Trouble at the Brownstone

Chapter 34

After reading what I had handed him, Wolfe gulped his glass of water, made a face, and turned his attention back to the Elmont building superintendent. “Mr. Bauer, are you acquainted with Wesley Merritt, of Merritt and Day Properties?”

“Yes, sir,” he said.

“Would you consider him to be a trustworthy individual?”

Erwin Bauer tensed. “Uh... yes, of course he is.”

“Mr. Merritt appears to be not only trustworthy, but hard-working as well. He was still in his office at this late hour when my associate, Mr. Goodwin, talked to him by telephone a few minutes ago. He asked Mr. Merritt whose responsibility it is to verify the identification papers of persons who seek rooms in the Elmont. Would you like to hear his response?”

Bauer went from tensing to squirming. “I...”

When nothing more came from the super’s lips, Wolfe read my handwriting aloud. “As we trust him implicitly, we leave it to Erwin Bauer to evaluate the people who want to live in the Elmont. We have told him, of course, that if he has any question at all about a request from a potential lodger, he should talk either to me or to my partner, Lloyd Day. I can’t think of a single incident where he has felt the need to call us about such a request. Has someone complained about Erwin?”

Wolfe set the paper down on the table and addressed Bauer. “Mr. Goodwin told Mr. Merritt that he knew of no complaints about you, if that sets your mind at ease. I have a complaint, however, as seems patently obvious. You are a fabricator — or do you prefer liar? You apparently are the sole gatekeeper at the Elmont, the one individual who decides on the makeup of the building. Or do you have assistance in the selection process?”

Both McCready and Halliwell were looking daggers at the little man, who seemed to be shrinking in his chair. “Come, come, sir,” Wolfe said to Bauer. “You have been caught out. I am confident that when — and it now is only a matter of time — the authorities take a close look at the backgrounds of the Elmont residents, you will be called to account as the individual who admitted them. The question I pose to you: Will you run yourself through with a sword and, to use a phrase Mr. Goodwin likes, ‘take the fall,’ or will you implicate others to lessen your own punishment? The choice becomes yours.”

Bauer seemed to be in a daze. He looked down and kept shaking his head. It was obvious to me that the man was nearing a breaking point. For a half-minute, although it seemed longer, no one in the room said a word.

Finally, Bauer broke the silence, speaking hesitantly and hoarsely. The super turned toward Halliwell and said, “He brings people to me and tells me to give them apartments.” Halliwell grimaced and started to rise, but one of Purley Stebbins’s large hands gripped his shoulder and pushed him back down.

“How would you describe the individuals Mr. Halliwell presents to you?” Wolfe asked.

“They are mostly foreign men.”

“From what countries, Mr. Bauer?”

“They seem to be German, and maybe Austrian or Dutch, I cannot tell.”

“Did you ask to see any identification?”

“No, I was told that was not necessary.”

“Told by whom?”

“Mr. Halliwell.”

Wolfe addressed the longshoreman. “Would you like to explain your actions?”

“I don’t have any idea what he’s talking about,” Halliwell said, passing a hand over his crew cut. “I barely know the man.”

Wolfe scowled. “Let us now turn to this gentleman,” he said, directing his attention to William Hartz, who had been ignored up to now. “Sir, you have been charged with assault and the attempted murder of my colleague Mr. Goodwin. Do you have anything to say?”

Hartz, who was at least six feet tall but looked like he had shrunk within his prison garb, shook his head.

“We’re told that he has been eating very little,” Cramer put in.

“I understand you have been informed that you are entitled to legal counsel but as yet have refused it. Is that correct?” Wolfe asked. Hartz said nothing.

“Very well. Perhaps you feel the silent treatment and a hunger strike are your best approaches to your situation. I can assure you they will not help. If you think you are aiding anyone in this room by your silence, you are badly mistaken. If anything, your cause will be harmed by your actions.”

When Hartz remained silent, Wolfe sighed. “You were shot in the leg after the assault upon Mr. Goodwin here. Has your wound healed?”

Hartz actually nodded. “Well, that is something,” Wolfe said. “You had an accomplice in that attack, and he is the one who delivered the blow to my associate, not you. Yet you are the one who is in jail. That seems hardly fair to you, does it?”

The man blinked and pursed his lips. I could see that Wolfe was getting to Hartz, and he was not about to let up. “You may think you are being a loyal friend by protecting your colleague, and whomever else was directing your actions, Mr. Hartz. But I assure you that your loyalty will not be returned or rewarded in any way whatever. If you remain silent, your punishment will be greater than if you cooperate with the police and tell them who has been giving you orders. Those people very likely are laughing at you right now.”

“I do not... like... being laughed at,” Hartz said in heavily accented English.

“Nor should you,” Wolfe replied as Cramer and Stebbins both showed surprise at words coming out of this clam. “Who directed you to attack Mr. Goodwin?”

Hartz stiffened, and I figured, here we go again, the guy is going to get lockjaw, to use Cramer’s word. But damned if he didn’t turn and point a finger at Liam McCready, who recoiled as if hit with a cattle prod. “What in the name of the Lord are you talking about!” the barkeep shouted at Hartz.

