“Chicago?” Gaglio said. “What are you doing here?”
“That’s none of your business,” I said affably, kicking the dog. “But I’m making why you boys are here, mine.”
“You’re a crude, rude young man, Detective Heller,” Condon said.
“When visitors drop by at two in the morning, I am.”
Breckinridge said, “Colonel Lindbergh is waiting to see you, if you’re ready.”
“I’m always ready,” Condon said, with a smile.
We walked through the living room, while Wahgoosh trailed along, going completely fucking berserk; if anyone was still sleeping in this house before, they weren’t now.
Breckinridge sat Gaglio and Rosenhain down on the sofa, where the dog snarled at them and they sat looking at it with wide frightened eyes, hands in their laps like wallflowers at a cotillion.
Lindbergh was not behind his desk; he was pacing in his study looking even more haggard than usual. He had not brushed his hair and his baby face was darkly unshaven; he wore brown slacks and a brown leather flight jacket thrown over an undershirt.
“Good evening, Colonel Lindbergh,” Condon said, stepping forward grandly, offering his hand as if bestowing a medal. “I would recognize you anywhere, sir.”
That put Condon in the select company of everybody in the United States over the age of three.
“Allow me to say that all patriotic Americans are grateful to you, sir, for your pluck and daring…and our hearts go out to you in this your time of need.”
Lindbergh twitched a smile and said, “Dr. Condon, I’d like to see these notes you received.”
“Certainly, sir. It is my great pleasure.”
It’s always a pleasure to hand ransom notes over to a tortured parent.
Lindbergh studied the notes and then spread them out on the desk. “Nate,” he said. “Henry?”
We gathered around and looked at them. Their content reflected what I’d heard on the phone, but the spelling and form and signature were those of the notes previously received.
“They’re authentic,” Lindbergh said.
We didn’t disagree.
Then he smiled, sincerely, at Condon and said, “Doctor it was kind of you to come out here. I hope we haven’t caused you too much trouble.”
Condon gave me a sharp sideways glance, but then beamed at Lindbergh. “It is no trouble whatsoever, Colonel. I want you to know, now, that my only purpose is to serve you. I am completely at your disposal.”
Lindbergh glanced at me; I rolled my eyes.
“Tell me something about yourself, Doctor,” Lindbergh said.
“I am professor of education at Fordham, and principal of Public School Number Twelve in the Bronx.”
“Been teaching long?”
“Fifty years,” he said proudly. “And in that time I’ve lost only nineteen hours.”
Oh, brother.
“That’s an excellent record. And your birthplace?”
He stiffened, as if trying to grow. “The most beautiful borough in the world-the Bronx! I’ve lived there my entire life.”
I sat down. I wondered if they’d divided up my three bucks out in the garage, or if there was any chance Dixon saved it for me.
“Family?” Lindbergh asked him.
“A wife and three splendid children.”
Lindbergh looked at me. I shook my head. He looked at Breckinridge, who shrugged.
“Professor,” Lindbergh said, “we would be delighted if you would assist us in turning the ransom requested over to the kidnappers, to obtain the return of my son.”
Oh, Christ!
“I’d be honored, sir-but I am a stranger to you. I would much prefer that you verify my standing.”
“We will,” I said.
“You’ll stay tonight?” Lindbergh asked. “It’s late, and I’d like to talk to you tomorrow, at length.”
“Certainly. I’ll be delighted to, if it can be arranged for me to return to Fordham by four in the afternoon. I have a lecture.”
“You’ll be there by four.”
“I have two good friends waiting in the living room, Colonel…”
“I’m afraid we don’t have accommodations for them. I’m sorry.”
“Before they go, they’d appreciate meeting you.”
“Fine,” Lindbergh said, and we all walked out into the living room, where Lindbergh politely shook hands all around, to the accompaniment of Wahgoosh’s yapping. Lindbergh offered his thanks, and Gaglio and Rosenhain assured us all they would say nothing to anyone about the events of the night. On their way out, I told them pointedly that that would be a very good idea.
Lindy, Condon and Breckinridge were chatting quietly in the living room when suddenly a woman in a pink silk robe floated in like an apparition.
Anne Lindbergh, her face pale as chalk, eyes large and luminous, said, “Is there news?”
Lindbergh went to her, took her gently by the arm and walked her over to Dr. Condon. He explained that the professor had received a note from the kidnappers in reply to a letter he’d written a newspaper, offering to serve as intermediary.
“Dr. Condon,” Lindbergh said, “is going to deliver the ransom, so we can get Charlie back.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” she said, studying him with moist eyes. “You seem very kind.”
“My dear,” he said, sidling up to her, “you must not cry-if one of those tears drops, I shall go off the case immediately.”
She smiled-at the absurdity of it, I think-and the professor took that as an invitation to slide his arm around her shoulder.
“Child,” he said, “I shall do everything in my power to return your boy to you.” He raised the forefinger of his free hand like a politician making a point. “You’re talking to a man who once won a twenty-dollar prize for submitting to the Bronx
“Uh, really,” Anne said.
“I swear it is true,” he said gravely.
Lindbergh delicately moved Anne out of Condon’s grasp, and the professor said jovially, “Look at the Colonel, here! I believe he’s jealous of an old fellow like me!”
Anne laughed nervously. “Good night, Doctor,” she said. “Good night, Henry. Nate.”
Lindbergh walked her to the stairs.
When he came back, he said, “Thank you, Professor-my wife hasn’t laughed since the night they took Charlie.”
Condon bowed again; he was just in front of me, and you don’t know the restraint it took, not kicking him in the ass.
“I’m afraid I can’t even offer you a comfortable bed,” Lindbergh said. “Every bedroom in the house is taken.”
“I quite understand.”
“If you can manage camp style…?”
“Perfectly.”
“Henry,” Lindbergh said, “take the doctor up to the nursery, if you would. That cot Nate was using is still up there.”
Breckinridge nodded and ushered the professor upstairs.
“Nate,” Lindbergh said, quietly, taking me by the arm, “do you mind staying over?”
“No. Technically, it’s been morning for several hours now.”
“If I round up some blankets for you, will you sleep in the nursery?”
“Keep an eye on that pompous old goat, you mean?”
