We took separate cars to Robert’s office the next morning. As we didn’t know what we were going to be doing all day. Brenda rode with me in my old Ford, while Walt followed in his Mercury.
Robert looked as We filed into Robert's office without knocking.
“You feeling better Jim?”
“Some, at least I’m not shaking, and my heads not pounding anymore.” I responded. As we found places to sit in the small office. Brenda sat on my lap while Walt took the other chair. The remaining chair had several old evidence boxes piled in it.
Robert looked from Walt to me and Brenda and back. Slowly he sighed.
“James, I found your connection to Philip Dorrsol. And the hat.”
He let it sink a second. Brenda and I just looked at him expectantly.
Finally he got up and went around the desk to the top evidence box in the chair,
“James, you remember when you were 17 and you shot the kid ?”
Slowly it came back to me . That had been a lifetime ago. I had used a gun I’d found in a alley to shoot a drug dealer who was attacking me and Brenda . The case was closed, and sealed. It wasn’t in my record, I had been cleared and charges dropped. That was back in 1938. Almost ten years ago.
Robert handed me a large black and white picture of a hat. I looked at it.
“Yes, that's the hat, Where was it?”
“It was on the man you shot back in ’38, Edward Lane. Turns out, Edward Lane was Philip Drossels son. He was wearing this hat when you killed him. The blood on it came from him. That’s where you saw the hat before.” Robert held up the hat and the picture together, One and the same.
We sat sat quietly for several seconds letting it sink in.
“No wonder Drossel wants you dead, You killed his son But that doesn't explain how the hat wound up on Wanda Reed.”.
“I did a lot more checking. It seems back then the property rooms weren’t as secure as they are now. Several months after the shooting, We had a break in. A lot of guns were taken, along with various pieces of evidence. Among them, James, This hat, and the gun you used to shoot him with. None of the guns were ever recovered. James. when you came back, You bought several guns from pawn shops didn’t you?”
“Yes, you went with me at least once.” I confirmed.
“Right, and one of the guns is a Smith & Wesson, Victory model from before the war.?”
“That’s the one I gave Brenda. “I said. Branda opened her purse and retrieved the revolver. She carefully handed it to me , Out of habit I flipped the cylinder, and checked to see that it was loaded. Shutting it I handed the gun to Robert. Robert, turned it over and found the serial numbers on the bottom of the grip. He pulled a paper from the file on his desk. He spent several minutes looking that the numbers on the report, and on the bottom of the gun.
“I was right. This is the same gun you used to shoot Edward Lane. Stolen from the property room, and has been floating around LA all these years, finally winding up in the pawn shop you bought it in.” Robert handed the gun back to me. I took the back up gun from my holster. I handed it to Branda. “I want to keep this one.” I slid the Victory Model into the holster.
We spent some time discussing their next moves, and how now knowing the connection to Philip Drossel would help them. No one had any clear idea, of how all of the recent event with the FBI agents and drug smuggling had any relation to me other than the original history.
For most of the country, anything before the war was becoming ancient history. The country was starting over again with a clean slate. The sins of the past, before the war, were largely forgotten. But not for me.I now know my past is the key to the events unfolding around me this last week. Now I had a handle on it . I was determined to end it once and for all. Brenda and I headed back to the newspapers. Deep in the morgue, we found the papers for 1938.
After finding the articles in the paper describing the shooting I sat back in the chair reading it. The headline read; “Youth Involved in Shooting Cleared”. The story went on to say how I had been cleared of any criminal charges in the shooting death of one Edward Lane. There was a lot that the article didn’t say.
It was the summer of 1938. I was barely 17 at the time. I had been seeing Brenda for a while. Edward Lane was a local bully who had taken a shine to Brenda. Lane had made a number of crude passes to her. Several times he had been physically removed from the situation. I had stood up to him and fought with him a couple of times. It is widely known that Lane had been involved in a petty theft. Including selling stolen goods. Over the last several weeks leading up to the shooting, Lane had become more aggressive towards us. He had his gang of thugs had harassed us on numerous occasions. I had found a revolver in an alley. A Smith & Wesson .38 special with a four-inch barrel. I had debated about what to do with it. In the end, I kept it. I had been carrying it the day that Lane and his gang attacked me.
Edward Lane had become more brazen. He was no longer content to confine his harassment to an alley and empty streets. This time, he had spotted Brenda and I downtown near the theater . We were on their way to see a movie. We never made it. There were four of them. Edward Lane and three cronies who assisted in his bullying people.
