Kolchak: The Night Stalker: A Black and Evil Truth (18 page)

CHAPTER 19

THURSDAY, MAY 28, 1970

MORNING

I was ushered into Sheriff Lane’s private office by Jenks who told me to wait and then disappeared. Soon he returned and told me to go up to the D.A.’s office. Once inside, I was told to sit in a chair facing Paine’s desk where he sat shuffling papers and looking grim and unshaven. To his left was Chief Butcher. To his right, Sheriff Lane, Jenks and Masterson positioned themselves behind me at the door, their arms folded over their chests. The only other “wheel” missing from the little scene was Bernie Fain.

Paine picked up some papers and began to read: “For release after 9:00 A.M. Thursday, May 28, 1970; from Thomas Paine, Jr., District Attorney, Clark County, Nevada–to all news media.

“This morning shortly before sunrise, Las Vegas sheriff’s deputies under the command of Lieutenant Williams A. Jenks, thirty-five, day-division commander of uniformed forces, surrounded the home of Janos Skorzeny, a fugitive from a federal warrant for entering the country under false papers, and, in a pitched gun-battle instigated by Skorzeny were forced to kill him by gunfire.

“Apparently, Skorzeny, wanted for questioning by local police in a series of recent murders done through the use of an unidentified poison, and also wanted by Canadian authorities in Vancouver, Montreal and Ottawa as well as by the Metropolitan Police of London, had explosives and gasoline stored in his home at 3779 Spencer Road. There were two explosions and the house was gutted. Authorities are still trying to determine the cause of the fire and, at this writing, units of the Clark County Fire Department are battling the blaze which has been contained in the home.

“Skorzeny, a British citizen with forged Canadian papers, was sought by both British and Canadian authorities for questioning on several counts ranging from theft to forgery. Before he died he openly boasted of having killed four women and one man with what he claimed, according to officers present, was a highly efficient and ‘untraceable’ poison. He admitted that they were thrill killings and made him feel strong and superior to all authority.

“It is possible Skorzeny may have perished by his own hand as he boasted he would never be taken alive. Twice before he had eluded local authorities who were unable to trace his hiding place until last night.

“Bernard Fain, Special Agent-in-Charge of the local FBI office and the man in overall command of the manhunt for Skorzeny, feels that the man behind the recent and brutal murders of five local residents may be the same one responsible for several crimes of violence in Great Britain. Again Fain says that as far as the Bureau is concerned, the file on Janos Skorzeny is closed and he expressed the Bureau’s thanks for the fine job done by local law enforcement agencies and the cooperation of the Las Vegas District Attorney’s Office.”

“What kind of lousy deal is this?” I screamed as I leaped out of my chair. Jenks and Masterson firmly shoved me back into it.

“This,” began Paine, “is what is going out to the papers and the radio and TV people. It will go out under your exclusive byline with a comment on how you cooperated ‘closely with authorities’ and were in on the entire operation from start to finish.”

“The hell you say! What kind of goddamn snow-job is this? You promised…”

“Shut up, Kolchak. You’re in a lot of trouble so just pipe down and listen,” said Butcher.

Paine started in again. “No one is ever going to know about the stakes and Holy Water bit, Kolchak. Your friend at the furniture store only knows that he made up a large order of tent stakes for several gentlemen who paid cash and bought in bulk. None of the priests who were contacted are going to talk. All the loose ends are being gathered in.”

“And what’s to stop me from blabbing this story once I leave here?”

“You, Kolchak. You’re going to stop yourself. Because if you open your mouth, the press release will never be issued. And if you wait until it is, we’ll deny it and arrest you for murder. Murder, Kolchak!”

“What murder?” But I was already beginning to see what was going on.

“Why, Kolchak. You’ve got a very short memory. Lieutenant Jenks over there told me not more than an hour ago you pounded a wooden stake through the heart of a man who was wanted for questioning–questioning mind you–in a murder investigation. He had not been arrested or even charged. You didn’t give the officers time for that. You broke up their stakeout after we were kind enough to let you go along and you rushed in ahead of them and killed Janos Skorzeny before you could be stopped. You were out of your head ranting and raving something crazy about Skorzeny being a vampire and you had to save the world. You set fire to the house with flares and gasoline before you could be stopped. That, Mr. Kolchak, is Murder One. At the very least, you’ll have to plead insanity and I can assure you that you’ll win your case and be committed to Sparks for the remainder of your life. We’ll see to that.”

