“’Cause they helped you tend the baby.”
“I need law books. I need to brush up.”
“Well, all right, Paul. We’ll get you some. But you know time is running short. You don’t want the life of this fellow Hauptmann on your conscience.”
Wendel was looking at me. He was a big, sad man with eyes that stuck to you like gum on your shoe.
“What’s your name?” he asked me.
“That’s not important,” I said.
The eyes widened; then narrowed. “You’re from Chicago.”
The accent.
He turned to Parker. Agitated. “He’s from Chicago!”
I moved closer. “What is it about Chicago that makes you nervous, Mr. Wendel? Al Capone isn’t in Chicago, anymore.”
Wendel raised a palm, as if bestowing a blessing—or saying stop. “I want him to leave, Ellis.”
“Of course, Frank Nitti is still there,” I said. “And Paul Ricca.”
“I want him to leave!”
Parker, confused by this, got up, and escorted me out.
Wendel had never risen off that couch.
In the cool air, Parker said, “You got him riled up. Those names spooked him. Nitti’s a Capone boy, ain’t he?”
“That’s right. Ellis, I’m going to drive you back now. Go get in the car.”
“Who in hell are you ordering around?”
“You. Get in the goddamn car.” He trundled off, muttering. I turned to Deputy Dixon, who was taking this in with wide, confused eyes. “I was never here.”
“Pardon?”
“You didn’t see me today, Willis. Understood?”
“Sure, Nate.” He didn’t really understand, but he knew I meant it.
In the Packard, without turning the engine over, I whirled to Parker. “You blew this one, Ellis. You blew this one big.”
“Did I? I’ll have a confession out of Paul H. Wendel that’ll hold water, before you can say Jack Robinson.”
“You don’t have shit. You ever hear of something called the Lindbergh law? You have put your foot in a great big federal cowpie, Ellis. You’ve kidnapped that son of a bitch; you took him across a state line, you hick bastard.”
“I did nothing of the kind.”
“Your cronies did. Your ‘deputies.’ The pity of it is, I think that psycho back there maybe did have some role in the crime. But you’ll never prove it now.”
“I’ll prove it.”
“Ellis, I’m not reporting to Governor Hoffman on this.”
“You’re not?”
“No. You tell him what you want, when you want. I dropped by the office, but I didn’t see Wendel. You didn’t even tell me you had him ‘under wraps.’”
“What in hell are you up to?”
“I’m up to having no part of this. If Hoffman wants to play your crazy game, that’s up to him. I have no interest in being your accomplice or co-conspirator or any such thing. You mention my name, and I’ll make a career out of testifying against you. Goddamn you! I’ve had your ‘Jersey justice’ up to here. You and Schwarzkopf and Wilentz and all the rest…torture and abduction and fabrication…”
He scowled; it was as nasty a look as I ever got, and I’ve gotten my share. “Then go back to Chicago, why don’t you? You goddamn pantywaist.”
“That’s not a bad idea,” I said. “At least there, we stop at rubber hoses. Get out.”
We were at the courthouse in Mount Holly, where the rampant Americana now made me a little sick.
He climbed out and then bent down and peeked in and said, “You’ll be singing a different tune, ’fore long. You’ll be telling your grandchildren you knew Ellis Parker.”
“Maybe I will,” I said. “And you probably were a hell of a detective, before it went to your head. But unless you’re even cagier than I think you are, old man, you’ll likely die in jail.”
He was pondering that as I pulled away.
37
For an estate like Friendship, the study was almost cozy; lots of books, a fireplace, prints and paintings of race horses. A dark, masculine room that hadn’t been used much, or at all, since Evalyn’s husband moved out. I sat at a mahogany desk about the size of the Packard and used the phone. It was a long-distance call, but I figured Evalyn could afford it.
I couldn’t get Frank Nitti right away, of course. The number I had on a small slip of paper in my billfold was that
