Silent Scream

CHAPTER 18

We drove through the Lincoln Tunnel and out across the Jersey Flats, the salt marshes and automobile graveyards and smoking factories stretching in all directions. Past Newark and Elizabeth, and into the rolling hills and open fields farther south where low buildings of the new, clean, light industries dotted the landscape among the bare trees.

The rain had slackened, and we reached Wyandotte first. It was a city from the past-wide, tree-lined streets, older brick buildings, and the sprawl of supermarket and automobile franchises confined to a separated strip on the northern outskirts. Some cheaper tracts had gone up around the town, and some large signs announced the coming of light industry, but the city was still spacious on its meandering river, pleasant even in the slow rain.

Elm Drive curved up a series of hills in what was one of the richer residential sections, and Thirty-two was an ugly, three-story brick mansion that had stood among its trees and lawn for a long time. Lawrence Dunlap’s blue Cadillac was parked in front of an open garage, a smaller red Mercedes was inside. John Albano stopped under a porte-cochere at the front door.

An elderly woman with floury hands and rimless glasses answered our ring. There was nothing subservient about her manner.

“And what can I do for you, eh?” Brisk.

“We’d like to see Mr. Dunlap.”

She looked me up and down. “You have a name, young man?”

I gave my name. She closed the door. It opened again in about a minute, and the housekeeper nodded us inside.

“In the breakfast room with Miss Harriet. Wipe your feet, go straight through to the rear hall, turn left. You’ll see it.”

The old retainer, and from the way she said “Miss Harriet” instead of Mrs. Dunlap, I guessed whose old retainer she was. She had probably come with the marriage. We followed her directions and came out on a glassed-in side porch where Dunlap and his patrician wife were having tea and small sandwiches on a blue-and-white tea service that must have come over from England with one of Harriet Dunlap’s ancestors before New York ceased being Dutch.

The wife smiled politely at us, and Dunlap stood up with a faint frown as if wondering what I could want now. When he saw Hal Wood, his whole face changed, seemed to fall apart. He recovered, but forgot to greet us. His wife looked up at him curiously. Not critically, but concerned. I saw again how she doted on him. The happy couple, and she helped him smoothly.

“Mr. Fortune, isn’t it?” A lady always remembered names.

“Dan Fortune, Mrs. Dunlap,” I said.

Dunlap looked away from Hal. He was sweating, trying to pull himself together. I decided to let him sweat a moment.

“That’s some view you have, Mrs. Dunlap,” I said.

The rain had all but stopped, and beyond the brisk terrace outside the glass walls there was a far and wide view of the wooded hills and valleys along the curving river. It reminded me of the Roosevelt house at Hyde Park. Smaller and neater, not as grand as the Hudson Valley, but even a denser green in summer. An old view, unchanged for centuries.

“I expect Indians to come out of those trees,” I said.

“I know what you mean,” Harriet Dunlap said. Her pretty scrubbed face studied the view, enjoyed it. “My family’s been in this house since before the Revolution. One branch.”

Lawrence Dunlap found his voice. “In the mid-west, the land was something to use, Mr. Fortune, make money on. Shortsighted, our pioneers. All pioneers, I expect. Ended with ruined land and not as much money from it as they’d expected.” Abruptly, he turned to Hal Wood. “I’m so very sorry, Mr. Wood. An awful tragedy. I liked Diana. We all did at the office. She was so… gentle, friendly. I can hardly believe-”

“Yeh,” Hal said. “I liked her, too.”

Dunlap flushed. “Yes, of course. I… I-”

“I imagine words don’t help, Mr. Wood,” Harriet Dunlap said. Straightforward, that breeding of hers again. She’d obviously never met Hal, but she didn’t stare, intrude. She wouldn’t pretend that Diana’s death was her tragedy, yet there was more in her voice than sympathy for a stranger, as if she were thinking of what Dunlap’s loss would mean to her. Unbearable.

She was also giving Dunlap time. The handsome husband was struggling for the right attitude, the right words. He took his wife’s cue, decided on honesty, confession.

“I’m honestly sorry, Mr. Wood,” Dunlap said. “For whatever part I played in it all. I only tried to help her, be a friend. It was wrong of me to interfere in your life, I apologize. But Diana… Perhaps if I’d known you better, I-”

“You had your business to run,” Hal said. “You didn’t make her chase other men. She was willing.”

Dunlap nodded, eager for any kind word. “Restless, I’m afraid. Still, I blame myself for not seeing it, for throwing her among richer men so much. Not that I could have guessed that she… It hit me very hard, Hal. Can I call you Hal? I miss her already. What a waste, and for no reason. Just with him.”

I said, “That’s how you see it? A gang fight? Someone out to kill Pappas? Any ideas who it might have been, Dunlap?”

“None. How would I? I mean, a man like that?” He was all at once sweating again. “Surely it must be one of his own kind?”

“A gangster,” Harriet Dunlap said. “Can’t we stop such animals, Mr. Fortune?”

“It’s not so easy,” I said. “Ask your husband.”

“He’s right, Harriet,” Dunlap said. “I knew the man, even did business with him. Not directly, through representatives, front men. You work with someone, then he brings his ‘friend’ and client to your meetings and parties, and it’s Pappas. If I had known who he really was when he met Diana, I think-”

“Front men like Irving Kezar?” I said.

