By way of response, Rafferty picked up the paper and again read aloud the portion of the story dealing with the ransom note. Then he said, “I’m thinkin’, Wash, that for a bunch of ignorant immigrants, or so the
“Can’t say that I do,” Thomas agreed, adding: “The instructions about packaging the ransom are also queer, don’t you think?”
Rafferty nodded. “Queer as can be.”
The telephone behind the long mahogany bar rang and Thomas got up to answer it. The operator came on, followed by a weary-sounding man who said in a thick German accent: “This is Johann Kirchmeyer. I need very much to talk with Mr. Rafferty.”
The Kirchmeyer mansion, its high-hatted brick tower soaring above a broad lawn interspersed with oaks, stood at the end of a circular driveway, which was crowded with carriages by the time Rafferty arrived. Two coppers were standing outside the front door, smoking cigars. Rafferty, once a member of the force himself, stopped to chat. After the usual jovial banter, he quickly learned that there had been no new developments in the investigation despite an intensive search for the kidnap victim.
“The old man’s in there waiting for the next message,” one of the cops told Rafferty. “Did he send for you, Shad?”
“He did.”
“Well, the Bull won’t be happy, I can tell you that.”
“The chief of detectives is never happy when I’m around,” Rafferty said. “Must be my irritatin’ habit of makin’ a fool of him.”
Rafferty turned to go inside, pausing first to look at the front screen door where, according to the
A servant met Rafferty in the vestibule and ushered him upstairs to a small study at the rear of the house. There Rafferty found Johann Kirchmeyer, seated in an armchair next to a window that offered sweeping views of the river valley. Kirchmeyer was a short, heavyset man, with a bristly gray beard and small dark eyes behind wire-rim spectacles. Despite the heat, he wore a brown wool suit and vest, and he’d made no accommodation to the weather by loosening his tie, which was knotted with mechanical precision.
“Ach, it is good of you to come, Mr. Rafferty,” he said. “Come sit down and we will talk.”
After Rafferty had taken a seat, Kirchmeyer said, “I want my son back, Mr. Rafferty, and you, I believe, are the man who can do that for me.”
Rafferty was taken aback. “I appreciate your confidence, but the police—”
Kirchmeyer cut in with surprising fierceness. “No, no, I will not place my trust in the police, Mr. Rafferty, not for a single minute! You know as well as I why that is so.”
Because half the cops are crooked, Rafferty thought, and the other half are lazy. “Yes, I understand, but—”
Kirchmeyer interrupted again. “Mr. Rafferty, I wish to hear no more of the police. You see, sir, I can tell you who really kidnapped my son. This Black Hand business, bah, it is nonsense. Do you agree?”
Rafferty said he did.
Kirchmeyer smiled for the first time. “I knew you would. You see, there is something that must be kept confidential, something about Michael which I must tell you. I fear he has become involved with gamblers and owes them a great deal of money.”
“Ah, I see. ’Tis a common thing with young men, unfortunately. And you haven’t mentioned this to the police?”
“No. It would be scandal and the death of my dear Augusta, if she knew.”
“And how is Mrs. Kirchmeyer?”
“Not well. Not well at all. This has been very hard on her.”
“I’m sure. Now then, do you know which gambler young Michael might owe money to?”
“I am told it is a man named Banion who operates some sort of gambling establishment downtown. Do you know him?”
Rafferty knew everybody. “Certainly. John Banion is his name but he goes by Red. He has a place on Hill Street a few doors down from police headquarters. ’Tis a cozy arrangement for all concerned, since the bribe money doesn’t have to travel far. By the way, how did you find out about your son’s involvement with Banion?”
“One of our housemaids told me. Michael had apparently shared a confidence with her.”
Rafferty, who wondered what else the lad might have shared with the maid, said, “So you think Banion snatched your boy and wants the $10,000 to pay off what Michael owes him.”
“Yes. I can only assume this Banion is a ruthless character and would not hesitate to kill my son. Yet I know the police cannot be trusted, and that is why I beg of you to help me. I have already obtained the ransom money and will gladly pay it for my son’s return. But I am worried for this simple reason: What is to keep these kidnappers from murdering Michael once they have the money?”
