I Confess (19 page)

Now all hell broke loose. We were holding up T don't know how many cars, horns were blowing, voices were shouting, and the policeman got down from his tower and came running across the street to us. "Have you gone crazy?" he yelled. "Move, man. Move!"

"I can't!" I yelled. "I'm stuck in third."

I demonstrated by manipulating vainly with the stick. The pohceman got behind my car and tried to push it. I started the car several times and promptly stalled it.

"Wait a minute!" Conrad jumped out, slamming the door behind him, and joined the pohceman in his effort to get the car off the street. I stepped hard on the brake so that they wouldn't succeed before I'd done what I had to do. With my left hand I held fast to the steering wheel, with my right I took the express letter to the Rhine-Bank out of Conrad's satchel and put it in my pocket. Then I took my letter to the Rhine-Bank, with the two empty sheets of paper in it, and put it in the satchel. It all happened very fast and nobody noticed anything. Conrad and the pohceman were still trying to move the car. Now I took my foot off the brake and the car out of gear. It started immediately and began to move. Conrad came

running and jumped into the car beside me. "Get going!" yelled the policeman.

I did.

The letter with the two forged checks was now safe in my pocket.

34

I left Conrad at the station post office. I watched him disappear in the entrance, then I looked at my watch. It was 4:31.

I proceeded to the Pan Am office. There was a pay lot nearby. I left my car there and walked. The bus to the airport was waiting. Before I got on I went to the men's room and tore the letter with the forged checks into small pieces and flushed them down the toilet.

The plane, a four-motor Douglas-Hudson, left punctually at six p.m. We flew into the sunset, a beautiful ffight. On the way I enjoyed a snack. The bus that took us from the airport to the center of town was there at 8:30. At nine p.m. I was in the Hotel Europa, where I had reserved a room, also in the name of James Elroy Chandler, and by 9:30 p.m. I was sleeping soundlessly and dreamlessly.

Next morning it was drizzling. A dreary day.

I rose at six, breakfasted at 6:30 and paid my bill at seven a.m. Then I took my suitcase to the Frankfurt Pan Am office. The plane back to Munich left at 9:30, the bus to the airport at 8:30. I took a taxi to the Rhine-Bank where I had a short wait. When the counters opened at eight, I asked one of the tellers if a Mr. Klaren, Joseph Maria Klaren from Heidelberg, had deposited money for

me, James Elroy Chandler. The girl T had asked said she would see and left her window. Three minutes later she came back and informed me that a Mr. Joseph Maria Klaren from Heidelberg had not deposited any money for me; in fact, there was no record at all at the bank of anyone by that name, I betrayed the fact that I found this very upsetting.

"Well, that's a blow!" I said, sounding bewildered. *T counted on the money being here." Then I brightened. "May I please send a telegram?"

"But of course," said the young lady. "In the lobby you'll find two booths for our customers. Just tell the girl at central to give you the charges and you can pay our cashier."

I thanked the girl and went out into the lobby where they connected me with the Frankfurt telegraph office. I sent the following telegram: "Checks number (and here T gave the numbers of the two forged checks which were on the receipt Kleinschmid had given me) covered and in order. Rhine-Bank Reeger."

I knew the name Reeger from a receipt for a check I had seen once in Joe's office. I sent the message by straight wire, which cost me twelve marks, forty pfennigs, and I paid at the cashier's desk. With which the purpose of my trip to Frankfurt was fulfilled and I drove back to the airline office. The plane, which left Frankfurt at 9:30 was m Munich at 11:15. At the airport I took a taxi and drove directly to the bank, arriving there at 11:45.

The minute I walked in I saw Kleinschmid. He waved me over and said, "Mr. Chandler, where have you been? We tried to reach you by phone."

"You did?" I gripped the counter. "Where?"

"We called your wife in Griinwald," he said. His voice sounded far away.

"I was . . . ," I began to say weakly, but he nodded. "She told us you'd driven out to Chiemsee to see Mr. Clayton."

"Yes. That's right." His voice was coming back again. "Did the telegram arrive?"

"An hour ago."

"Good," I said.

