Authors: Dan Fesperman
The Letter Writer (26 page)
AT FIRST I WAS APPALLED.
How could he bring her to this place of danger? Church or not, we were about to pursue a man on a death list, someone who might himself be willing to kill. Had Mr. Cain lost his mind? Or had he merely lost his housekeeper, and thus, temporarily, his better judgment?
Turning farther for a better view, I then saw her face, her innocence, as they walked up the aisle toward me, and immediately I revised my assessment. I chose instead to interpret her presenceâcarelessly engineered or notâas an omen, a sign: We would be protected here.
When they reached my pew she darted in front of her father and, then, as if to function as an intermediary, sat between us. She turned her face toward mine. It struck me at that moment that she had come to this city at an age only a few years older than I when I first arrived, and so I fully understood all of the questions in her eyes. Yet, I also saw trust, and this melted my heart.
I smiled, and she did not look away, which probably required some courage on her part, because mine is not a welcoming face.
“Here,” I said, handing her a hymnal. “In case you want to sing along. They post the page numbers of the songs up there on that board. The next one will be three twenty-seven.”
“Thank you.”
None of us seemed interested in listening to the priest. Olivia thumbed through the hymnal. Cain, I saw now, was actually praying, mouthing words with his eyes shut, and holding on to a holy book as if it alone might save him. So perhaps he
did
realize the risk he was taking. And with that thought I realized the true nature of what the girl was about to witness.
Cognizant or not, she would see a condemned man led closer to the scaffold. Because surely word of our actions here tonight would travel from this building on the lips of other denizens of the Bowery, many of whom were ever eager to profit from any special knowledge. For all we knew, this would be Gerhard's final night of freedom, of life itself.
As you well know, I am not a religious man. But in the way of many who have forsaken faith, I am often fascinated by the dogmas and rituals of believers. And, here, under this high arched ceiling, surrounded by symbols of the Christian God, it occurred to me that for us Gerhard would be the lamb of god. His blood, shed upon our altar of truth. As the congregation began to pray, I shut my eyes, receded into my thoughts, and asked some element of the cosmosâwhether it be “God” or some other entity altogetherâto grant us forgiveness for the sequence of deeds we were about to set in motion.
I opened my eyes to see Olivia looking at me, and could tell that somehow she knew and approved.
Then it was time for communion. We kept our seats, officially unworthy of the sacrament. Thirty or so people came and went from the altar. Several were dressed in the rags of flophouse poverty. We watched with keen interest, but the father dispensing the sacrament did not once look our way.
The next six communicants took their places before him. The fourth man from the left was a pale fellow with unkempt blond hair and a three-day beard. He took the wafer and sipped the wine. The father looked up, turned his head briefly in our direction, and nodded crisply.
“So that's the one,” Cain whispered to my left. “And do we think this is
our
Gerhard?”
“Yes. I do. He has the look of the hunted. We should be prepared to move quickly.”
“Who's Gerhard?” Olivia asked.
“The man we need to speak with,” I said, as gently as I could. “And when we do, it would probably be best for you to wait here, maybe with one of the priests, until we are finished.”
She looked to her father. Cain nodded, sealing the arrangement.
“Okay,” she said, taking on a solemn air.
I am certain she could tell from our manner that this was a serious business, the affairs of a policeman and a stranger. Wise girl.
CAIN WATCHED GERHARD RETURN
to his pew, relaxing only when the man sat down and opened a Bible. The organ played until the last communicant was seated. Then the congregation rose for a hymn. Olivia, consulting the board, flipped to the correct page. She and everyone else began to singâexcept for Gerhard, who dropped to his knees and bowed his head. His lips began moving at an almost frantic pace.
“Prayer,” Danziger muttered. “Last refuge of the scoundrel.”
Olivia's mouth dropped open in surprise.
“Is that true, Daddy?”
Cain was about to answer no, and then paused as he recalled his own desperate behavior from a few minutes ago.