We ducked between parked cars and finally thinking they had eluded Lane and his gang, We were just outside the theater. When Lane approached us. He had a gun. I wasn’t sure what kind it was, Just that is wasn’t like any American gun I’d seen. I wasn’t prepared to find out how it worked firsthand. With a crowd gathering around. Lane pointed the gun at us and swore he’d kill me if I didn’t leave Brenda to him.
It happened fast. I instinctively reached for the revolver I had in my waistband. In one fluid motion,I drew it and fired . The sound of the .38 going off up against the brick wall of the old theater, echoed it back to the crowd. I fired three times. Lane registered shock and pain as the first round hit him. He fell back as the last rounds tore into him. Within seconds it was over. Brenda and I stood up against the wall. The crowd stood staring in shock at the body on the sidewalk. He had fallen against a parked car. His fedora hat sliding down his face. Landing on his chest, which was covered in blood. The two thugs that were behind Lane were quick to disappear into the crowd. But not before their presence had been noted, and witness, had good descriptions of them.
The police came. Newly minted Detective Robert Clay was in charge. They secured the scene. Uniformed officers, started taking statements. And gathering evidence and generally regain control of the situation.
We spent the day and night at the police station. We both gave their accounts of the incident separately and then together.I explained how I’d found the gun in an alley several days before. And had pretty much decided to turn it in. But hadn’t had a chance to, with work, and when Lane had started harassing us again, I decided to keep it after all. Yes, I knew it was illegal for a minor to have a gun, much less carry one. But I decided that it was better to be illegally armed, then legally unable to defend myself . we further detailed the past experience we had with Lane and his cohorts. They’re following and harassing, and threats to hurt me and do very bad things to Brenda. He had simply put, become obsessed with her. It was also well known that his father was Philip Dorssel, a german immigrant from World War 1. It was also widely suspected but never proved that he was building the same type of mob that he had run before the war. It was long suspected that his son Edward Lane was running numbers, and had been involved in the bootlegging of the twenties. There had been rumors during the second war, that Drossel had been involved with spying for the Germans. It was never proved and no charges were never brought against him. But there was no question that he had run the largest black market operation in California.
All of this and more was known to Robert Clay as he interviewed us after the shooting. When the witness statements were taken into account,and the remaining two thugs that had been with Lane at the shooting were found, It didn’t take long for Robert Clay to decided not to press charges. It was more than clear, illegal as my having the gun was, it was clearly a case of self-defense. He decided the gun charge was nothing compared to what the I’d had been through. So he recommended that no charges be brought against James St.James. To his surprise, the DA agreed there was no way the shooting could be anything but legal self-defense. And there was nothing to be gained by pressing carrying of the gun charge.
Brenda and I married in December 1940. A year to the day, Pearl Harbor happened. The next day, I was among the long line of young men volunteering for the service. I joined the marines. For much of the war, I served under Walter Jackson. While both were promoted, I only made it to Lieutenant, Jackson had made it up to Colonial before the war was over, and we were both released from the service. Walter Jackson had come back to LA to his wife and kids, and retire as he had medically discharged with scrap metal wounds . Injuries he had sustained while protecting his company from a German offensive late in the war.
Spring 1943, I was reported MIA, missing in action. Walter had no idea what had happened to me . I was not found for several months, and by then I had been reported MIA. After a year of being missing, I was declared dead by the Marines. Meanwhile, Brenda’s father pretty much left the running of the bar to her. So In an effort to recover from losing me. She tried seeing someone new after I was declared dead, But it didn’t end well, and he was killed in a bar fight. She was good at running the bar. While her father ran it, it had barely made any money, Now she was actually turning a decent profit. Meanwhile, I had left my old Ford Coupe in her garage. She had pretty much forgotten about it, and when she did think of it, she decided to keep it as a reminder of me.
On the morning of July 4, 1945 I appeared on Brenda’s doorstep. I had spent the last several months at the end of the war, being declared alive again, and undergoing a physical test, and being briefed, on my ordeal in Germany. I was lucky to have survived at all. I was finally released and shipped home to LA in July of 1945. I took my GI Bill and used it to restart my fledgling PI business, That had just barely started before the war. Getting my license and carry permit reinstated had been much more of a challenge than I had figured on. Meanwhile, Brenda and I spent a lot of time getting to know each other again. Even though we were still legally married, We had just decided to get married again before the Wanda Reed case started.