"Have a seat," he said. "I'll get the money.*'

I sat down fast. If I'd had to stand another minute, I would have fainted. My knees were trembling, my legs cramped up. Three minutes later Kleinschmid was back with another cashier. The second cashier watched Kleinschmid count out the money. It was given to me in bundles of one hundred marks each. Kleinschmid had prepared it on a tray. There were eighteen bundles of one hundred mark bills, and one bundle with ninety. I signed a receipt and put the bundles in an attache case I had brought with me. Then I thanked Kleinschmid for his help and wished him a good weekend and fine fishing. As I left the bank the bells began to ring on every church tower in Munich. It was twelve noon. If the Rhine-Bank didn't check by wire or telephone on the incomprehensible express letter containing two empty sheets of paper, then I had a head start of forty-eight hours until Monday morning. But I had an awful lot still to do.

First I retrieved my car. I put my suitcase on the back seat, the attache case in the trunk, after taking out some of the money and pocketmg it. Then I called Margaret and told her I was back in Munich and would be in Griinwald sometime in the afternoon. The Baxters were with her and sent greetings. "Say 'hi' for me," I said.

"I will. And come soon, Roy. I've bought wiener schnitzel for dinner."

"Fine," I said.

"Was it nice in Chiemsee?"

"Wonderful."

"Did you help Joe out of his difficulties?"

"His difficulties?" I didn't get it right away, then I grasped the fact that the remark had been made for its effect on the Baxters. "Of course," I said.

"You see," she cried with that phoney enthusiasm of

hers. "You're barely out of the hospital and already they need you. What would Joe do without you?"

"What indeed!"

"Bye, Roy. And come soon."

That was the last time I heard Margaret's voice. I never saw her again.

Now I drove down the Maximillianstrasse to the jeweler and paid for what I had bought. I wore one of the rings and had him pack the other and the snuffbox for me. The ruby I was wearing was blood red. Rings like this, the jeweler told me, you could sell anytime you liked for the same price. They were a good investment.

When I finally left his shop, with him bowing me out, I saw a delicatessen on the other side of the street. I bought a bottle of Hennessy, had them open it and asked for a paper cup. I laid the bottle beside me on the front seat. Every now and then I drank a Httle. It was still raining.

The streets were emptying in that typical Saturday afternoon exodus which all big cities have in common when I called Mordstein from a booth. "I thought something had happened to you," he said irritably.

"Everything's all right," I said, "I'U be at your house in a minute. Please come down."

He was standing on the street as I drove up and T opened the car door for him. "Get in." I drove into a quiet side street and parked. "Show me the papers," I said.

"Show me the money," he said.

I showed it to him.

He gave me the papers.

Everything was in perfect order. According to the ID card I was Walter Frank, born in Vienna on May 17, 1906, residing in Innsbruck, Kaiserallee 34, Roman-Catholic, single, profession: exporter. My passport had a German visa, valid until December, as well as several entry and exit stamps of the German Federal Republic. Birth certificate and certificate of domicile were equally satisfactory. As my father's profession the forger had

thoughtfully chosen councillor. I took a drink from the bottle, handed it to Mordstein, who also drank from it. "Here's to your future," he said smiling.

"Thanks." Then I gave him what he still had coming to him in payment for the documents. To do so I took a bundle of hundred mark notes out of my pocket, but he didn't say a word, only watched silently as I counted out the money. "There," I said. "And now . . . can your friend exchange forty thousand marks?"

"He'll exchange them in two payments. One hundred and twenty thousand schillings each payment."

"Good," I said, "Then we'U make two packages.'*

I took the brown paper and string I had bought for the purpose from the back seat and made two small packages. Each contained twenty thousand marks in one hundred mark biUs. Mordstein, who never took his eyes off me, drank from the bottle again. When I was done, we drove to the main station. I parked my car and went into the luggage office. Mordstein followed me like a shadow. He didn't let the two packages out of his sight for a moment "Are you afraid I might exchange them?"

"Of course," he said cheerfully.

I checked both packages, insured them, and received two receipts. With them I went back to my car. "What's your friend's address?" I asked.