“Sometimes,” he whispered. “People take refuge behind a lot of things.” Like patriotism, he thought, thinking of Hogan and Lanza.
“How can you tell when they're doing it to hide?”
“I'm not sure, sweetie. I'm still figuring that out.”
The song ended. Then came the offering. Cain dropped some change into the plate. Danziger gave nothing, which seemed to either scandalize or impress Olivia. Even Gerhard put in a coin. Soon afterward the service ended. The lights came up, and the congregants began spilling into the aisles.
“Stay here,” Cain said to Olivia. “Don't move, and don't speak to anyone unless it's a priest. Okay?”
“Okay.” She frowned sulkily, but Cain couldn't think of an alternative.
He slipped into the aisle, Danziger right behind him, and they walked quickly toward the back.
“The father knows that we wish to speak to Gerhard,” Danziger spoke into his ear. “He has promised us the use of a room, the sacristy. He has agreed to intercede on our behalf, if necessary. All he asks is that there be no trouble, no disturbance.”
They were now within a few feet of Gerhard, who was unaware of their approach and seemed to be in no hurry. Danziger sidled up on his left. Cain scooted around him toward the doorway, to cut off his avenue of escape.
“Gerhard?” Danziger called gently. Then he said something in German.
The man froze, and his mouth opened in alarm. He raised his hands into a protective position and wavered like a man caught in a strong gust of wind. For a few seconds he seemed on the verge of collapse. He was pale and underfed, and for a moment Cain almost pitied him.
Gerhard bolted forward, but not before Danziger's right hand flashed out with impressive quickness and locked on to his forearm. Danziger whispered into his ear. Gerhard's eyes sought out the young father, who nodded reassuringly. Then the German sagged and blew out a deep breath, as if in surrender. Danziger called out to Cain in a low voice above the hubbub of the departing worshippers. “He will speak with us. Come. The sacristy is this way.”
The three of them walked single-file toward an alcove to the right, with the father bringing up the rear. The sacristy was a quiet room with dark wood paneling, a modest desk strewn with notes, and a large bloody crucifix high on the wall. At the end was an open closet where vestments of various sizes and colors hung in a long row, smelling of incense.
Gerhard stood behind a folding chair, holding on to the back as if he wasn't yet ready to sit, or surrender. Cain slowly walked toward him. Maybe it was his imagination, but in the time it had taken them to reach the sacristy Gerhard seemed to have reconsidered his options. His eyes darted toward Danziger, and then toward the door.
“Gerhard Muntz?” Cain said, looking him in the eye.
Gerhard's eyes widened. He backed away from the chair and pulled a knife from his pants pocket. Cain heard the father gasp behind him.
“Ask him if that's what he used to kill Sabine,” Cain said, keeping his hands ready for anything while Danziger relayed the question in German. The father also spoke in German, trying to calm the man, but Gerhard shook his head and said only “Nein! Es war nicht mich! Es war Dieter!”
“He says Dieter Göllner did it.”
“So I gathered. Tell him Göllner is dead. And he will be, too, unless he lets us help him.”
Danziger spoke rapidly, in a soothing tone. Gerhard uttered a low moan when he heard the news, and a tremor seemed to go through him. He shook his head and lowered the knife. He looked up at Cain briefly and put away the knife. Then he came forward a step and sank into the chair with a deep sigh.
Danziger addressed the priest. “I believe we now have matters sufficiently under control, Father. Thank you for your assistance.”
The father looked from man to man with an expression of uncertainty, but he seemed to take the cue for his exit.
“Very well, then. I will be outside if you need me. Unless you intend to make an arrest, please do not harry him for longer than is necessary. He is a child of God.”
“Of course, Father.”
They waited until they could no longer hear his departing footsteps. Gerhard was now scrutinizing Cain, but when he spoke it was to Danziger.
“Ist er ein Polizist?”
