The Lisbon Crossing (2 page)
I
t turned out that Lili knew more about my New York days than I thought she did. She knew about Johnny Kaye and the Kit Kat Klub and the graft, bribery, and corruption that went with it. She knew about Arthur Wahlberg, too, the two-bit Broadway director that Johnny wasted for fucking his girlfriend and then tried to pin on me. It was my one-way ticket out of the rackets and onto the rails—two years drifting west, broke, and trying to steer clear of the law. As it turned out, there was no need. When I hit L.A. I found out that Johnny had shot the girl, too, then swallowed a bullet himself. The cops decided to drop the whole inconvenient mess, but the idea that I was the guy who killed Wahlberg never quite died.
Lili played all this back to me on the flight east, implying that a guy with my kind of history might be useful in whatever it was she was up to. I didn’t say anything one way or another, which she seemed to like, probably assuming it meant I was a cold-blooded killer.
I didn’t get her story until two days later, as we were sailing out of New York Harbor. Lili looked every inch the star in dark shades, white tailored suit, and matching silk scarf tied around her chin. The July sky couldn’t have been more blue. We watched Manhattan slip into the distance for what seemed like a long time, then Lili turned around and handed me a grainy photograph of a young woman in a small boat, the kind you rent in a city park on a bright summer’s day. The girl was seventeen or eighteen, I guessed. More striking than beautiful, at least in the Hollywood sense of the word, she had long, dark hair that swept across high, delicate cheekbones and landed gently on her shoulders. Her gaze met the lens straight on, but her eyes were in shadow, protected from the harsh light by an extended right hand. She had a warm, natural, unguarded smile, but she kept something in reserve, too.
“Who is she?” I asked.
“A friend. From long ago. She’s the reason we’re going to Lisbon.” Lili waited for a reaction but I didn’t give her one, so she continued.
“Her name is Eva…Eva Lange. I’ve known her since I was nine years old, when she moved into the apartment below us in the Kreuzberg. Her father had come home to Berlin after Eva’s mother, who was English, died suddenly in London. Eva was a quiet, lonely thing…younger than me by four years, but there were no other children in the building, so I took her under my wing. We became inseparable. We even made a blood oath once that we would always stay together.”
Lili smiled bittersweetly as the memory washed over her.
“But life took over, of course. We grew up. Eva went on to university and I went onto the stage. We saw less and less of each other and then we lost touch altogether. Until May of 1927. As I was packing to go to Hollywood, I received an invitation to a concert. Eva played the cello, quite beautifully. But on that night, she was exceptional. She played like an angel, and I felt as though it was for me alone.”
“I brought flowers backstage and took her to the best restaurant in Berlin. We drank too much champagne and laughed a lot, then…well, we went our separate ways. Eva promised to visit me in America, but…” She shrugged, letting all the reasons hang in the air.
“You never saw her after that?”
“No.” Lili turned her face into the breeze. “Now I want to get her out of that insanity over there.”
“What makes you think she’s in Lisbon?”
“Last September, when the war broke out, I decided to find her. I should’ve done it years ago, but…” She remembered her cigarette, took a cursory drag, and tossed it overboard.
“I made inquiries, phoning old friends and neighbors, but it was impossible. Even when I could get through, nobody was willing to talk. It was strange. They’d all changed. As though they’d become different people.” She paused for a moment, then shrugged it off.
“It seemed hopeless, and I was ready to give up. Then, two months ago, a letter arrived. It was postmarked from Zurich, but it was from Eva’s father, in Berlin. He’d been looking for his daughter since the war broke out, when she disappeared from Hamburg, where she’d
been living. Just vanished, he said. When he heard I was looking for her, too, he thought I must be the answer to his prayers. Surely a big star like me could find his daughter before the Nazis did.” She gave me a look. “What hope is there for the Third Reich when a star as big as Lili Sterne is involved?