I sat back in the old wooden office chair. Thinking. It had been months since I had thought about the events leading up to my present situation. In the span of a few minutes, I had relived my life since that fateful day when I had shot Edward Lane. While I did not regret shooting him, It was necessary at the time. I knew now it had started the events of this last week. Having the connection helped me cope with what was next. But what is next?
We finally left the newspaper. On the way from the newspaper Mourgue to the car I feel myself getting madder and madder. By the time I reached the car I was seeing red. How dare Drossel have the gall to hire a woman to kill me over something had happened almost ten years ago. He didn’t have the balls to come and confront me in person? That's ok I have enough for both of us. Being in war does that to you. I got in the car with Brenda. She hadn’t said anything the whole walk to the car. I sat there thinking for a minute. There was a anger building in me. An anger I hadn’t felt since the war. A need to do something that would end the situation once and for all one way or another.
“Brenda, I’ve had it. If He wants war, I’m giving it to him.” I glanced over at Brenda as I started the car. The look of fear was almost enough to make rethink my plan. But no. I had to end this one way or another. Seven men had been killed in the last week. I had killed at least four of them. That wasn’t even counting Wanda Reed. No, this had to end.
I slammed the old Ford into gear, and we roared out of the newspaper parking lot. The rain had long since quit but the heat was still in full force. It was hot. I rolled down the window on the car. And let some warm air rush over me while I headed downtown to Walt's place. Walt had been doing more research on Drossel.
He had what I wanted. Once we arrived at Walts I got us together in the living room, over some black coffee. We were going to have to be stone cold sober to do what I had in mind.
By now it was almost ten in the morning, We had been at the Newspaper early and found what I was looking for. While Brenda fixed us some lunch I headed for the bathroom. When I came out I was clean shaven again. A week's worth of beard went down the drain. I had decided that I needed to get presentable again. I also figured people were used to seeing me with a beard. So cutting it would give me a slight edge, as they might not recognize quite as quickly without the beard. Walt lent me some of his clothes as they fit pretty good, and I wasn’t in a hurry to go back to my place. Once we had eaten and coffee was served. I laid out my plan. Walt had a list of all the properties in LA that Drossel owned. It had taken some doing. It was an interesting list. Along with the bar, he owned the warehouse where he had been, and the property outside of LA. The property list of Drossel’s wasn’t all he had. He had a classified report from Army Intelligence on Drossel. I started to ask how he’d gotten it. He simply said “You don’t want to know.” and left it at that. The report made for some very interesting reading. It was clear US Army Intelligence suspected him of spying for the Germans in the Los Angeles area. There were reports from tails and eavesdropping and records of is transactions. The list of known associates was long. Several people I recognized were on the list. The conclusion was that he was more likely selling the germans information about the security of LA and the San Francisco harbor, and California coastline. They had no direct proof, and couldn’t charge him. They did however, arrest him several times for dealing in the local black market of LA and running illegal gambling and numbers rackets. He did serve some time for the local charges, but never any federal time. There was also a rundown on his wife and children. It did mention the incident with his oldest son. The one I killed. I was glad to see I wasn’t mentioned by name. I was sure somewhere there was report identical to the report that lay in the local police archives of the incident, details names and dates, and what exactly had happened. It just wasn’t mention here in this report. I reread the report several times. While I drank too much coffee. I was looking for something that would give me a edge on him. Looked back of the list of property Walt had gotten. I looked at the dates they were acquired. Then the bank statements. Monies in and out of his various accounts. I saw the paperwork on the bar. Checking the dates. There seemed to be a time frames when he did a lot of deals that netted him several properties. Such as the bar, and the house outside of town. I crossed referenced the times of the bar, and house purchase, with the reports from Army Intelligence. There didn't seem to be event that put a lot of money in his pocket at once. Intelligence reported that he had been meeting with tourist at unusual spots, such as parks and other places he didn’t normally go. This had raised suspicions at the time. According to the reports, but they had no direct evidence of any wrongdoing. Looking back it was clear he had sold information to the “Tourist’ and used the money to buy the house, and bar, among other things.
“Walt, You have the the FBI report right handy?” I asked. He looked. “Yep”
“Does it say who the lead investigator was, Who was in Charge of the Drossel spy investigation during the war?” He looked it over for a minute. There located in the back pages of the report were the personnel involved in the investigation.