"I've written it down for you." He gave me a slip of paper. On it was written: "Herr Ingenieur Jacob Lauter-bach, Vienna IV. Prinz-Eugenstrasse 108." Under that the telephone .number: "R 28 842." "When will you call him?" asked Mordstein.

"Monday morning."

"So you're leaving this evening?"

"Yes."

"When?"

"Are you planning to bring me flowers?"

"No," he said. "I was just asking. You don't have to answer. There are only two trains anyway."

"That's right. Would you like another drink?"

"With pleasure." This time he drank out of the paper cup and I drank from the bottle. We were standing in the rain, under a bleak sky, in the parking lot facing the station, and I could feel myself growing drowsy from the cognac. I've had enough, I thought. There was still so much to do.

"Good luck," said Mordstein and threw away the cup. "Perhaps we'll meet again some day."

"I doubt it," I said as we shook hands.

He shrugged. "You never can tell," he said, then he turned and walked off. I watched him go, then I got into my car again and took the autobahn in the direction of Stuttgart. Outside the city it was raining harder.

At the entry to the autobahn a few women were standing. Hitchhikers. But I didn't take anyone. Radio Munich was broadcasting dance music. I drove fast. An hour and a half later I was in Augsburg. I turned into an avenue lined with poplars and stopped the car. The radio was still broadcasting music, excerpts from opera now. I took out pencil and paper and began to figure.

I had paid thirty-five thousand marks for the jewelry; six thousand marks for the papers. Forty thousand were in the station luggage office—that came to eighty-one thousand marks. I had had one hundred and eighty-nine thousand marks and about three thousand of my own money. I figured what was left. Approximately a hundred and eleven thousand marks.«

I counted out fifteen thousand and put it into my left vest pocket. I put two thousand marks in my right breast pocket. With what was left I used the wrapping paper and string to make a third package, which I laid down on the seat beside me. I threw the pieces of paper on which I had done my figuring out of the window into the flooded gutter. Then I drove down the avenue into Augsburg. It was three p.m. when I reached the station and here too there was a holiday atmosphere. I checked the package in the luggaee office and sent the fifteen thousand marks I had put aside to Margaret by money order. The man at

the window told me the money would reach her on Monday. Then I bought some stationery, got gas and drove back to the autobahn.

About twenty-five kilometers out of Augsburg I saw a large gas station with a few trucks parked in front of it. There was a diner next to the gas station. It was pleasantly warm inside. Two waitresses were waiting on a lot of guests. I found an empty table by the window and ordered coffee.

Drops were running dovm the windowpane. The flat land in front of it was shrouded in fog, the earth in the fields gleamed wet and black. On the horizon a road ran up a short hill and the leafless trees on the top were silhouetted against the grey sky. I drank my coffee, took the cap off my pen and wrote two letters.

35

Dear Margaret,

I am writing this shortly before my depar-. ture. When you read it I will already have left the country. You will find it useless to notify the police and try to find me because I have changed my name and am traveling with false papers. I have just sent you fifteen thousand marks which you should receive on Monday. The money should make it possible for you to liquidate our household and go home. I regret the fact that I will no longer be able to support you in the future and feel that the best thing for you to do would be to go home to your parents. I am going to spend the rest of my life traveling and don't know whether I shall be writing to you again. I doubt it. I

am purposely avoiding a personal farewell and am writing this letter to avoid a scene which would be harrowing for both of us.

I can't expect you to forgive me for what I am doing, but I have given it much thought for a long time and beUeve it is the only thing to do. I want to be alone. I don't love you anymore, and I have to get away. It is a small comfort to me that, with the help of your parents, you should at least not find yourself in financial difl&culties.

I don't know what more to say. It is quite possible that, to some extent, I am already not entirely sane, and I beg you to see it that way if it makes it easier to bear what is happening. Take care. Yours, Roy.

36

Dear Yolanda,

You win find this letter waiting for you when you get back. I want to let you know herewith that I am leaving the country and you will never see me again. I am not well, as you suppose, but am suffering from a terminal illness and have only a year to live. I shall spend the year Uving under a false name and traveling. I hope things continue to go well with you and that you won't be involved too much in the scandal-surrounding me. The best thing for you to do would be to also get away for a while. Yours, Jimmy.