“He asked if you're a cop.” Then, to Gerhard, “Ja.”
Gerhard folded his arms and stared at the floor.
“Dann werde ich nicht sprechen!”
“I doubt that needed a translation,” Danziger said wearily.
“He says he won't talk? Fine. We'll wait him out.”
“I am not sure how patient the father will be with us.”
Then, as if someone had injected him with a tranquilizer, Gerhard unfolded his arms and leaned forward, his eyes softening. He was staring toward the door. Cain turned to see Olivia stepping across the threshold.
“Sweetie, I told you to wait!”
“They started turning off the lights. I was scared, and I saw where you'd gone, so⦔ She caught Gerhard's gaze, and for a moment she stared right back. Gerhard muttered sidelong to Danziger in German. Danziger, keeping his voice low, answered. The young priest entered the room behind Olivia.
“My apologies for allowing this interruption! I was dealing with parishioners.” He turned toward Cain. “She is your daughter?”
“Yes.” Cain felt like an explanation was in order. “I, uhâ”
“Would you like me to look after her until your work is completed?”
“Please. That would be kind of you.”
The priest offered his hand to Olivia. She frowned but took it. With her other hand she waved goodbye to the beleaguered Gerhard, who beamed as beatifically as if he had just watched an angel alight in the rafters. Once she was gone, he tilted his head as if to reappraise Cain, and asked another question. Danziger answered in the gentlest of tones. Gerhard nodded and spoke again.
“What's he saying?” Cain asked.
“He wanted to know if she was your daughter. I said yes. Then he quoted a line of scripture. Something about various animals coexisting, ending with âAnd a child shall lead them.'â”
“It's from Isaiah,” Cain said.
Gerhard spoke again. A look of weary calm had descended on his features.
“He says, yes, the book of Isaiah. He says you may ask him whatever you like.”
Cain shook his head in wonderment. “Let's start with how he got involved in all this. Lutz Lorenz and the four of them, and whatever it was they were trying to accomplish.”
Gerhard nodded when Danziger relayed the question. He spoke in a monotone, as calmly and flatly as if he were reading from a printed statement, pausing only when Danziger stopped him with an upraised hand in order to translate for Cain, who took notes throughout. His account was frank, precise, and blessedly simple, and matched Lorenz's version almost exactly.
In December, not long after Pearl Harbor, Lorenz approached the four Germans with an offer of employment. If they accepted, they would be issued union cards, and someone else would meet them the following day at the Jaegerhaus, a Yorkville beer hall. They accepted. The next day, a nameless German businessmanâor so they guessed from his expensive suit and coolly efficient mannerâmet them in a back room at the Jaegerhaus, and presented them with an enticing offer: Agree to help the Fatherland by making a strike upon the enemy, and you will be richly rewarded, now and later. At that time they knew only that the goal was to burn or sink a ship currently in harbor. The man promised to relay further instructions.
They quickly received their first installment of money, which bolstered their confidence. They also got their union cards, all on the same day. Two of themâHansch and Schallerâthen secured jobs with a maritime construction company which was working aboard the
Normandie,
the French luxury liner which was being retrofitted for use as an American troop ship. This, they were told, was to be their target, with further instructions to follow. But before either man could report to the job site they awakened to headlines announcing that the
Normandie
had burned and foundered.
Figuring that other operatives may have succeeded ahead of them, they awaited a new assignment. But weeks passed without further word. More to the point, they never received the promised second payment. With no name or contact information for the German businessman who was their intermediary, they contacted Lorenz. He wanted nothing further to do with them, but agreed to relay word of their concerns. Lorenz hadn't mentioned this second contact, but Cain wasn't surprised. Such an admission would have further implicated him in the
Normandie
plot.