“Anyway, it made me more determined than ever to find her. If she was running from the Nazis, there must’ve been a reason. Her father had heard a rumor from some of her friends that she’d gone to Amsterdam, but he hadn’t been able to reach her at the address he’d been given. Then, in May, Holland was invaded. Perhaps she’d escaped again, perhaps she’d gone into hiding, or perhaps she’d never been there in the first place. He didn’t know. He gave me the address and telephone number in Amsterdam and wished me good luck. There was no return address on the envelope.”
“Not much to go on,” I said.
“No,” Lili agreed. “But being me has its advantages. I spoke to a friend I have in Washington. He arranged for the American ambassador to go around to the address I’d been given.”
There was no need to ask who her friend was. Even though she never talked about it—not with me anyway—it was common knowledge that Lili enjoyed a “special relationship” with Roosevelt, regularly dining at the White House and seeing the president when he came west. If I had to guess, I’d say that there was nothing romantic about it, but I could’ve been wrong. After all, he was married to Eleanor—quite a lady, to be sure, but not exactly oozing with sex appeal.
“The ambassador found out from the neighbors that Eva had indeed been there, but she’d left quickly, shortly after the Nazis had marched in. The neighbors thought that she’d gone to Paris, but they couldn’t be sure. At any rate, they had no name or address.”
“I’d say it sounds like a dead end if we weren’t on our way to Lisbon.”
“I was planning to go to Paris myself, but the Nazis got there first,” Lili said. “So I hired Eddie Grimes.”
Eddie Grimes needed no introduction. He was a run-of-the-mill
snoop from San Francisco who’d managed to convince the Hollywood elite that he was a combination of Sherlock Holmes and Dick Tracy. If you had a problem and lots of money to waste, Eddie was your man. There were plenty of better guys around, but nobody half as overpriced, and that meant a lot to Lili’s crowd.
“I told him I wanted him to drop everything and go to Europe. I didn’t care what it cost.” My mind boggled at what he must’ve been soaking her for.
“I’m not sure Eddie Grimes was the right guy to—”
“He phoned me a week later with news that Eva was in Lisbon.”
“Like I said, there’s nobody better than Eddie.”
“He told me she’d arrived from Paris a few days earlier. She’d been trying to get passage to London, but as far as Eddie could tell, she had no money and wasn’t going anywhere. I instructed him to make contact and hand her the letter I’d given him for her.”
“What did the letter say?”
“To go with Eddie to New York, where I would meet them.”
I waited for more but nothing came. Lili removed a piece of folded paper from her handbag and gave it to me.
“This arrived the next day,” she said.
I unfolded the thin sheet, which turned out to be a Western Union telegram. It was dated the same day Lili had phoned me at home and invited me to lunch.
It went like this:
MISS LILI STERNE
228
ROXBURY DRIVE
BEVERLY HILLS CALIFORNIA USA
JUNE
26, 1940, 11:32
AM PST
APOLOGIES TO REPORT MISTER E GRIMES DEAD IN CAR STOP BELIEVE HE WAS IN YOUR EMPLOYMENT STOP PLEASE CONTACT ME, YOUR SERVANT, CAPITAO J CATELA
GUARDA NATIONALE REPUBLICANA, LISBOA END
The coffee
was as thick as black crude, but it delivered a nice kick, so I signaled the waiter for another. I had an hour to kill and it felt good to be soaking up sun on dry land, a soft morning breeze gently rustling the poplar trees overhead. I sat back and breathed it in.
The
Manhattan
had slipped into her berth early, just before dawn, and I was roused a few minutes later by a sharp knock on the door. Dressed to the nines with two dark-skinned porters and a pile of Louis Vuitton in tow, Lili greeted me with a look of disdain, apparently annoyed that I was still in my pajamas twenty minutes after the sun had cracked the horizon. She breezed past me and did a quick turn around the cabin while informing me that a car was waiting on the dock to take me to police headquarters. I’d meet up with Captain Catela then proceed to the Hotel Palacio, a five-star beach resort twenty miles west of the city, where she’d be waiting for my report. It wasn’t put in the form of a suggestion, so I didn’t bother with a protest.
