The Yellow Packard (37 page)

“I sure hope so.”

It took thirty minutes to get to the red brick complex. There were five one-story buildings, each housing four apartments. Clara Baker lived in 3B.

It was just getting dark when Beverly knocked on the door. No one answered. She tried again.

“I don’t think they’re home,” Angel noted.

Not giving up, Beverly pounded on the entry. As she did, an older man stepped out of the next unit.

“You looking for Clara?” he asked.

“Yes,” Beverly replied. “You know where she is?”

“I own this place,” he replied. “I’d like to know where she went as well. I was gone, but the folks over in 3A told me she came home late last night, packed up her car, and headed out. Except for some food, a bed, and a couple of chairs, there ain’t anything left in that place. She cleared out owing me a month’s rent. And the place is such a mess it is impossible to describe. I’ll have to repaint every wall before I can rent it again.”

“So you don’t know where she went?” Beverly asked.

“No idea,” he replied. “Sorry about that. Hope she didn’t owe you money, too.” The short, pudgy man stepped back into his flat and shut the door.

Alone in the darkness, Beverly wondered what she should do now. Something was obviously very wrong, and Jenny finding those toys in their car had triggered it all.

“You know, Mommy.”

“What is it, Angel?”

“Jenny never calls her mommy
Mommy.
Why is that?”

Beverly looked down at her child. “What’s she call her?”

“Nothing,” came the flat response. “That’s strange. She’s the only kid I know who doesn’t have a name for her mommy.”

Beverly was now even more troubled. If Clara wasn’t the mother, and they certainly looked nothing alike, then who was? Where had the little girl come from?

“Mommy, seeing as how they’re gone, do you think we should do something with their mail?”

Beverly turned around and looked at the small metal box beside the doorframe. Tampering with it was likely a federal offense, but she didn’t care. She yanked out two envelopes and examined them. Both had return addresses in Koshkonong, Missouri. Stuffing the letters into her coat pocket, she grabbed Angel’s hand and with purpose in her step walked back to the Packard. She couldn’t do anything tonight, but tomorrow she had a rare Friday off. She just hoped that even with the whole world at war she could find someone who would listen to her strange story.

Chapter 74

E
ven though Henry Reese wanted to be in the military, J. Edgar Hoover stepped in and kept him and about a dozen other agents from enlisting. It seemed Henry’s duties with the FBI were of more national importance than fighting in the Pacific or Europe. That meant, at least for the moment, that he was back in Chicago investigating possible espionage at a local munitions plant. His one-week investigation had not revealed any fire and very little smoke.

In the old office he’d once shared with Helen Meeker, he picked up the phone. It was time to close this case and ask for a new assignment. As soon as someone in the Washington DC office picked up the line, he was going to ask to be shipped back to Hawaii. He knew there was real work to be done there, work that would place him much closer to helping end this war. But a knock on his door kept him from making that call.

He set the phone down, got up, buttoned the middle of the three buttons on his suit coat, crossed the room, twisted the knob, opened the door, and was greeted by the last person he wanted to see—an agitated woman and her smiling daughter.

“May I help you?” he inquired.

“I hope so,” the woman quickly replied.

“Come in,” Reese said. “There are two chairs in front of my desk. I want to warn you they aren’t as comfortable as the ones you will find in firehouses, but hopefully they’ll do.”

“I’m sure they’ll be fine,” she answered, moving with a sense of urgency to the desk. As the tiny woman gracefully sat in the chair on the left, her daughter climbed up into the one on the right.

After they were settled, Reese closed the door and strolled over to join them. As he took his seat, a large clanking noise filled the room shocking the visitors and causing them to crane their heads back toward the far wall.

“It’s the steam heat!” he yelled. “It’ll calm down in second.” As if on cue, it did. “Now, I’m Agent Henry Reese. What can do for you two young ladies?”

“Mr. Reese, I’m Beverly Coffman. This is my daughter, Angel. I work at Motl Aviation.”

He nodded and observed the woman nervously fiddling with her wedding ring before asking the dreaded but apparent question, “I’m guessing you believe that enemy agents are working in the plant.”