“You miserable sonofabitch. I helped pull your fat out of the fire and you’re setting me up for a public hanging! What about all the witnesses?”
“What witnesses? People who saw Skorzeny? Saw him do what? Walk through a hospital? Beat up some hospital employees? Run from some police officers? Buy a car? No one actually saw him kill anyone.”

“But one of your own people, a police officer, was killed by him!”

“Regrettable but explainable. It happens.”

“What about my paper?”
“Jake is cooperating with us all the way. This is his town and he has many investments here. He doesn’t want to ruin Las Vegas’ image by letting a ridiculous story like this get out.”

“Yeah? What about Bernie Fain?

“Bernie is going to have a recurrence of an old service injury and retire, shortly.”

“What about Mokurji? He works for another police department. You can’t scare them off or buy them out. I’ve go you there.”

“Uh… interdepartmental cooperation. Dr. Mokurji will be granted some money for private research… in Bombay. He should be leaving by the first of next week.”

Well, that stopped me. Stopped me cold.

“One other thing, Mister Kolchak,” Paine added, “you are going to leave town very shortly due to personal reasons… perhaps for your ‘health.’ It’s being arranged now. So, I hope for your sake you don’t decide to start crying ‘Wolf!’ It won’t do a bit of good.

“Just accept things for what they are. You’re a pretty smart man. You know where your bread is buttered. You can always find a job in another city. And, as long as you keep your mouth shut, you’ll get along just fine. Now do we hand out this press release and win you the crime coverage award of 1970? Or do you want to play it the hard way?”

I just sat there.

“Well?”

“OK,” I told him. “You win.”

CHAPTER 20

I went home alone, took off my coat, knocked the phone off the hook, and forgot about the world with the aid of two bottles of bourbon. The next night I called Sam and asked her to dinner, hinting very broadly at what had happened. She didn’t ask questions. She’d read Thursday’s “canned account” of the Spencer Road Shootout as it had been billed. She told me to come over to her place and we’d have a couple of steaks. She said she’d be sorry to see me go but she knew me better than anyone else and she knew I’d have to leave. You just can’t fight city hall.

By the following Monday, I was feeling a tiny bit better and showed up at the office to find I was back to a routine beat of covering petty thefts, robberies and helping compile the local death-on-the-highways report for the paper. Since I still seemed to have a job, I slipped out of the office around 1:00 P.M. and drove over to Parkway to see how the Misses Katz and Riegel were doing.

Dr. Welles coldly informed me that Miss Katz had been released by her parents’ request and that she’d been taken to a private sanitarium out of state. I was unable to trace her. Carolyn Riegel, I was informed, was dead, and had succumbed to “exhaustion complicated by malnutrition,” during the weekend. She’d had funeral services at the Willows early that morning and was, by now, cremated.

I returned to the Daily News and wrote an angry story which I shoved under Vincenzo’s nose and stalked out of the office. It purported that Carolyn Riegel was actually the final victim of Janos Skorzeny and if she hadn’t been killed outright at the hospital she was definitely a suicide. By me, it was murder. It just took a little longer than the others, is all.

Then I went looking for a movie to take my mind off all that had occurred. I found it at the Fremont Theatre, a block from where Hemphill’s body had been found: A Man Called Horse, starring Richard Harris. That’s all I remember. I sat, filled myself with cheap hotdogs and coke, and then went home to bed, reminding myself, “Ah, well, tomorrow’s another day.”

That observation proved only too accurate.

CHAPTER 21

TUESDAY, JUNE 2, 1970

When I got my morning paper–from my neighbor’s doormat–I discovered my story hadn’t been printed at all. And I wasn’t too surprised. Then I went down and checked my mail. There were three envelopes, all addressed to me and none of them had stamps on them. The first one contained the following message from the law firm of Bregman, Whittle and Castellano:

Dear Mr. Kolchak:

I have been contacted by one of my clients concerning an impromptu investigation and intended article by you on the alleged suicide/murder of Miss Carolyn Riegel, and the alleged removal of her body from Parkway Hospital without proper death certificates.

This is to inform you that Dr. Stoddard Welles, the Chief Resident at Parkway Hospital and the physician in attendance to Miss Riegel, personally signed the death certificate and photostats are available upon request to any legitimate authority.

Further, the death certificate states the cause of Miss Riegel’s unfortunate and untimely demise was “nervous exhaustion and extreme malnutrition, complicated by bronchial pneumonia.”