The Hollywood rumor mill was already grinding out whispers about Eddie Grimes’s demise, so it was no surprise that Lili had a last-minute change of heart about meeting up with the Lisbon police.
It seemed unlikely that even Hedda Hopper would have operatives in Lisbon, but you never know, and if the rags linked Lili to Grimes’s death, they’d have a field day. Anyway, I was happy enough to be on my own. Shadowing a screen goddess wasn’t the easiest way to travel.
The waiter appeared and looked me over carefully while he served up my second cup.
“American?” he ventured.
“That’s right.” I nodded. He leaned over the table, brushed some imaginary crumbs onto his tray.
“I get you big money for American passport.” He shot me a knowing look, stepped back, and waited for a response, tray tucked neatly under his arm.
“What would I use, then?”
“I sell you one,” he winked. “I make you nice price. You make a profit.”
“I’ll keep it in mind,” I said, and he waltzed off happily, whistling a tune as he went. Business was too good, I guess, to worry about one reluctant customer.
I sipped the coffee and thought about the best way to handle the authorities. I knew they knew that Eddie was working for Lili, but I had no idea what else they knew. I’d have to play it by ear.
C
aptain Jose Luiz Ernesto Teixara da Catela sprang to his feet, scurried around his hand-carved seventeenth-century desk, and was halfway to the door before he realized that no movie star would be coming through it. He came to an abrupt halt and stood at attention, his left eyebrow punctuating his face with a question mark.
“Jack Teller,” I said, stepping forward with an outstretched hand. “I represent Miss Sterne.”
The captain’s square-jacketed shoulders sagged perceptibly. “I see,” he said, forgoing the handshake and motioning me into one of two armchairs sitting across from the desk he’d just abandoned.
“I understood that Miss Sterne would herself be present this morning,” he said in heavily accented, but pretty good English. “I hope she’s not unwell.”
“Just a little tired after the long voyage,” I said, my voice bouncing between the high ceiling and the hard tiles on the floor. It was a large room, empty but for the big desk and a few dark paintings on the wall. No windows, just a set of French doors looking out onto a lush terrace garden.
“Understandable,” he nodded as he found his seat. “Perhaps we can arrange for a more convenient—”
“I’ll try not to take much of your time,” I interrupted.
He sat back, drew a long breath through his nose, pursed his lips, and ran the tip of his finger across an impeccably trimmed pencil mustache. Catela was a man who liked what he saw when he looked in the mirror. In his midfifties, with heavily lidded dark eyes, olive skin, and thinning black hair that was greased straight back, he must’ve been the most groomed man I’d ever laid eyes on. The kind of guy who shaves twice a day.
“I’m sorry,” he said, leaning forward. “I’ve forgotten your name.”
“Teller,” I repeated. “Jack Teller.”
“Yes, of course…May I ask, Senhor Teller, what is your position in the matter?”
“I’m a friend of Miss Sterne.”
He nodded and stared at me, stone-faced, across the antique surface. The long silence was supposed to make me feel uneasy, but I was happy to sit there all day. “She didn’t mention your name in our telephone conversation,” he finally said.
“She must’ve forgotten,” I said coolly, aware that the only communication had been an exchange of telegrams to set up the meeting. “If I could just ask you a few questions about Eddie Grimes…”
The captain performed a deep sigh and frowned. “As you must be aware, Senhor Teller, I am the deputy chief of the national police force of Portugal.” He spoke slowly, letting the gravity of the statement sink in before continuing. “Do you really believe that I would concern
myself with the death of an insignificant tourist in a motoring accident? Is that the sort of incident that, under normal circumstances, you would expect a man in my position to take an interest in?”
My initial aversion to the guy was blossoming into full-blown contempt. I had to bite my tongue, though. The best shot I had at finding Lili’s friend would be to get hold of Grimes’s notebook. Overpriced snoops-for-hire like him were very conscientious about keeping detailed notes. They liked to provide their clients with long, single-spaced reports that made it look like they’d actually earned their ridiculous fee. Assuming he was no exception and there was a notebook, Catela would have it, and it looked like there was only one way he was going to give it to me. I cut to the chase.