“His kind, yes. Kezar himself didn’t happen to front for Pappas with us. Some other interests.”

“Have you dealt with Ramapo Construction Company?”

“Ramapo? No, not in my business. Why?” He seemed curious.

“But you do know the company?”

“Yes, in a way,” Dunlap said slowly. The lines of strain around his eyes seemed to deepen. “They plan to build a housing tract and large laboratory in Wyandotte, I believe. I’m not sure, there’s quite a bit of new construction here.”

“Lawrence is chairman of the city council,” Harriet Dunlap said proudly. “The family has always taken part in the town.”

“Ramapo Construction is owned by a Charley Albano,” I said. “You know him?”

“No, we have a paid staff that handles permit details,” Dunlap said, hesitated. “Should I know him? Who is he?”

John Albano said, “My son, a racketeer, and a hoodlum.”

“You mean another gangster?” Harriet Dunlap cried. “Here?” She faced Dunlap. “Lawrence, at least we can keep such people out of Wyandotte! You’ll have to investigate this man.”

“Vigilantes like your ancestors, dear?” Dunlap said. He smiled at her, indulgent, but it was a thin smile. “It can’t be done that way now, Harriet. I wish it could be. But they’re legitimate businessmen, legal, and they have the money and the power. We can’t deny them their rights like anyone else unless we can catch them at some criminal action, and they’re hard to catch. Isn’t that so, Mr. Fortune?”

“Yes,” I said. “Vigilante justice always sounds tempting, but the record isn’t so good. They hanged too many innocent men, let too many guilty ones get away just the same as normal law. Someone could always be bought, even vigilantes.”

“You make men sound evil, Mr. Fortune,” Harriet Dunlap said.

“Only self-interested,” I said. “Dunlap, is Irving Kezar connected to Ramapo Construction?”

“Not that I’m aware. I really don’t deal with Kezar much, and never if I can help it.”

“But you have some dealings with him right now?”

“No,” Dunlap shook his head. “Nothing immediate.”

“I’ve heard different.”

Dunlap flushed. “Then you heard incorrectly!”

“That’s possible,” I said mildly. “He may not have contacted you yet. What company did he come to you for last?”

Dunlap was reluctant. “Well, we’re not supposed to reveal-”

“We’re talking about murder, Dunlap.”

“Yes. All right. He represented a Martin Winthrop of Caxton Industries. It’s a large conglomerate.”

I glanced at John Albano. The old man shook his head. He didn’t know Caxton Industries, or Martin Winthrop. The names didn’t seem to mean anything to Hal Wood, either.

“All right, Dunlap,” I said. “Thanks.”

I started for the door out of the breakfast room. A low, evening sun was beginning to break through over the peaceful distance beyond the terrace. Lawrence Dunlap touched Hal Wood.

“I really am so sorry. I… If I’d known what Pappas really was, I’d never have lied for Diana. I wish to God I had known, hadn’t covered for her.”

“She’d have found a way,” Hal said. “Pappas, or someone just like him.”

As we left, Harriet Dunlap reached out to comfort Dunlap.

Outside, we got into John Albano’s car. The sun was almost all the way out now, low and about to set into twilight. The rain stopped, it was already growing colder.

“Well?” John Albano said. “Do we visit Charley next?”

“We can try it,” I said.

Hal Wood looked back at the big, ugly brick mansion as Albano drove away. Not in envy, but more as if he hated the rich house and maybe Dunlap, too. They were both the kind of thing Diana had wanted so much, the need that had killed her. Hal stared back until the house was out of sight, almost hypnotized.

On the road toward North Caldwell, we passed heavy construction going on in a large field. I saw the sign.

“Slow down,” I said to John Albano.

I read the construction sign: Site of Electronics Laboratory, Ultra-Violet Controls, Inc. General Contractor: Ramapo Construction Company. It was going to be a big job.

“Go on,” I said.

North Caldwell was a more recent town, closer to Elizabeth. A garish tentacle of megalopolis, with its neon used-car lots and mammoth bowling alley complexes. Charley Albano lived in a secluded area with a name-Riviera Ridge-and a private patrol. (Private police to protect Charley Albano from being annoyed by riffraff. Sometimes you don’t know whether to laugh or cry.)

John Albano was known, the gate guard passed us through, but in the dusk Charley’s split-level house was dark. There were no cars. John Albano tried the bell, got no answer, and we turned back toward New York. John Albano would try to find Charley there, and I wanted to talk to Captain Gazzo. The visit to Lawrence Dunlap seemed to have made Hal Wood moody. He stared out in silence. We passed Garden State Parkway, headed for the New Jersey Turnpike on the far side of Elizabeth.

“Look!” John Albano nodded up at the rear-view mirror.

A car was pulling up on us fast on the secondary road as we neared Elizabeth. A big, black car. Albano speeded up. We were in a dark industrial area of factory yards and dumps. Albano couldn’t shake the big car. It came on as if we weren’t moving.

“Dan!” Albano said.

I saw the car parked across the road up ahead. John Albano didn’t hesitate. A narrow side road led off to the right through the factories and dumps. Albano turned into it at full speed, the car skidding and careening. I braced to go over. But the old man had an iron grip and a delicate touch. We made it, bounced violently along the rutted dirt road-and skidded into a dead end.

Headlights turned into the side road behind us.