I’d lost count of the colonels in this case, a long time ago.
“Means offered to get in touch with his old cellmate, and I urged him to do so. The next morning he told me he’d succeeded in contacting his old friend, and that the man was indeed the ‘head of the Lindbergh gang,’ and eager to open negotiations for the baby’s return. Then began the continuing succession of meetings, including several with Jerry Land present, working with Means as the intermediary with the kidnappers.”
Jerry Land was Admiral Emory S. Land, the Lindbergh relative who’d conveyed word of what Mrs. McLean and Means were up to, to Slim.
“Where do things stand now?” I asked her.
“Last Monday, I gave Means a big pasteboard carton filled with bills in denominations of five, ten and twenty dollars.”
“You gave that to him already?”
She nodded. “One hundred thousand dollars.”
I sighed. “Have you seen him since?”
“Oh yes. He lives over in Chevy Chase with his family. He has a wife and son, you know-the son is his motivation, he says. He says he hopes to atone for his past and make his boy proud.”
“Yeah, well, that’s touching. But that was days ago. Has he delivered the ransom to the ‘gang’? He obviously hasn’t delivered the baby to you.”
“It’s supposed to happen soon. I’m going to Far View tomorrow-that’s where the kidnappers have agreed to make delivery. Means is meeting me there.”
“Where and what is Far View?”
“My country home. In Maryland. I’ve made arrangements with a doctor friend of mine for anyone who might inquire, that for the next few days to a week, I’m at Union Memorial in Baltimore taking a rest cure.”
“There’s a lot of intrigue in this thing, isn’t there?”
She shook her head, laughed a little. “Yes there is. And Means insists on using code names and numbers…he was a double agent at one time, you know.”
“Yeah. He worked for the Germans just before the World War.”
“I’m Number Eleven. The baby is referred to, always, as ‘the book.’ Means himself is ‘Hogan.’ Admiral Land is Number Fourteen. And so on.”
“I need another drink.” I got myself one. “How about you, Evalyn?”
“I shouldn’t.”
“Anybody who can hand Gaston Means a cardboard box with one hundred grand in it can risk a second glass of sherry.”
“Valid point,” she said, and took the sherry. “I’ve involved you, I’m afraid, in the intrigue.”
“Oh? How in hell?”
“Well, I knew Colonel Lindbergh wanted me to meet with you, but if Gaston Means, or the kidnappers, knew I was dealing with a policeman…even one so far off his beat…it might prove disastrous. I can trust my staff-they’ve all been with me for years. But if anyone, Gaston Means in particular, should ask them-you came here today to be interviewed for a position.”
“What position is that?”
“Chauffeur.”
I snorted a laugh, finished my Bacardi. “That’s rich. I couldn’t find my way across the street in this town. Well, I’d like to meet Means. And maybe it
“Undercover?”
I pointed to myself with a thumb. “Meet your new chauffeur. Who’s going to escort you to your country place-where I’ll size Means and his story up for myself.”
Her smile was almost demure. “That would be wonderful, Nate. You think…you think I’m a foolish old woman, don’t you?”
“You’re not old at all.”
“The fire’s dwindling. Would you put some wood on?”
“All right.”
When I returned to the couch, she was sitting with her legs tucked up under her, illuminated by the blaze I’d rekindled. I sat next to her and she moved closer.
“I haven’t been with a man since my husband and I separated,” she said.
I didn’t believe that, but I said, “A lovely girl like you?”
She was amused. “You think calling me a ‘girl’ is going to win me over?”
“You look like a girl to me.”
The amusement dropped like a mask; something was smoldering in her expression, and the fire had nothing to do with it. “Nate. Nate. Why don’t you just kiss me?”
“We just met. You don’t know anything about me, Evalyn.”
“You have a dry wit. You have a gun in your suitcase. You have nice eyes, a little cruel, but nice. Your hair looks red in the firelight. I know all that, and more.”
“More? What else do you know?”
“I know you have a gun in your pocket, too.”
“That isn’t a gun.”
“I know.”
I kissed her. Her mouth was wet and warm and tasted like sherry. Her tongue flicked my tongue.
“More,” she said.
I kissed her some more; it was nice and got nicer. Hot and got hotter. I slid my hand up the slope of her bosom-I felt the chill cut stone of the Hope diamond and pulled my hand away like I’d been burned. I drew the rest of me away, too, head reeling from rum and where I was.
“Let me get this off,” she said hastily. She removed the diamond necklace, and the pearls, too, and tossed them on an overstuffed chair nearby, as casually as if she’d slipped off her shoes. The diamond was catching the fire and flashing.
“Help me with this,” she said, reaching behind her, and I did, and soon the gown was around her tiny waist and her breasts, perfect, high, full, enormous, were basking in the golden glow of the fire. I put my hands on them. I put my mouth on them. Sucked the tips till they were hard.
“What about your servants?” I asked, gasping, my face half-buried in her treasure chest.
“They’ll only come when I ask them,” she said.
“Me too,” I said.
18
We arrived at Far View after dark the next night. Behind the wheel of Evalyn McLean’s powder-blue Lincoln Continental, I was every bit the perfect chauffeur, wearing a spiffy gray woolen uniform with shiny black buttons and matching cap, bequeathed by a driver who’d recently retired from the Walsh family’s employ after thirty faithful years. He’d been heavier than me, but Mrs. McLean had someone on her staff take it in. Evalyn and Inga-her fortyish, blonde maid, a dourly attractive woman who’d been with her “mistress” over twenty years, and who was aware of my true identity-sat in the backseat and directed me; I didn’t mind having two backseat drivers: my only flaw as a chauffeur, after all, was my complete lack of familiarity with Washington, D.C., and its environs.
From Massachusetts Avenue, we had headed in the direction of Baltimore, then doubled back; we were soon off the main highway and exploring the wilds of Maryland via narrow, rutted back roads, occasionally gravel, usually dirt. The private drive to Far View was gravel, but neglected, weeds overtaking it; the same was true of the grounds, where weeds poked up between the patches of snow. Nonetheless, the house itself-which I had foolishly pictured as the modest “country place” Evalyn had casually mentioned-was impressive in the moonlight, a sprawling Southern mansion of the plantation variety, pillars and all, ghostly white amidst tall skeletal trees.
“My mother spent a lot of time here,” Evalyn said, leaning up from the backseat. “I haven’t been out here, since she died.”