“You’d like to meet Miss Sterne,” I said.
“Bravo, senhor.” He smiled and leaned back in his chair. It was just as well that Lili hadn’t come along, I thought. If Catela had her in his grasp, he would’ve strung us along for all it was worth. At least this way I had something to bargain with.
“I’ll tell you what,” I said. “Give me what you have on Grimes and I’ll see what I can do.”
“This is what I love about the American people,” he smiled. “Always straight to the point. So let me be equally forthright.” He leaned across the desk. “Whatever your business here in Lisbon, I am in a position to be of great service…Or I can make things very difficult.”
“Sure,” I responded flatly. “But then the closest you’d ever get to Lili Sterne would be the front row at the Saturday matinee.”
The captain slowly unfolded a grin wide enough that I could see the gold in his back molars. “I believe I could learn to like you, Senhor Teller.”
“I wish I could say the same for you.” I smiled. “But I’ve got this problem with authority figures. Nothing personal.”
Catela laughed heartily. “You see what I mean about Americans?” He removed a gold cigarette case from his breast pocket and offered it across the desk. I waved it off and reached for my Luckys.
“Eddie Grimes,” I said.
“Yes. Eddie Grimes.” He sat back, ready to be of service.
“Your cable said he was killed in a car accident.”
“That’s correct.”
“How did you know he was working for Miss Sterne?”
“We found a contract among his possessions. In his hotel room.”
“Which hotel was that?”
Catela gave me a look. “I promise you, senhor, I have no reason to mislead you.”
“I’d just like to have a look. If you have no objection, of course.”
“The Imperial,” he said, but not very happily. “Quite a modest accommodation, considering the value of his contract.”
“Did you find anything else?”
“What are you looking for?” He lit one of his gold-tips and let the smoke drift up into his nostrils before sucking it in.
“Papers,” I said. “A notebook maybe.”
“No.” The captain shook his head. “There was nothing more than a few articles of clothing and the contract. I’m certain of it.”
“How about a passport?”
The captain shook his head.
“Wallet?”
“No papers were recovered. Other than the contract, of course.”
“And that was in his hotel room?”
“As I said.”
“So how did you identify him?”
“I’m sorry?”
“You wouldn’t have known where he was staying until you identified him, and if the only identification you found was in the hotel room…see what I mean?”
“The vehicle number plates,” he said. “It was a leased car.” He sat there with a smug look on his face, waiting to bat the next one away.
“He must’ve had a passport,” I said. “Did you check the hotel safe?”
He gave me a look. “Of course, senhor, the safe was checked. The
passport and other papers were most likely on his person at the time of the accident.”
“But you said no papers were recovered…”
“Since the body was not recovered, we would not have recovered any papers that were on the body.”
“The body wasn’t recovered?”
“That’s correct. Therefore, the passport and wallet—and perhaps even the notebook you hope to find—are most likely to be in the pocket of the corpse, which is currently being thrashed about by the waves at the bottom of o Boca do Inferno.” The captain was enjoying this a lot more than I was.
“Boca do…?”
“The Mouth of Hell,” he translated. “A rock formation at the base of a one-hundred-foot drop into the sea. Apparently, your detective drove over the cliff sometime during the night.”
“That’s unlucky.”
“Yes. A tragedy, of course.”
“I meant for me,” I said.
The captain smiled. I asked him if he was going to recover the car.
“You haven’t seen o Boca do Inferno, senhor. Time and the sea will save a great deal of effort.”
“Can I talk to the witness?”
“Witness?” he said, looking surprised. “No, there was no witness.”
“I’m sorry, Captain, but that doesn’t make any sense,” I said.
“In what way does it not?” he said breezily.
“You said you identified Grimes through the car’s plates.”
“Correct.”
“How did you get the number if the car went into the water? How did you even know it went over the cliff?”
“You don’t seem to trust me, Senhor Teller.”
“Like I said, I’ve got this thing about authority.”
