I called Lawrence Dunlap’s office. He’d gone for the day. I got his home address-32 Elm Drive, Wyandotte, New Jersey. I called John Albano. He was there. I told him about Emily Green and Max Bagnio, asked when he’d left Mia and Levi Stern. He’d left right after I had. All of them alone when Emily Green had been killed. With maybe just enough time?
“You know a Ramapo Construction Company?”
“One of Charley’s companies,” John Albano said. “Out in North Caldwell, New Jersey. Charley lives there, too.”
“Get your car, pick me up at my office. When I talk to Charley, maybe it’ll help to have you with me.”
My map showed that Wyandotte was a medium-sized city-not far from North Caldwell, or from Newark, where Sid Meyer had run his trucking company. This time I took my old gun.
“I’m going, too,” Hal said. “I can’t just sit around, Dan.”
His face was almost hollow. Maybe he’d be as safe with me as anywhere. We went down to the street to wait for John Albano.
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?”