“He is not talking, merely pointing, Mr. McCready,” Wolfe said. “But it is a meaningful gesture. Perhaps you would care to respond.”

“Not to this man I wouldn’t. I don’t even know him.”

“Now you can see, Mr. Hartz, how Jesus of Nazareth must have felt in that fateful garden when his friend Peter denied any knowledge of their relationship.”

“I know that story from the Bible,” Hartz said, shaking his head and looking sadly at McCready, who would not return his glance.

“Some time ago, Inspector Cramer, I mentioned the term ‘ratline,’ which you were unfamiliar with. This is not surprising, as the word has not been in general use for long. What we have here is a ratline, and I—”

“Get to the point, Wolfe!”

“That is where I am headed. A few years ago, at a speech in Missouri, Winston Churchill coined the phrase, ‘Iron Curtain,’ to describe the way the Soviet Union had in effect taken over many countries in Eastern Europe after the war. At the risk of aping Mr. Churchill, I am going to suggest that what we have here is an ‘Iron Triangle,’ a local system of smuggling a certain category of individuals into the United States.”

“Do mean Communists?” Cramer asked in a shocked tone.

“No, Nazis,” Wolfe said. “That is what this business has been all about.” The room got very quiet, as if no one wanted to say a word. Having achieved the effect that he sought, Wolfe went on.

“Ratlines are systems by which Nazis of all ranks have been smuggled out of Germany since the end of the war to countries around the world. Many of the most high-ranking members of Hitler’s National Socialist Party fled to South America, primarily Brazil and Argentina, as has been widely reported. Far less publicity has been given to other locations where Nazis have been able to find refuge, including Peru, Uruguay, Bolivia, Guatemala, Mexico, and, yes, the United States.”

“What about this so-called Iron Triangle of yours?’ Cramer demanded of Wolfe.

“Thank you for getting us back to the subject at hand, Inspector. The deeper I delved into this perplexity, the more obvious it became that there were several moving parts. To smuggle Nazis into this country took a number of individuals working in concert. Three of them are in this room.”

“Now wait a minute!” Liam McCready said, “I want to protest this—”

“No, you wait a minute,” Cramer cut in. “Mr. Wolfe has the floor, and that will be the case until I say otherwise.”

“Thank you, Inspector. Our triangle, as I choose to describe it, begins with Douglas Halliwell, or more accurately, with a colleague of his at National Export Lines in Germany. These men, working together, have moved Nazis across the Atlantic to New York via the shipping company’s freighters.

“Along with his German partner, Mr. Halliwell, an avowed admirer of the National Socialist German Workers Party, i.e., the Nazis, charged these men to transport them to our shores. I leave it to others to determine the rates that got extracted from these ‘passengers.’

“Once ashore in New York, the men — and most if not all of the Nazi arrivals are male — are directed by Mr. Halliwell to the Elmont establishment on Tenth Avenue, where they are greeted by our Mr. Bauer here. How did he become the second leg in our triangle? Perhaps he can edify us.”

Bauer stared at his lap, and after several seconds, he spoke without looking up. “I am an American citizen. I came here twenty years ago, even before Hitler became powerful, because I did not like it in Germany. My parents stayed, and they both died of diseases before the war. My brother also chose to stay. According to what Halliwell has told me, Dieter — that’s my brother — was being investigated by the American forces now in Germany because he was accused of being a Nazi.”

“Had you known that before?” Wolfe asked.

“No, but I was not surprised. Dieter had always liked the military life, and the uniforms. If Dieter stayed in Germany, he probably would have been executed, Halliwell told me, but he felt he could get him over here without the Americans knowing it.”

“On a National Export ship?” Wolfe posed.

Bauer finally looked up, nodding. “Yes, but there was a price. I had to agree to shelter at the Elmont others who came over on those ships of Halliwell’s.”

“Which you did?”

Bauer nodded again. “I have never liked the Nazis or what they stand for, but I also love Dieter, so I agreed.”

“I gather there were empty apartments at the Elmont.”

“Yes, the building had not really been so popular in recent times, and when these... Nazis began filling it, Mr. Merritt and Mr. Day were very pleased.”

“Did they know many of their new tenants were Nazis?” Wolfe asked.

“Well... no, I saw no reason to tell them.”

“Has your brother been staying at the Elmont?”

“No, he has gone to some other part of the city. He would not tell me where, and I don’t know the address. We only met for a short time when he arrived here.”

“How did these men have the ability to pay the rent at the Elmont?”

“They could not even come across the ocean unless they had several hundred American dollars. I do not know the exact figure, and my brother would not tell me. He also did not tell me how he got the money.”

“I assume some of it, and that of the other passengers as well, went to Mr. Halliwell and his friend in Germany at the shipping company,” Wolfe said.

“I do not know that,” Bauer said. “What I do know is that all of these men had enough money to pay for at least their first two months’ rent.”

“How much of that money did you keep for yourself?”

“None of it!” Bauer snapped, sounding offended. “I did not need it. Merritt and Day pay me a fair salary.”

Wolfe glared at his empty water glass and sighed. “Now let us turn our attention to Mr. McCready and his public house.”