The Wife, the Maid, and the Mistress (40 page)

—Oscar Fraley, preface to
The Empty Robe

Jude is alone in Stella’s corner booth with nothing but an overflowing ashtray, a letter, and a lukewarm glass of whiskey. He picks up the drink, downs it in a quick gulp, and grimaces.

Then Stan is at the booth.

Jude glares at him, skeptical. “You water this shit down?”

“Ice melted.”

“Bull. What’d you mix it? Eighty-twenty?”

Stan grins. “Seventy-thirty. You saw her. She can’t handle a Shirley Temple, much less straight whiskey. I’m just glad we didn’t have to carry her up the stairs.”

“How long you think she has?”

“Three months. Maybe. She’s only lasted this long to piss you off.”

Jude sets the glasses side by side on the table. “I’ll miss that old broad.” He laughs at Stan’s sour expression. “Okay, maybe
miss
is a strong word. I’ll be bored without her. How’s that?”

“It’s time to let this go.” There is a deep sadness in Stan’s eyes as he looks around the bar. He rubs a spot on the table. Shifts from one foot to the other. “I got an offer on the place last month. Told them that I’d call back with a decision tomorrow. I just wanted to see Stella one more time before I made up my mind. Is that crazy?”

“No,” Jude says. It doesn’t seem crazy to him at all.

When Stan returns to the bar, Jude picks up the letter. He’s careful with the envelope, lifting the flap and easing out the pages with two fingers so they won’t disintegrate on the table before him. His hands feel thick and clumsy as he unfolds them.

Dear Stella
,

I like to think that maybe, under different circumstances, we could have been friends. And I’m sorry that’s never going to happen. Accomplices will have to do
.

I know we agreed that we wouldn’t talk about this again after our final meeting at the Morosco Theatre, but I wanted you to know how it ended. You deserve that much from me, considering the role I played in destroying your marriage
.

No one ever guessed that I tipped off Samuel Seabury, or that you told me he would be in Atlantic City that weekend. I burned your telegram when I got it. Owney never said a word about the investigation to Crater. His mind was made up the second I planted that seed at Club Abbey
.

Crater never saw daylight after August 6, but he didn’t die in the seats of the Belasco Theatre like we planned. He should have gone to see
Dancing Partner
alone that night. He should have met his end at the hands of Owney Madden during intermission. I made sure that the letter Maria delivered to Club Abbey had all the information Owney needed
.

Jude’s heart gives a violent shudder, and he grips the edge of the table with one hand. His eyes keep going back to Maria’s name. He reads it over and over and tries to shake it from his mind. To refute what he sees. But he knows it is the truth as the letter continues.

After you went to Maine for the summer, Maria and I continued our monthly meetings in the restroom—just like we arranged that first night in April. We coordinated everything, down to what she wore and when to arrive that night. She wanted no part of this—you know that—but she was the only one who could have delivered that letter to Club Abbey. If either of us had taken it, Owney would have known it was a setup. He had to think it was a tip from someone who didn’t want Crater to testify before the Seabury Commission. He had to think Crater was arranging a deal for clemency. And in the end, Maria understood it was the only way to protect Jude. Crater would have followed through on his threat to have him killed. Jude was becoming a liability. Knowing that was all it took for Maria to do her part
.

Our plan would have worked if
Dancing Partner
hadn’t been sold out that night. Owney would have finished him off. We would have all gone on with our lives, and you would have gotten the insurance money. But when Crater couldn’t get an extra ticket for me, he changed the plan and had the cabdriver take us to Coney Island. That’s when everything went wrong. There was supposed to be a body and a scandal and headlines. His disappearance ruined everything
.

I’d like to say that Crater went quickly. Or that it was merciful. But that’s not the truth. They beat the hell out of him that night. But he was still alive when they dragged him from the hotel room. My guess is that his body will never be found. Owney Madden doesn’t leave loose ends
.

The fact that I got pregnant was an accident. You never knew that, and I kept it from you. And I’m sorry. It just felt so cruel to throw that in your face as well. The only one who knew was Maria. She found out early on, and I would have given the baby to her—I swear I would have—if Owney hadn’t killed Vivian Gordon before I could deliver. She was set to be Samuel Seabury’s key witness. Viv would have blown the scandal wide open. Her testimony would have brought the whole racket down. We were fools to think Owney would have ever let it happen. We were fools to try this in the first place
.

I’ve hated Crater since the day I met him. But now I hate myself for having a part in this. If I had the choice today, I wouldn’t do it. Not for you or for anyone else. I don’t know how to live an entire lifetime knowing that I helped kill a man. I don’t know how, but I have to try. The hope of a normal life is all that I have left
.

Tell the cops if you want. But know that I don’t plan on ever being found
.

Sally Lou Ritz

Jude only reads the letter once. He presses against the booth and squeezes his eyes shut, only to see Maria’s name etched against his eyelids. The one piece of evidence he needs to settle this case bears the
name of his wife. Reveals her part in this mess. Maria, now dead thirty-seven years and buried beneath a maple tree on the outer edge of Calvary Cemetery in Queens. She did this for
him
.

