I Confess (18 page)

"What do you mean?"

"The place is yours, Jimmy. I'll be going with them, naturally."

That was better than anything I could have hoped for. "Then could I have my money now?"

"But of course, Jimmy." He rang and his bookkeeper came in. Joe told him to make out a personal check for

me and bring it in to him to be signed. The bookkeeper withdrew. I rose to leave.

"You don't have to rush right off, Jimmy."

"I think I should, I know you're up to your ears. Til wait outside."

I could see he was touched by my tactfulness; as we shook hands, there were tears in his eyes. "Good old Jimmy! Have a great time in those two weeks. Make them count."

"But we'll be seeing each other this evening, won't we?"

"That's right," he said, looking confused. "Of course we will."

I nodded again and walked into the bookkeeper's office which was adjacent to Joe's. He was alone and was writing my check. The book out of which he had torn the check lay to one side, and a small safe with cash, papers and other checkbooks stood open.

"Just a minute, Mr. Chandler," he said, rising. He blew on the check so that it would dry faster.

"Is it all right if I wait here?"

"Please do," he said and walked into Joe's office.

In seconds I was standing in front of the open safe. One look, a motion, and I had what I wanted—an already started Rhine-Bank checkbook on the account of the Frankfurt firm. I tore out three checks, stuck them in my pocket and sat down again. The bookkeeper came back and gave me my check which Joe had signed. I had taken my first step.

Looking back now I see that it was really the riskiest one. Ever5rthing that followed, although exciting enough in itself, was reaUy much simpler and happened as a consequence of this first step.

During the next three days I lay in my lounge chair in the garden and rested. Margaret made several efforts to turn the conversation to myself, my illness, the future and the problems it posed for her, but I cut her short every

time and she didn't seem to have the courage to pursue the topics against my will.

"I can't tell you anything yet," I said. "You'll have to give me time. It's not easy for me."

"I know, Roy," she whispered. "Isn't there any way I can help you?"

"Just leave me alone for a while," I begged.

I used this time alone for a precise and sober review of my chances and what had to be tackled next. And I had plenty to think through. On Wednesday I started practicing the signatures of the gentlemen Liddleton and Hill (K.M.) I had found some old business correspondence with their signatures. I didn't know either of them. Just for the fun of it I tried to imagine what they looked like. I decided that Liddleton was short, fat and mean with an inclination to apoplexy. HiU I liked to see as an ascetic-— pale, monkish, haunting dark streets at night, driven by evil impulses. By afternoon I had reached a point where I was ready to write their names on the checks. The results weren't too precise but that didn't matter because the checks were never meant to reach the Rhine-Bank.

I wrote two checks—one for one hundred and four thousand, six hundred and fifty German marks, the other for eighty-four thousand, five hundred. I didn't choose round numbers on purpose. I used the typewriter for everything except the signatures. It would be a simple matter to identify the typewriter as mine; it would not be so simple to find me. J burned the third check and the paper on which I had practiced the signatures. Then I went out into the garden again, stretched out on my lounge chair and went on thinking.

On" Thursday afternoon I drove to the bank. I wasn't there long. All I did was take one of the bank envelopes that were available at every desk. The envelope bore the address of the bank. I stuck it in my pocket, went home, and on my typewriter wrote the address of the Rhine-Bank on the envelope, also the words "Registered," and "Express." Finally I stuck two empty sheets of typewrit-

ing paper into the envelope and sealed it. This envelope was to play an important part in my scheme.

On Friday morning I had a quarrel with Margaret. I told her I was going to drive to Chiemsee and stay the night because I wanted to watch the outdoor shooting. She loved the idea and started readying herself for the trip, and I saw myself forced to clear up the misunderstanding. "I would like to go alone, Margaret"

"You don't want to take me with you?"

"I'd prefer not to."

She stared at me for a moment, then she said, "I see," and turned away.

"I see what?"

"Nothing."

She was looking out into the garden. Her shoulders were shaking. She was crying again. She cried frequently these days.

"Why are you crying?"

"rm not crying," she sobbed.

"Because I want to be alone for one day?"

She wheeled around. Her cheeks were wet, but in her eyes a crazy fire was burning. It didn't look to me like compassion or understanding.