“Here it is; Steve, Steve Clark. He was the senior agent in charge.”
Walt read from the paper, along with the names of the other agents working the case.
“Ok, follow me a minute here, Walt. If the agents turn up something, they report it to him, and he has final say as to what is done with the information. How it's used, or not used? Then he could easily cover up , or botch an investigation, couldn’t he?” Walt thought a minute. “Yes it stands to reason, especially during the war, when there was lot happening, and I’ll bet resources were limited, or stretched. So rechecking stuff might have not been as thorough as they should have been. Wouldn’t be hard to let some stuff slip through the cracks deliberately.”
“My thoughts exactly. That added to what we now know about him now. Means he aided and abetted Drossel’s spying and probably other illegal operations during the war.” I replied. “I think I see our next visit, and I don’t plan on being so polite.” We haven’t heard from Steve Clark since I’d meet him in Robert’s office the morning after the shooting. He had been in the Warehouse when Robert was kidnapped, But had disappeared immediately afterwards. Yeah, he knew his ass was grass. I was ready to mow it it now. I called Robert. Briefly I explained what we had discovered in the reports Walt had so mysteriously come up with. I didn’t go into a lot of details over the phone, just the general outline. No he hadn’t seen or heard from Clark either, since he had been at the warehouse. It didn’t surprise us. I asked Him if he could come and watch over Brenda while Walt and I went and made some house calls. He was about done with his shift and would be over as soon as he got out of the office. I suggested that Walt go talk to Manny again. He all knew the gas station was a front for his car theft and gambling operation, and probably a lot worst. For a poor gas station owner, he had a nice place on the good side of town. It hadn’t taken much to find out where Manny lived. Walt said he’d go see Manny right after Robert got here. I told Brenda what we were planning, and that we wanted her out of the line of fire. And protected. That had asked Robert to stay here with her until we got back. She said she understood. And We didn’t really want to her involved in what we were planning. But she let me know that she was scared, and she worried about all of us. The gunfight at the dinner had really shaken her up. It hadn’t done me any good either.
I arrived at Steve Clark’s place early. No one was home. Where his wife was, was anyone’s guess. And where he was Was a even bigger guess. This time I didn’t sit outside and wait. I scouted the block, and found a way into the house. Jimming the back door was easy. For a FBI agent, his security was shit. Once in, I checked the whole house from top to bottom. I went through every closet, and drawer, and cabinet in the house. When I got done , there wasn’t a lot I didn’t know about them. I found a suitable place to talk to Steve. His office was in the back of the house. I went over it carefully to make sure there were no hidden guns or alarm buttons. This was one of the rare times I had time to prepare. Once I had everything ready two chairs rope and a blanket over the window, and my guns ready. I sat and waited. War had taught me patience. Something I usually had very little of. But I was mad. I was tired of being used as a pasty for Drossel, and his cronies, and set up for target practice. From now on, I was going to do the shooting.
It was almost dark when I heard the car drive in. I peeked out the front window it was her. I had hopped she wouldn’t show up at least not first. This was going to get ugly fast. I waited for her come in. She went straight to the kitchen and left her bags on the counter. After she’d taken off her jacket I came out of the back room.
“Mrs Clark?” I said quietly as I approached her. She didn't see me. She saw the gun in my hand. She started to scream. I hit her. Hard. Not the way I wanted to start this. She crumpled on the kitchen floor. Much like Wanda had crumbled on the cement a week before. I picked her up and dragged into the office. I tied her to the chair I’d prepared for her. Letting her sit there for a few minutes, she slowly came too again. She was scared. I didn’t blame her. But that's what I needed now. Her scared of me. I leaned back against his desk. My suit and hat neatly arranged so the guns in my holsters were visible. I spoke calmly and quietly.
“Mrs Clark. You don’t know me. But your husband, Steve dose. I have a number of important questions to ask him. Some about his work in the war. And quite a few about recent events he’s been involved with.” I thought I’d try nice and polite first, and see how far that got me.
“I’m sorry I had to hit you earlier. But I really didn't need your screaming and alerting the neighbors that something was wrong. And believe me, there is a lot wrong. Just not what you think it is. When was the last time you’ve seen Steve?”
She seemed to calm down after I apologized for hitting her. Actually I didn't mean it. But one learns to say what is needed to get what one needs. I had quite caring about who I hurt back at the dinner. I really didn’t a shit about her. But she didn’t need to know that yet. The calm polite approach seemed to work.