The captain smiled cagily. “The back portion of the vehicle is visible at low tide. A local fisherman reported it shortly after dawn…Why should I keep anything from you?”
It didn’t really matter. Even if Grimes had a notebook with him, it wouldn’t do me any good after a couple of weeks in the drink. I contemplated my options, which weren’t many.
“I guess that leaves me with you,” I said.
“Putting me in a very good position,” Catela grinned.
“Looks that way,” I said. “So how would you feel about joining Miss Sterne and myself for dinner tonight?”
“I would prefer it without you…”
“I’ll try to fade into the background,” I said.
He leaned forward. “How can I help?”
“Eddie Grimes was hired to locate a friend of Miss Sterne’s. A woman named Eva Lange.” I considered showing him the photo that Lili had given me, but he’d want to keep it, so I didn’t.
“Eva Lange…” he ruminated. “German?”
“That’s right. A refugee.”
He chuckled.
“Is that funny?”
Catela gestured in the direction of the outside world. “Lisbon is filled with refugees. Tens of thousands and more arriving each day. They roam the streets, worn and dirty, trying to beg, borrow, or steal passage on anything going to America…What is your country’s expression? ‘Give me your tired, your poor, your…’ How does it continue?”
“‘Huddled masses…’ Or something like that,” I said.
“Yes. These people, they actually believe it.” He shrugged. “I suppose they have no choice. There’s no place left for them to go. A few with money might be fortunate, but most will sell the last of their possessions to buy a ticket on a ship that doesn’t exist. So they steal in order to eat and I am obliged to put them in jail. Others choose a more permanent solution. Do you know that in the past month we have had over one hundred suicides in Lisbon?” He stubbed out his cigarette. “But you must pardon me. These are my problems. Please continue with yours.”
“That’s about it,” I said. “A few hours before Grimes drove off the
cliff, he phoned Lili—Miss Sterne—and told her he’d traced the girl to Lisbon. Said she’d been trying to get passage to London.”
“London?”
“That’s what he said.”
“Not the best place to go if you wish to escape the Third Reich. I would certainly be looking west, across the sea.”
“Maybe so,” I said. “But Grimes thought she was broke anyway, so there’s a good chance she’s still in Lisbon.” In fact, I thought the chances were a lot better that she was long gone, but there was no point in telling him that.
“Think you can locate her?”
“Perhaps,” Catela said cautiously. He narrowed his eyes, gave me a penetrating look. “Do you know why this woman left Germany in the first place?”
“Maybe she didn’t like the long winters,” I said. “What difference does it make?”
“If she is a fugitive, she will be traveling on false papers,” he replied.
“I don’t know why she left,” I said, which was true. I stood up abruptly, taking the captain by surprise. “But I’ve taken enough of your time.”
He rose to his feet. “It may be very difficult to locate one individual…As I said, there are tens of thousands…”
“Miss Sterne will be very grateful if you can tell us anything. We can discuss it over dinner.”
He performed a shallow formal bow. “You’re staying at the Palacio.”
“Have you been spying on us already?”
“Everyone who is anyone in Lisbon stays at the Palacio. I myself often spend the evening at the casino there.”
“And I bet you win.”
“No one can win every night,” the captain smiled, coming out from behind his desk and leading me to the door. “But in the end, I always seem to come out ahead.”
T
he route to the Imperial Hotel took us through the market district of the Baixa, a grid of expansive boulevards that was built in the aftermath of the massive earthquake and subsequent tidal wave that flattened Lisbon in 1755. I got an earful on the subject of the country’s long history from my good-natured driver, Alberto, a barrel-chested chatterbox with legs too short for his body and the furriest arms I’d ever seen. He spewed forth with unstoppable enthusiasm as we drove through the crowded streets, covering two thousand years in about ten city blocks, from the Phoenicians, through the Greeks, the Carthaginians, Julius Caesar and the Roman Empire, to, finally, the Moors, who were defeated by the Christians in the twelfth century after a four-hundred-year siege. When he took a deep breath and started to launch into Napoléon, I decided to fast-forward.
