“When did this become a garage?” I asked.
“By the 1920s, I think.” Abe’s toothpick broke in half. He took both pieces and tossed them in a trash barrel.
“Do you know the name Lavinia Dalton?” Mike said.
“What’s the problem now? The chauffeur claiming I dented one of the cars? I didn’t think you guys were insurance adjusters.”
“We’re not.”
“So if there’s no trouble, what’s the trouble?” Abe asked.
“I’m curious is all. Miss Dalton can’t answer questions herself. Some property went missing from her home, and I’d like to look in her car, just to satisfy my boss we checked everywhere.”
“Cars. Five of them. Suit yourself,” Abe said. “I’ll take you upstairs.”
The elevator creaked its way to the second floor. Abe limped as he made his way down rows of automobiles until we reached the farthest corner of the building. An entire section was roped off, and four of the five machines in it were covered with blankets that appeared to be designed for each.
“These all belong to Miss Dalton,” Abe said. “The Mercedes sedan here, that’s not covered, that’s the one her chauffeur uses. Does all the errands in it, takes her out to the doctor when she needs to go, and sometimes ferries guests back and forth.”
“You mind if I look?”
“Don’t belong to me. Do anything you’d like.”
Mike opened each of the doors, looking under the seats and in the glove compartment, finding nothing except the registration and insurance form. He opened the trunk, but it was as clean as a whistle, with only a spare tire and a lap blanket folded neatly to the side.
Abe pulled the covers off the other cars. There was an SUV, two smaller sedans, and then an enormous car that looked like the stuff of royalty.
Mike let out a low whistle.
“The Dalton Daimler,” Abe said. “A 1965 four-door saloon. A rebadged Jaguar Mark 2. You know cars? This one’s a real beauty.”
Mike was taking in every inch of the vintage luxury vehicle. It was the color of champagne, with black trim, a fluted grille, distinctive wheel trims, and a gleaming black enamel steering wheel.
“Good as it gets,” Mike said as Abe opened the hood to show him the works. “Two-point-five-liter V8.”
“I was just a kid when Miss Dalton bought this. My boss never let me touch the damn thing, but late at night I used to climb in and sit behind the wheel, just pretending.”
“Not a bad fantasy,” Mike said, looking at every interior inch, as well as the boot. “How often does the Daimler go out for a spin?”
Abe patted the roof of the car. “You know about Miss Dalton’s grandbaby, don’t you?”
“Yes,” I said.
“This is the car Miss D had used to go out to her fancy ladies’ luncheon the afternoon the baby was snatched. She’s never allowed it to be driven since,” Abe said. “She probably doesn’t realize the chauffeur has to take it out every now and again-that it isn’t good for it just to sit. And it has to be inspected and all that. But as far as her using the car? Time seemed to stand still once Lucy disappeared.”
“The police,” I said, “did they talk to you back then?”
Abe, with help from Mike, replaced the covers on the cars and then he slowly limped back toward the elevator.
“That would be too polite a way of saying what they did. We were all guilty, you know.”
“What do you mean?”
“Wasn’t a living soul who didn’t think it was an inside job-the kidnapping, I mean. Any of us who had any contact with the grand lady’s staff, we were made to look like lowlifes and thugs. Questioned and then questioned again. Rousted out of our beds in the middle of the night if anyone in the Dakota said they knew us. Half the cars parked here came out of those apartments. ’Course we all knew folks who lived there.”
“Did you know Lavinia Dalton?” I asked.
“Never laid eyes on her. She liked to be picked up at the front door of the building and dropped off there as well. I doubt she had a clue where her cars were garaged.”
“Did you know anyone on her staff?”
“I saw the chauffeur-sometimes two of them worked for her-just about every day. That one is dead now. Had a stroke ten years or so after the snatching. Been a few since. Good people.”
“Any of the women in the household?”
“Not as I recall.”
“Did you ever go to the Dakota apartments?” Mike asked.
We were out of the elevator, heading back to the ticket office. “Not Miss Dalton’s. But certainly I went to the building from time to time. Some folks liked their automobiles brought to them right there. Sometimes I went to pick up a rent check or give a person bad news that I’d dinged a fender. You gonna lock me up for that?”
“No, sir,” Mike said. “But that reminds me, Abe. You ever know a guy who worked here way back called Vergil Humphrey?”
Abe snorted at the sound of the name. “Verge? He was nuttier than a Snickers bar. His father was one of the supervisors here when I started. We could tell every time Verge got himself in a jam because the next day he’d wind up helping out with us.”
“What kind of jams?” I asked.
“Verge couldn’t keep his privates in his pants, if you understand me. Liked the girls a little too much.”
“Young girls?”
“Hell, I don’t know. He was a teenager then and so were they, from what I remember. I don’t think he ever hurt anybody. Verge was slow. Got made fun of a lot. Guess that’s called bullying today. His father liked to keep him around the cars ’cause we got so full of grease and sweat none of us had much time to think about girls.”
“Was Verge working here when the Dalton baby was kidnapped?” Mike asked.
Abe thought for a minute. “Sure he was. Had a harder time with the cops than I did, probably ’cause he was black and ’cause he couldn’t think straight or talk straight. Nobody ever knew when to believe Verge Humphrey.”
“Did he have anything to do with Lavinia Dalton and her cars?”
“His father was too smart for that. Verge might have been the only person working here who had no connection to the Dalton staff. Wasn’t allowed near the cars, you can be sure.”
“Other young men,” I said. “Would he have made friends working here?”
“More than any of us cared to have,” Abe said. “These cars were like magnets for every kid in the neighborhood. Finest makes and models sitting here all shiny and clean and sparkling. Kids were always hanging out, eager to take a rag and help us polish them up.”
“Any of them connected with Lavinia Dalton?” I asked.
Abe gave me an exasperated sigh. “You’re pushing me now, young lady. Sure, Miss D had a staff the size of a small army, and a few of the ones who were married had sons who’d hang out around here. All the boys did. Could I name ’em now for you? Not a prayer.”
There were three cars lined up at the entrance, waiting to be parked. The other attendant was calling to Abe to help him out.
“Did you ever hear of Seneca Village?” I asked.
“What’s that? An Indian reservation?” Abe said. “One of those gambling casinos?”
“Not important.”
“Have I answered all your questions, then?”
“Yes, you have,” Mike said. “Thanks for your time.”
“You keep Verge away from me, now, will you? Man never made a lick of sense. If you’re relying on him for help, you’ll be sorry.”
Mike was quiet as we made our way back toward the Park, where he had left his car.
“That was a dead end,” I said.
“Seems to be. I actually asked the lieutenant to send for the case file on Baby Lucy.”
“Not enough on your plate, I guess.”
“I’m just interested in the whole picture. It’s odd they never were able to solve it after all this time.”
“Start off with they never found a body,” I said. “That didn’t help.”
“Most people who followed the Lindbergh kidnapping figure Bruno Hauptmann couldn’t have pulled it off alone. Would have taken two guys-one to hold the ladder while the other took Charlie from his crib and out the second-story window.”