, piece by piece. His last two years, he lived in a loft paying rent to a Jew downstairs who operated a jewelry store on the first floor.”