“I haven’t seen him in three or four days. But that’s not unusual for him. He often goes undercover for several days at a time.” She volunteered. That confirmed my suspicions. It had been at least two or three days since the warehouse incident. He had probably left town right then. I know I would have.
“You know a Wanda Reed? I asked out of the blue.
“Yes she had been over at the house for a dinner party during the summer”.
“Was she with anyone special?” I pressed.
“Yes come to think of it there was man. Steve and the three of them went into the office and talked alone several times. If I came too close they shut right up. I figured it was agency business.”
“ I see. What if I told you , Wanda Reed, that was her name, a Tall drink of water, red head, nice figure. What if I told you she was dead.?”
I let it lay for a minute. She thought.
“What happened to her?” She finally asked. Curiosity getting the best of her.
“What if I told you she meet me a on a dark corner, a week ago. And she tried to kill me.?” It sat there like so much dead weight. The look on her face became a mixture of pain from where I’d hit her, and confusion.
“Ok here’s the gist of it. Betty. The man she was with, was Philp Drossel. A german immigrant from World War One. He was a crook in Germany, and he took over here. He runs one of the biggest syndicate's operations in California. And LA. He was suspected of spying for the Germans in the last war, and Your husband Steve was in charge of the FBI investigation at the time.” That was a lot to swallow at once so I let it lay a minute. I continued.
“Several days ago, I followed Steve to a warehouse. There he meet with Drossel. He gave him FBI reports and got money in return. Then several of Drossel’s men kidnapped a friend of mine. Took him to the same warehouse. I Managed to figure out what happened. When I went into rescue my friend. Drossel was there. Along with Steve. Your husband. Betty, Your husband is as dirty as they come.” I said flatly. I took a drink of coffee. Fromt eh cup I had on the desk. And stood and let her ponder what I had just dropped on her.
I watched her face. At first she didn't believe it. Then it slowly sunk in , What I’d said was the truth. I headed for the bathroom. Coffee went in, coffee had to leave.
When I came back Betty was still sitting there. The look on her face was different.
I noticed she didn’t ask who I was. “Do you know who I am?” I asked her.
She looked up at me ; “Your James St.James. The PI Wanda was supposed to kill.” The hatred in her eyes was enough to startle me. I hadn’t seen hate like that since the war. For a second I was taken back. But instead I kept calm.
"And what makes you think that?” not confirming her answer.
“Phillip and Steve told me how you gunned down his son.” That surprised me. The last thing I expected hear from her was about was Edward Lane. The punk kid I shot back in ‘38. I let her continue. She had the upper hand for the moment.
“Philp loved that kid. My brother was devastated when you shot him. Yeah he was loudmouth bully, and was full of himself. But he was a good kid.” Suddenly it all made sense. That was why Steve and Phillip Drossel were so tight. He was married to Drossel’s sister. And being a FBI agent in charge of the investigation, it was easy for him to scuttle it. It was my turn to sit shitfaced for a minute. That explained a lot.
“Why didn't Drossel come after me at the time?” I finally asked the obvious question.
“Because Steve talked him out of it. He told him he had enough problems keeping him out of jail as it was, without his going all vendetta on you at the same time.” That made sense. There was a lot going on at the time. And going after me at the time would have been obvious. My opinion of her changed dramatically then. She was no longer the innocent caught in the middle. She was in it up to her pretty blue eyes. I suspected that the bit about him disappearing was true. But she knew more, much more. I decided that it was time to change tack.
“Betty, I think you know where Steve, and Phillip are right now.” I changed my tone from pleasant and conversational to that of “I mean business”.
She at and looked at me definitely . I pulled the Smith & Wesson Revolver from the holster on my belt. “You see this? This is the same gun I used to kill Edward with All those years ago. Now, I’m not in a hurry to hurt you, But I’m at a point I don’t care either. You wouldn’t be the first woman I’ve hit, or done worse to.” I let the threat of violence sink in for a minute, I left the gun on the desk next to me where she could see it. I drank my coffee like I had all night. Which I did.
“You make good coffee Betty.” I commented matter of factly. I got a stare back.
Finishing the coffee I debated how to approach her next. I got up and approached her . Looking down I could almost see into the top of her housedress. I swung. The back of my hand crashed against the side of her face. Whipping her back and hair in thousand different directions. She didn’t say a word . It was clear she’d been hit before.