The German intermediary relayed word through Lorenz that he would meet them again at the Jaegerhaus, where he instructed them to sit tight, and promised they would be paid soon. He told them they were never to seek to contact him again. For any further inquiries they should get in touch with a Mr. D'Amico, on Saratoga Avenue in Brooklyn, where he could supposedly be found after seven o'clock on any weekday evening.
At this point Cain held up his hand to stop them.
“Does he have an exact address?”
Danziger asked, and Gerhard nodded and spoke again.
“Not the street number,” Danziger said, “but it was a store at Saratoga and Livonia, right by the elevated IRT. The awning out front had the words âcandy,' âsoda,' and âcigars' across the front.”
“Got it.”
Gerhard continued his account. The Germans wondered why Italians had become involved, but concluded that if the two countries were battlefield allies in Europe, then why shouldn't they also be working together behind enemy lines in this country?
Another week passed without action, so they delegated Werner Hansch to present their grievances to Mr. D'Amico in Brooklyn. Gerhard accompanied Hansch on the IRT to the Saratoga Avenue stop, and then waited for him in a bar down the street. After nearly an hour, when Hansch still hadn't returned, Gerhard walked to the address himself, keeping his eye on the entrance as he lingered at a newsstand across the street. At nine o'clock, a prosperous-looking man emerged, smoking a cigar and talking loudly. Two apparent underlings followed, with Hansch between them. He looked bruised and frightened, and his clothes were in disarray. A gleaming black Packard pulled to the curb, and the men climbed in, shoving Hansch into the back seat. It pulled away and drove out of sight.
By this time, the man running the newsstand had taken note of Gerhard's interest in the doings at the store. Danziger translated the exchange.
“Better not let them catch you watching,” the man said, “unless you want to end up at the bottom of the East River.”
“Wait a minute,” Cain said, holding up a hand. “I thought he only spoke German. How'd he know what the newsstand guy was saying?”
Gerhard smiled for the first time.
“An excellent question,” Danziger said. “How
did
you know, Gerhard?”
“My speaking English, it is very bad. Hearing it?” He waggled a hand. “Sometime okay.” He then addressed Danziger in a burst of German.
“He says he comprehends a general sense of what people are saying. Also, the news vendor's English wasn't much better than his. He said the fellow then told him the name of the man he'd seen with Werner Hansch.”
“The one who was in charge?”
Danziger asked.
“Ja,” Gerhard said. “The Mad Hatter.”
Danziger's eyes widened. “You are quite sure of this?” he asked slowly. “The Mad Hatter?”
“Ja.”
Cain caught Danziger's eye, but the older man frowned and tersely shook his head, as if to say that now wasn't the right time.
“Okay, then,” Cain said. “What happened next?”
Danziger relayed Gerhard's answer as the words came tumbling out.
“That was the last time Gerhard saw Werner Hansch. Later he heard the news. Hansch was dead; his body had been found in the river. Then he and Göllner heard Schaller had been shot, so they both went into hiding. He said that Göllner blamed Sabine for giving them away, and vowed to kill her. But he says they did not see each other again. Gerhard moves every few days to a new flophouse. For the last two nights he has been staying in the Sunshine Hotel on the Bowery. He is careful. He mostly keeps to his room, except on Sundays, when he comes here to pray. He said for a while he went to the Church of the Transfiguration on Mott Street, but he did not like going to Chinatown. Too many neon signs for chop suey. Too many Chinese.”
“That's very Aryan of him.”
“He says he likes the words of Monsignor Cashin. They comfort him. Or did until we came along.”
Gerhard spoke again, and Danziger replied. His answer prompted Gerhard to moan and bow his head.
“He asked how Göllner was killed. I told him he was beaten to death, and that no one has been arrested.”
Gerhard raised his head and spoke rapidly.
“He said we must help him. He has helped us, and now we must do the same.”
Gerhard's eyes pleaded. Cain looked at Danziger.
“Tell him we'd like to help but that it won't be easy. We must also be careful. Right now there is nowhere safe to take him. Coming with us would only expose him further.”