Jude tears the letter in half, then in quarters, and rests it on top of the ashtray. He pulls Maria’s lighter from his pocket. It’s scratched and tarnished, and the striker only works sporadically. Two flicks of his thumb, and a small mound of flame licks the air. He cups it in his hand for a moment and then touches it to the letter. Jude expects to feel regret as he feeds the paper into the flames, but it’s relief that consumes him.

It’s over
.

Maria’s lighter is warm, and he presses it to his palm, drawing her memory into himself. Then he sets it back in his pocket and watches the confession turn to ash, taking the truth with it forever.

AUTHOR’S NOTE

Even though this novel is based on true events, it is a work of fiction. My attempt was to show what
could
have happened to Judge Crater, not necessarily what
did
. Though no longer front-page news, it is a case that once obsessed a nation and, out of respect for those who still follow it quite seriously (and believe me, there are
many
), I would like to note a few things about the story within these pages. I compressed some of the time frame and took creative license with a handful of dates and details. I did so for the sake of space and narrative drive. A few examples:
The New Yorkers
actually began rehearsals in November 1930, not August.
Ladies All
wrapped on December 13, not earlier in the month as I suggest. Stella’s deposition for the letters of administration and the request for her husband’s death certificate actually happened on two different dates. In neither instance was Simon Rifkind her attorney. Although a real character and associate of Joseph Crater’s, he is presented here as a composite of the numerous lawyers Stella worked with over the years to settle her husband’s estate. I believe that one lawyer in a novel is more than enough. Some of what you read here may be different from what you’ve read elsewhere. This account is nothing more than my own speculations, the fiction I created from the bits and pieces of truth Joseph Crater left behind. My personal interest in the story lies in the fact that
someone
knew what happened to him yet chose not to tell. My job was to ask who that person (or persons) might be and what they had to hide. That said, here is what I know for sure about Club Abbey and the people mentioned in this novel.

CLUB ABBEY
no longer exists. The gathering spot for showgirls, mobsters, and corrupt politicians was owned by Owney Madden and was considered
a “night club of sordid reputation” and a “white-light rendezvous.” Though Joseph Crater told his wife that he visited it only for political reasons, there is sufficient evidence to suggest that his motives were more carnal. We know that Stella Carter performed her ritual for thirty-eight years in Greenwich Village, but we do not know exactly where. I’ve taken creative liberties in locating Owney Madden’s nightspot farther downtown in the storied neighborhood where Stella’s own memoir tells us she performed it.

JOSEPH CRATER’S
disappearance remains a mystery to this day. For more than eighty years, amateur sleuths and armchair detectives have attempted to discover what happened to him. Most likely we will never be certain of the truth. However, we do know that a set of human remains was found beneath the pier at Coney Island in the mid-1950s when construction began on the New York Aquarium. Authorities were never able to identify the remains, and they were sent to Hart Island, the world’s largest tax-funded cemetery, and buried in a mass grave. I like to think that he
was
found. We just never knew it.

JUDE SIMON
is a composite of the many officers of the New York Police Department who have investigated Crater’s disappearance over the past eighty-four years. These officers are discussed in Stella Crater’s memoir,
The Empty Robe: The Story and Legend of the Disappearance of Judge Crater
, and in Richard Tofel’s
Vanishing Point: The Disappearance of Judge Crater and the New York He Left Behind
. However, none of those officers were married to the Craters’ maid. Jude’s character, as represented here, is drawn only from my imagination.

VIVIAN GORDON
, the notorious New York City madam, was found garroted in Van Cortlandt Park on February 26, 1931. A truck driver discovered her coatless body, a crepe dress pulled up around her neck. Her silk stockings were ripped at the knees, and one of her slippers was missing. An eight-foot length of clothesline was drawn like a noose around her neck. She was scheduled to give testimony the next day before the Seabury Commission, which, among other things, was investigating the connection between the NYPD and an unprecedented judicial scandal. Gordon was to be the key witness.

GEORGE HALL
was the first reporter to learn that Joseph Crater had gone missing. He broke the story on September 3, 1930, in an article in the
New York World
. By that afternoon, the story had spread to the
Sun
, the
World
, the
Herald Tribune
, and the
Daily News
, followed the next morning by the
Times
. Afterward, hundreds of articles were printed about Crater, the vast majority of which were a salacious mix of conjecture and traditional reporting. Hall never revealed the identity of his informant.

STAN THE BARTENDER
is a creation of mine, inspired by an article on the yearly tradition at Club Abbey. At the height of the excitement surrounding Crater’s disappearance, a packed bar would join Stella in toasting her missing husband. They would raise glasses along with her and shout, “Good luck, Joe, wherever you are!” In later years, however, the tradition was forgotten, and she was alone in her penance. I thought it fitting to give her a sympathetic companion who remembered the glory days of Club Abbey.