Part 23 (1/2)
”Why wouldn't they be?”
”For starters, I've never heard of any underground Jewish defense organization operating in the United States before World War Two,” Manny said, flipping through one of Preston's diaries.
”Doesn't mean it didn't exist,” Joe chafed. ”I'm not surprised that someone drilled Clark. Enlighten me.”
”I came to work here in 1959. Single, with not many choices to go after work in those days, I hung out at Jensen's Roadhouse, a joint on the outskirt of town. Clark was a regular. I came to know the guy who, if it was possible, was viler than in these pages.” Manny held up one of Preston's diaries. ”When he had a snoot on, the most hateful things flowed out of his mouth.”
Manny rolled the chair to a file cabinet, returning the box to its proper place. He scooted four files to his right. ”Here's the microfilm for the week Clark died.” Threading the film in the viewer, he said, ”Read.”
Joe moved his chair to face the screen.
Manny continued, ”July 9, 1960. I remember it like it was yesterday. It was a Tuesday night, hot as h.e.l.l. Clark was on his his stool. If the bar was a football field, his spot was on the fifty yard line. He had a repertoire of obscene jokes and was in the middle of his routine when Ellis Price walked in.” stool. If the bar was a football field, his spot was on the fifty yard line. He had a repertoire of obscene jokes and was in the middle of his routine when Ellis Price walked in.”
”Ellis Price from Preston and Clark's dormitory?” Joe asked, lighting a cigarette.
Manny slid a metal garbage wastebasket toward Joe. Pointing to the ”No Smoking” sign would've been futile. ”The one and the same.” He took a bite of a jelly doughnut wrapped in a napkin that looked as if it was used to clean the concrete floor. ”Price sits to Clark's right in a spot near the end of the bar and Clark comments about his suit.”
”I got the idea that Price was on the prissy side,” Joe said, scrolling the pages.
Manny wiped his mouth with the napkin. ”Price was on the effeminate side. He orders a drink and things settled down until Ellis yells at Clark, 'You had to come back.' He got off his stool, slapped two dollars on the bar, and walks up to Clark. In one motion, he pulls a pistol out of his jacket pocket and fires one shot into Clark's chest. Gla.s.ses, peanuts and ashtrays went flying as Clark fell off his stool. Like nothing happened, Price walked away.”
”n.o.body tried to grab him?” Joe asked.
”It was such a shock. Besides, Price had a gun. After five or ten seconds, all h.e.l.l broke loose. Price raced to the parking lot and hightailed it away.”
”This article doesn't mention half of what you're telling me,” Joe said, shaking his head.
”Not exactly Pulitzer Prize material is it?” Manny chortled. ”It was and still is a family paper.”
Joe continued to scroll down. ”Jesus Christ. He committed suicide in a park three blocks away?”
”In the section that was known to be a gay pickup spot.” Manny said. ”There's something else.”
Joe tapped his cigarette against the wastebasket. ”Pray tell.”
”A guy at the end of the bar where Price sat called himself Ted Steele.”
”How big?”
Manny took a slurp of his coffee. ”The guy was a monster. Six-five, Six-six and a good two sixty. He started coming in a few of months before Clark's murder. I spoke to him a couple of times, said he did business in Philly on Tuesdays and stopped on his way home.”
”Clark was a Tuesday regular?”
Manny thought for a moment. ”Yeah. A lotta nights he was at his old eating club on campus. The guy wanted to relive his college years.”
”Sounds like Jake Rothstein made it a point to be there when Clark was sure to be in attendance.”
”His name really could've been Ted Steele. It's possible.” Manny clasped his hands behind his head. ”After Clark's death, Ted Steele no longer came into Jensen's.”
”And maybe the guy lost his job or was too frightened by Clark's murder to go back to Jensen's.” Joe said with a chuckle. ”What about Gloria?”
”You paid her a visit before coming here, right? I'm surprised she agreed to talk about Clark.”
”I can't tell a lie,” Joe said with a grin. ”I told her I was an author writing a book about the members of the isolationist movement who became good soldiers. She went on a rant how the n.a.z.i loving b.a.s.t.a.r.ds were treated badly. She's still burning a candle for Charles Lindbergh. After agreeing with her, she let me into Clark's den that she's maintained exactly as it was the day he died. I got a good look at his flight logbook.”
”I've came to know her well over the many years. She's a tireless worker for countless organizations, including the Jewish Center. One cla.s.sy lady.”
”She had something in common with Preston Swedge. He became a big-time donator to the Westfield temple.” Joe took a sip of Manny's coffee.
”Help yourself,” Manny said.
”Mrs. Johnson kicked me out after doing a web search on me.” Joe showed Manny the photo of Paul Rothstein. ”I showed her Rothstein's picture and drew a blank response. She claimed she never heard of him, but Reverend Miller, Preston Swedge's minister, the gent who gave me her address, was in her company when Clark toasted the dead airman.” Joe wagged his finger. ”She knows what happened to Rothstein. I'd bet your p.e.c.k.e.r on it.”
”And Jake Rothstein was stalking Clark because he had something to do with his brother's death.”
”Something like that,” Joe said with a wave of his hand. ”Clark came from Michigan. Why did he return to Princeton?”
Manny shut off the viewer. ”Clark followed his father's footsteps and worked for Ford. After stints in Michigan, Kansas City and Atlanta, he was transferred to run the Edison plant. If you had a choice, would you live in Edison when you could easily afford Princeton?”
”You have a point. Clark's been dead for forty years and his widow is still living large,” Joe said. ”How does she do it?”
”Gloria has been living off of Clark's trust fund, life insurance and inheritance. She's protective of the Johnson family name.” Manny stood. ”I wouldn't want to see her or her son Brad hurt if Clark's dirty linen is thrown onto the street.”
Joe returned the diaries to the envelope. ”Being married to Clark Johnson, she earned every dime, and it should be punishment for a lifetime. But...”
”But what?” Manny asked tensely.
”I found a map among Swedge's papers that detailed the route bombers took from their base in Italy. The mission took them over Auschwitz to a target four miles away. If I'm right, Clark Johnson was part of a plot to prevent Paul Rothstein from knocking out the gas chambers. Three hundred thousand Hungarian Jews died after August 20, 1944. What about their laundry they left behind as they walked naked to their deaths?”
Manny looked at the ceiling. ”My grandparents were among the last Hungarian Jews deported from Budapest.”
Chapter 28.
WESTFIELD, NJ NOVEMBER 2000 2000.
PAUL ROTHSTEIN REMAINED AS ELUSIVE as a wisp of smoke. Joe reasoned if Preston graduated Princeton in 1942, Rothstein graduated from New York University in the same year.
Kopel Weinstein, uncle to Mel Katz and one of Joe's golfing buddies, went to the N.Y.U. School of Commerce, graduating in 1942. With a campus population of ten thousand, Joe knew it was a long shot that Kopel or his wife Naomi, also a '42 graduate, but of the School of Education, had any dealings with Paul Rothstein or Dave Cohen.
The Weinsteins loved dogs and had made a fuss over Roxy since she was a pup. Joe snapped a leash on the Labrador. ”Between your lovely face and this coffee cake, we'll soften them up. The old folks will be talking up a storm.”
He let Roxy out. She ran down the front steps with her nose to the ground, pa.s.sed the Volvo, and then raced around the side of the house to the backyard gate. Joe checked the street in both directions. Looking for the white compact had become another addiction. Agitated, Roxy galloped back to the driveway. ”The 'bad' man again? Come on Roxy, tell me where can I find him.” He put the bakery box onto the pa.s.senger seat.