"It has nothing to do with one day! I know you're not going to Chiemsee. And I don't care. But we've got to talk this thing over, all of it. And we've got to talk about it nowr

"Why?"

"Because we can't go on like this. Don't you realize that I can't take it any longer? For God's sake tell me the truth. You've been lying out there in the garden for a week, thinking. Thinking about what? Why won't you tell me?"

"Not yet," I said. But there was a crazy desire within me, trembling to tell her. Soon, I thought, with a feeUng of exultation, soon you'll find out. Soon everything will come clear, blindingly clear!

The short quarrel got her nowhere. I drove off alone;

she stayed in Griinwald. I said I would be back sometime on Saturday. She accepted it in the resigned conviction that I was going to see Yolanda and that there was nothing she could do about it. I could see her in the rear view mirror of my car as I drove off. She stood there motionless, her face a mask of confusion and frustration.

Her idee fixe that I was going to see Yolanda gave me an idea. When I got to the city, I went to a post oflSce and put through a call to Chiemsee. I asked to speak to Joe Qayton. I was lucky. He was available. "Joe," I said with that special joviaUty men adopt when they have something like this on their minds, "You've got to do me a favor."

"Yes, Jimmy?"

"I've told Margaret Tm coming up to spend a day with you, on location, and that I'll be spending the night in Chiemsee."

"Great Jimmy! That's a wonderful idea." It sounded sincere. He was really pleased. ' "Only I'm not coming," I said.

"No?"

"No. I'm spending the night somewhere else."

An embarrassed silence followed. Joe was fond of Margaret. He preferred me, but he didn't hke what I was getting him involved in. "You understand, Joe?"

"Yes, Jimmy, I understand."

"And if she calls ..."

"Yes, Jimmy. It's all right. Then IT! say you're here but you're sleeping or have gone off fishing, something like that."

"Thanks, Joe."

"It's all right." A pause. Then, "Jhnmy?"

"Yes?"

"Must you?"

"Yes, Joe."

"Margaret's a good wife."

"That she is."

"And just the same..." i

"Yes/' I said, "just the same. I have something important I've got to attend to." And with that I was speaking the truth.

I spent the whole day in the city. I had put a small suitcase with some underwear and my shaving kit in the car. After lunch I drove to a jeweler in the Maximilian-strasse and had him show me some jewelry. It took the man a while to realize it was my intention to convert what money I had into jewelry. For that moment on I was treated with excessive courtesy. I spent about an hour in the shop. In the end I chose three pieces—an antique ruby ring with diamonds, shaped like a snake and set in platinum; a modem emerald ring and a gold snuff box with two interwoven s^phire motifs on the lid. The rings were of a type a man could wear. Together the three pieces cost thirty-iSive thousand marks. I said I had some formalities to attend to at the bank and that I would be back on Saturday before noon. I left a thousand marks as down payment and gave my real name: James Elroy Chandler. The jeweler seemed to have had plenty of experience with Americans. He didn't show the sHghtest astonishment, neither over the large sum of money involved nor over the nonchalance with which I made the pxir-chase.

At three p.m. I drove to Pan American Airways and paid for the round trip ticket to Frankfurt which I had ordered previously by phone. This, too, under the name of James Elroy Chandler. It meant a lot to me to use my own name as often as possible during these last hours. My plane left at six; the bus to the airport at five; at 8 p.m. the plane would be in Frankfurt. I left my suitcase at the Pan Am office. Then I called Mordstein and asked him if I could count on the papers. "Yes," he said. "And can I count on the money?"

"Certainly," I replied and hung up. In the next moment I felt dizzy and had to hang onto the side of the booth. Suddenly I could see clearly what I had let myself in for. I felt hot and cold, but I gritted my

teeth and the dizzy spell passed. I dried my forehead with my handkerchief and left the booth. The time was 3:30 p.m.

33

I drove to the bank and parked opposite the entrance. The afternoon traflSc was heavy; quite a few people were on the street. I waited until five minutes to four. I knew that the bank closed at four. At 3:55 I left my car and walked into the bank.

The lobby was almost empty; most of the windows were already closed. I looked all around me. To my reUef I saw Kleinschmid. He came up to his window, smiling, and greeted me in a friendly fashion. It was just two minutes to four.