Miss Riegel’s mother and our client have expressed the explicit desire that Miss Riegel’s reputation and her poor mother’s privacy be respected by a minimum of notoriety.

In the event that anything is published to the contrary in your newspaper under your by-line, or by you through any other source, concerning the circumstances of Miss Riegel’s death, it will leave us no alternative but to bring appropriate legal action against you. I certainly hope this will not be necessary.

Respectfully yours,

Louis R. Bregman

Envelope number two contained a check for my last two weeks’ work in May and another for the week of June 1 through June 5. Also inside was a short letter of recommendation personally signed by Llewellyn Cairncross, himself.

The final envelope contained a brief note from Jake Herman’s assistant, Bess Melvin:

Dear Carl

We are going to miss you around here quite a lot.

Things may be somewhat the same after you’re gone. You know, confusing, upsetting and frustrating, but that’s what keeps us all happy and trying, I guess.

If you ever decide to come back rest assured you have at least one friend in the front office. We could sure use you behind an editor’s desk. As things are now… well you know what the Daily’s newsroom is like… you can never tell what will come out of it.

Take good care of yourself and let us know where you are when you settle down.

Regards,

Bess

Well, there it was. The final knot. All the ends nicely tied up.

I decided prolonged good-byes were more than I’d be able to take right then so I threw what clothing I had in the car, started lugging my stereo and TV downstairs, and spent the rest of the day getting things straightened up around the apartment. I called Sam and asked her to meet me at the Dome of the Sea at seven. Might as well have one big, expensive meal to leave town on.

Over dinner I told her what had happened, and told her that I’d let her know where to send my scrapbooks, files and mementos. I added she could sell, give away or take whatever furniture she wanted and send me whatever money it brought in. My rent had been paid for the month so there was no great rush. I asked her to return Dr. Helms’ books to her at the university.

On our way out I gave Frederick, the maitre d’, a ten-dollar bill. Carl Kolchak. The last of the big-time spenders. Then I kissed Sam good-bye and got in my car, laying another dollar tip on the attendant. Before nine o’clock I was on the road to L.A. There wasn’t anything to look back for.

I just considered myself lucky to get out of Las Vegas alive.

EPILOGUE

On Wednesday, September 9, 1970, Bernie Fain, fifty-seven, was found dead in a tool shed behind his nine-room frame house on West Ironsides, a privately owned island in the Thousand Islands in upper New York State. It is reported that he died of an “overdose of sleeping pills” and arrangements were made by some of his former associates for his funeral and subsequent cremation at the Ridgefield Mortuary in Clayton, New York on Friday, September 11, 1970.

• • •

On Thursday, October 15, 1970, Miss Amanda Staley, fifty-nine, a retired nurse residing in Glendale, California, was found dead of an apparent heart attack on the kitchen floor of her apartment at 11472 East Broadway. No funeral services were held and she was cremated at the Eagle Vista Mortuary in Eagle Rock, California, on Saturday, October 17 at about 11:00 A.M. She left no survivors and the arrangements were made by “friends and former associates” in Las Vegas.

• • •

Las Vegas show producer Henri St. Claire reportedly died in the much-publicized crash of an Aeroflot (Soviet) Antonov 24 turboprop airliner during the unsuccessful hijack attempt by two Rumanian nationals on October 19, 1970. St. Claire had been in Rumania negotiating with the manager of the Rumanian National Folk Dancing Company and certain government officials, pursuant to bringing the troupe to Las Vegas for a premiere appearance at the Deauville Hotel in January, 1971. Due to the international complications which have arisen in this matter, there is no further information available at this time and his body has not been recovered.

• • •

On Friday, November 13, Carl Kolchak, forty-eight, former Las Vegas newsman was reported missing from his bachelor apartment in the 1700 block of North Vermont Avenue. His landlady claimed he disappeared owing two months rent. Apparently he left everything behind except the clothes on his back.

I questioned her a few days later and she told me he’d had a visit from one Rupert Koster who claimed to be Kolchak’s close friend. Kolchak was out and Koster left no message but the landlady told Kolchak of the visit. I imagine that is when he took off. Rupert Koster is an assistant district attorney in Las Vegas, and, from what I can gather, is very definitely no friend of Carl Kolchak’s.

I have not seen Kolchak since those meetings we had in his apartment. I don’t even know if he is alive. Nor do I intend to try finding out. If he is alive, I hope he reads this. And I hope he likes it… wherever he is.

Jeff Rice

Hollywood, Calif.