“No,” she answered, her voice filled with shock. “Has that been a problem?”

He shook his head. “But from the number of tips we get, you’d think it was. So what are you here for?”

“It is about a little girl,” she began. “Though I really have no proof, I think she has been kidnapped.” As he leaned forward, she added, “I know it sounds strange, but I need to explain my story to someone.”

“Please do,” he replied, glad to be visiting with a civilian who wasn’t seeing spies everywhere. Resting his elbows on his desk and staring directly into the woman’s eyes, he waited for her to give him the details.

Beverly explained the events that had happened on Wednesday night. She then shared the events that had transpired at the apartment. After she’d finished, she looked to the man for some signs of urgency. There were none.

“Mrs. Coffman,” Reese began, “what you’ve given me would make a solid soap opera script, but there’s hardly enough here to link it to some kind of child abduction. Maybe the child’s toys represent a bad memory for the woman. And perhaps the little girl stuck those toys to your seat while you weren’t looking. Kids move quickly.”

Beverly reached into her purse and fished out the magnetic dogs. “Here they are.”

“I’ve seen a lot of dogs like this,” he assured her. “You can buy them all over the country. They even sold them at shops in Hawaii when I was there. I almost bought some for my nephew.”

“I know that they aren’t unusual,” she replied, “but Clara Baker was genuinely upset, very nervous, near a fit, when I told her that Jenny found these in our car.”

Reese took the dogs and placed them on his desk. He made them move as if they were playing with each other as the woman continued, “I also found these letters with a Missouri return address in Clara Baker’s mailbox. I didn’t open them, but you might want to. Maybe it will tell you something.”

Reese took the envelopes and dropped them beside the dogs. Sensing he needed to say something that would give the determined woman some sense of comfort, he added, “I’ll look into this. Write your address down for me and if I find out anything, I’ll contact you.”

“You really will check on where she went?” Beverly asked.

“I promise,” he assured her. “Now did you take a bus or a cab?”

“No, we drove.”

“Where are you parked?” he asked.

“We found a place on the street about a half block from the front door.”

“Weren’t you lucky,” he observed, pulling himself from his chair. “I need to stretch my legs, so let me ride down on the elevator and walk you to your car.”

Strolling from the office, they quickly stepped down the hall and punched a button. A second later, a bell rang and the doors opened.

“Where to, Agent Reese?” the young elevator operator asked.

“First floor.” After the elevator started moving, the agent reopened the conversation. “Mrs. Coffman, is your husband in the service?”

“He’s on his way to England,” she proudly replied. “He’s a pilot. He’ll be flying bombers.”

“Brave man,” Reese noted, a bit of envy evident in his tone. The door opened, and the trio stepped out into a lobby that was alive with activity. After passing a barbershop and newsstand, the woman and child entered the revolving door. He followed behind. The wind was brisk, and the gray skies suggested another blast of snow was on its way. Suddenly Hawaii called out to him, and he couldn’t wait to get back to the office and make that request.

“We’re right up here,” she announced.

The woman walked with a determined step. He sensed she would have been going even faster if her daughter’s legs had been a bit longer. As the sounds of honking horns and screeching tires filled the morning air, a bus eased up to the curb and dropped off a dozen passengers, forcing the trio to stop for a few seconds. After the bus patrons had headed off in three different directions, the woman picked up her pace. It was only then that Reese saw it. Fifteen steps and twenty seconds later, she was pushing her key into the door lock.

“This is your car?” he asked, a sense of urgency now filling his tone.

“Yes,” Angel assured him. “My daddy bought it.”

“Where did he get it?” Reese demanded.

“Why?” Beverly asked. “Is that important?”

“It very well may be,” he assured her, his eyes still glued to the Packard.

“He bought it at an auction. In fact, it was at an FBI auction.”

“My Lord!” Reese exclaimed. “She’s alive.”

“Who’s alive?” Beverly asked.

“If I’m right,” he shot back, yelling over the commotion created by another passing bus, “a girl we’ve been trying to find for almost two years.” Sweat suddenly appeared on his brow as he asked, “So this is the car she found the toy dogs in?”