"Listen, Peter," I said. "YouVe got to help me. I'm in a real bind. My company's on location in Chiemsee and they've sent me here with these two bank checks." I laid them down in front of him and watched him sharply as he picked them up and looked at them.

One minute to four.

I felt as if I were in a movie and watching myself on the screen. I wasn't the least excited, all I felt was a scientific interest—^would my deception succeed or not?

"It's a lot of money, Mr. Chandler," said Klemschmid, putting the checks down again.

"It's a production instaUment," I said. "The actors and technicians are sitting out there in Chiemsee, waiting for their money. Things will come to a standstill if we haven't cashed the checks by Monday."

Four o'clock.

*The bank is closed. Will everybody please leave," said the doorman.

"I'm terribly sorry, Mr. Chandler, but T really have no idea how I could possibly help you." Kleinschmid shrugged helplessly. Behmd him his colleagues were locking their desks, secretaries hurried back and forth, there was an atmosphere of closing time. At some distance I saw a pimply boy going from desk to desk, picking up the mail.

"Couldn't you send the checks to Frankfurt express," I begged, "and ask them to wire the reply. Don't you remember—I had the idea when we met the first time."

"Yes, Mr. Chandler...." He hesitated, turned the checks front to back and front again, seemingly undecided. "But we really don't have the time. The Frankfurt train leaves at five, that's in an hour ... I can't see how we can still catch it."

"The boy over there," I pointed out the pimply kid with his shock of red hair, "isn't he going to the post office?"

"Yes, but not to the one at the station. He goes to the one around the corner."

"Couldn't he just this once ... ?"

"It's the end of the day for him too, Mr. Chandler."

"I have my car outside. I could drive him to the station."

"WeU now..."

Kleinschmid was still hesitating. Three minutes past four. The bank had emptied. The doorman came over to me. "I'm going to lock up," he said.

"Just a minute," I said and Kleinschmid gave him a nod. He left us. Kleinschmid turned. "Conrad!" .

The boy came over to us.

"Yes, Mr. Kleinschmid."

"Would you drive to the post office at the station with this gentleman and mail a letter for us. It's very important."

"Very important," I repeated and gave the boy five marks.

"Thank you," said Conrad. "Sure, Mr. Kleinschmid. I'll be glad to." He had acne, poor kid, and was altogether at an unfortunate age. His voice was breaking.

Kleinschmid looked around. "All the girls are gone," he said. "I've got to enclose a letter...."

He took a typewriter from one of the desks, put it on his counter and began to type. He wrote down the numbers of the checks. I watched him. When I gathered that he was done, I went over to one of the customer desks and took one of the bank envelopes. "Here you are," I said. He took it.

"Rhine-Bank," he typed and the address.

"Put on 'Express' and 'Registered,' " I said.

He did so.

Now the envelope looked exactly like the one I had in my pocket. Kleinschmid put in the checks and sealed the envelope.

"Let me have the book," he told Conrad.

Conrad handed him a black book and Kleinschmid entered the address on the letter. It was the mailing book. Registered letters were receipted alongside the^ address in the book. Finally Kleinschmid gave me receipts for both checks.

"Thank you so much, Peter," I said. "I'll be eternally grateful."

"That's perfectly all right, Mr. Chandler," he said with his friendly smile. "But now get going or you won't catch the five o'clock train."

"That's right," I said. "Come on, Conrad."

I watched the boy put our letter in his satchel. There were a lot of other letters in it. Mine lay on top. It was an ordinary satchel, easy to open.

"I'U come by tomorrow around ten," I told Kleinschmid as I hurried out of the bank behind Conrad.

"Very good, Mr. Chandler," he called out

The doorman held the door open for us as we hurried out into the street.

"There's my car." I pointed across the street. By now traffic was heavy. I let the boy get in first, he opened my door for me and I slipped into the driver's seat. The time was 4:12.

The satchel with the mail lay between us on the front seat. I drove cautiously out into the traffic, and we were on our way to the station. When I reached the Odeon-platz, I braked sharply, tried to start off again in third and stalled the car. In the middle of the street. Behind us cars started blowing their horns, a pohceman in his tower yelled down at us to keep moving. I shook the stick and pretended I couldn't get it out of gear. "What's the matter?" Conrad asked excitedly.