“We can do this the easy way, or the hard way, The hard way is I beat the shit out of you and you talk, or die.” I said coldly. Suddenly the anger had returned. I didn’t really care if she talked or not. I hit her again. This time harder. She grunted from the blow. Her face was fast becoming a mess. Tears and make up running. The bruise from the original blow in the kitchen was starting to show already. Now there would be more.
“Tell me where they are. Betty, Look at me, Talk to me.” I shouted. She tried to spit at me, but got a mouthful of phlegm. I hit her several more times almost knocking the chair and her over. I walked up to her and ripped the front of her housedress down. Her bra and slip now shown. The front of her dress lay on her lap. I pulled out my switchblade. I Got close so I could cut without cutting her. I carefully slide it up inside her center of her bra. In one sharp jerk, I cut the bra in half. The two sides fell away revealing her bare breast. She didn’t say a word. Just stared at me. Most woman would have been a sobbing mess by now. And some men too. But she was a cold bitch. I stood back and watched her for several minutes. I decided it was time to get more creative. I cut her loose from the chair, made her strip. And took her to the bathroom. I started the shower as hot as I could stand it, I shoved her in the shower. Holding her head under the hot water. It was burning my hands so I knew It was far too hot for her face. After a minute I pulled out of the water. “Where are they?’ I demanded. She was a mess. I debated what to do next. Normally, I’d never hit a woman, much less abuse her like this. But at the moment she had become an enemy of the state, and as such she had no rights. I didn’t see a woman, I saw I spy, a wartime enemy of the country. And she had information I needed, and I was going to get it one way or another. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I was glad Brenda wasn't here to see this. No one should see what I had to do to her. I put her back in the hot shower again. This time I got a reaction. She cried. So I pulled her out tossed her on the bed. “How much more can you stand, Lady?” I asked. “Tell me where they're at.” I stood over her naked body. I had no intention of getting sexual with her. It wasn't about that. It was a need to know what she knew. She lay shivering on the bed. Cold and wet and naked.
“Where are they? Where’s Steve and Phillip? Tell me and I go away.” I said flatly. I had done far worst things to prisoners and informats in the war. Many of the things I’d done were when I was with OSS at the end of the war. No one knew where I’d been when I’d been declared MIA. Not even Walt, my CO. I had spent the last several months of the war behind German lines, working for the OSS Office Of Special Operations. My mere existence to them was top secret, never mind what I did. It all came down to this. I pulled out the revolver again. “You can tell me where they are, or I can kill you right now, and leave your body here for them to find. If I do that that it will be a bloody message, they won’t miss. “ I said pointing the gun at her knee. “I’ll kill you slowly and painfully. And they’ll know it.” I pulled the hammer back on the gun. Now I had to be extra careful. Once in single action, It had a light trigger. I fired. It went into the mattress half an inch from her knee.”The next one goes in the knee. And then the other knee, and then your elbows, and so on, until you tell me where they are.” I explained. “In the end you will die. It won’t be quick and painless. It slow and bloody, and nasty. But you’ll die.”
“The farmhouse. They're at the farmhouse. She finally stammered.
“What else do you know about what happening?” I pressed.
Once she started talking she talked a blue streak. She told me about the bar. How he had used it as a base of operations in town. As I had suspected. But the main operation was the farmhouse. How there was an airstrip on the backside, and they had several building outfitted as barracks for some of the men they hired. They were usually ten twelve men at that a time. And it was guarded all the time. They had left for there back after the warehouse. Yes she knew about the warehouse rescue. They had told her everything. I tossed her a bathrobe. After I locked her in the bathroom. I called Robert. He came right over with Brenda. It was not fun for her to have to see Betty Clark like I had left her. I think Brenda was a little shocked at the job I’d done on her. But she didn’t say word. Robert was about to take her into custody. And take her downtown. And booked her as a Jane Doe. Then I had a thought. She could be in danger down there. Someone might recognize her and tip off Drossel, and Cramer that we had her. They would assume she talked.
So we all headed back to Walt's place. Walt had not found Manny. He was nowhere to be found, Not at the garage, or his or his house, or any of his usual hangouts. In fact no one had seen him since I had been there the last time. But now it was the middle of the night. I was dead tired. I needed sleep. We took turns watching over her the rest of the night. Meanwhile once she had started talking she told us everything. All about the spy ring and black market in WWII. and how Steve had barely kept him out of jail.