“Yes!” the woman replied. “They were held in place by the magnets. She said she’d put them under the front seat when she was with her real mommy.”

“Okay,” Reese hurriedly said. “We need to get back to my office right now. I’ve got to make some calls, and we’ve got to track down this Clara Baker woman. The fact that she might be from Missouri, where the car you are driving was once sold, or the fact she has contacts there says more than you can ever believe.”

As the woman and her daughter turned and headed back toward the office building, Reese took a final look at the Packard. Meeker had been right again. The car had been the key all along.

Chapter 75

M
eeker had just stepped back into the White House’s office wing after a lunch meeting with a supervisor in the OSS, when one of the clerks, Victoria House, waved and cried out, “Helen, an FBI agent called from Chicago. He needs you to call him as quickly as possible. By the way, love that suit.”

“Thanks,” Meeker said as she passed in front of House’s desk. “I picked it up last week at Woosters. They’ve managed to get in some new things in spite of the war. Did the agent leave a name?”

“Yes,” the twenty-four-year-old brunette replied, “Reese. Henry Reese. He said he was calling from Illinois.” She handed her a slip with the phone number.

“So he’s back in Chicago,” Meeker remarked.

“What’s that?” the clerk asked.

“Nothing,” Meeker assured her. “Have the switchboard make that call and when they get Reese, patch it through to my desk.”

“Patch it through.” House laughed. “You’re starting to sound like a spy.”

Ignoring the comment, Meeker made her way down a long hallway and into her small, ten-by-ten, windowless office. It was that lack of window that she most hated. She loathed not being able to see what was going on outside. Doing so just helped her think.

As she moved through her door, the phone rang. It was the switchboard alerting her that Reese was on the line.

“How you doing, Henry?” she asked.

“Except for the cold weather in Chicago, fine. Let me assure you, I do miss Hawaii.”

“Gee, it’s good to hear your voice. When did they transfer you back to the States?”

“About six weeks ago,” he explained. “But I didn’t call to catch up. I’ve got something you need to know about, and I’m hoping you can work with me at least one more time.”

“What is it?” she asked, suddenly intrigued by the possibility of reuniting with the FBI agent. “You have something the OSS needs to look into?”

“No. Is that who the President has teamed you up with now?”

“This week anyway. I kind of freelance. But the spy guys use gals, too, so it is much easier to fit in at the OSS than with you G-men.”

“No doubt,” he agreed. “It is long overdue. Now give me your ears! I’ve got a really good lead on the Rose Hall kidnapping.”

She took a deep breath, got up from her chair, and leaned on the corner of her desk. “Define good lead.” She followed that with a question she didn’t want to ask. “Have you found the body?”

“No,” he quickly shot back. “I am pretty sure she is alive and living with a woman who up until a couple of days ago worked in the Motl Aviation here in Chicago. As soon as she found out someone might be on to her, she bolted with the girl. This woman’s name was Clara Baker. I’m thinking she might be the Clara Hooks woman we couldn’t find in St. Louis back when we were looking for the owner of the Packard.”

“She and her husband owned the place where Burgess lived when he unloaded the car?” Meeker asked.

“Yeah, the same one. I had a couple of folks who knew her in Missouri look at the picture we got from her Motl Aviation personnel file, and they were sure it was her.”

“Where did she go?” Meeker asked. “Any idea?”

“My best guess is southern Missouri. Or at least that is where the answers are going to be. In case she is there with the kid, I want to go down there myself. Could you fly into St. Louis? I could pick you up, and we could drive down there together.”

“I don’t think Lepowitz would like that,” she replied.

“I don’t think it matters,” Reese assured her. “The big guy has fallen out of Hoover’s inner circle. Besides, this woman worked for one of our biggest suppliers of bombers—it could be a matter of national security. And in times like this, when it comes to matters of national security, all branches of the government and the agencies within those branches must work together. You say you’re OSS this week?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll put in a request that you help me clean this up. After all, you never know what this woman stole from the plant. Could have been plans for a proposed bombsight.” She knew he was making a joke, but the scenario did give her probable cause to be involved in the case.