Collins, Max Allan - Nathan Heller 14 (24 page)

As for Tim O’Conner, he got a hero’s funeral—not as elaborate as those Calumet City coppers, but a nice sendoff, though under the circumstances St. Andrew’s was out of the question. No Bishop Sheil sermon and high mass for a suicide, after all. Everybody felt for Tim, caught up in despondency like that, over the death of his friend and colleague, Bill Drury.

A lot of people thought it was sad—tragic even—that poor Tim couldn’t be buried in consecrated ground. That a nice Catholic boy like that had died while excommunicated, committing a mortal sin, and was condemned to burn in the flames of damnation for eternity.

Of course, I didn’t buy any of that shit; but the thought sure as hell was comforting.

Despite its extensive basis in history, this is a work of fiction, and liberties have been taken with the facts, though as few as possible—and any blame for historical inaccuracies is my own, reflecting, I hope, the limitations of conflicting source material. Some minor liberties have been taken with time, primarily for reasons of pace—for example, moving the death of Charley Fischetti up slightly, so that the narrative would span weeks and not months.

This novel is a departure of sorts from the Nathan Heller “memoirs” of recent years. The first four Heller novels— beginning with
True Detective
(1983)—focused on Chicago and organized crime. With the fifth Heller,
Stolen Away
(1991), a new pattern for these novels was established, only tangentially involving Chicago and the mob: starting with his role in the Lindbergh kidnapping case, Heller has cracked famous unsolved historical crimes, most recently the Black Dahlia murder (
Angel in Black,
2001).

In recent years, a number of avid readers of the series have suggested that Heller seemed overdue in returning to his Chicago roots. Commercial considerations—giving in to the obvious audience appeal of a world-famous crime (the Huey Long assassination, the Massie rape/murder case) or mystery (the Roswell Incident, the disappearance of Amelia Earhart)—have made it difficult to convince editors to allow Heller a return to his Chicago haunts. I thank my former editor, Joe Pittman, and present editor, Genny Ostertag, for their understanding and support of what might seem to be a departure from a successful format.

For Heller to develop as a character in his historical context, I considered it necessary for him to leave the ’30s and ’40s behind and move into the ’50s and ’60s. Since
The Million-Dollar Wound
(1985), in which real-life police hero William Drury was first introduced as a recurring figure in Nate Heller’s life, I have known that the Kefauver inquiry—Drury’s role in which led to his murder—was a necessary (and potentially powerful) subject for exploration in these memoirs.

This novel serves as an introduction to—and a bridge into—the 1950s and ’60s, should my readers (and the publishing industry) be interested in following my detective and me into these fascinating, suitably crime-filled eras. Thus this novel centers not on a famous crime so much as a famous time in crime, when the TV-fueled shadow of congressional inquiries…not only Kefauver’s beneficial one but McCarthy’s injurious one…fell across the American landscape. The unsolved murder of William Drury—the theory behind the solution of which I, as usual, stand behind—may not have the household-name familiarity of some of Heller’s previous cases; but it remains an historically significant, important, even pivotal crime.

My research assistant George Hagenauer and I began gathering material for this novel in 1985—and our first hurdle, sixteen years later, was locating the research materials we’d assembled for a book we had both back in ’85 assumed would be happening soon; and our second one was refamiliarizing ourselves with that material, specifically, and with Chicago mob history, in general.

I had the additional chore of renewing my general Chicago chops (George, born and raised in Chicago, has this stuff in his blood). I always thank George for his help, but this time I really should shout that gratitude from a rooftop. (Also, though he hasn’t taken an active role in the research in some time, Mike Gold was one of the original architects of the Heller Chicago/mob history; thanks, Mike.)

Much of what George gathered for
Chicago Confidential
was original newspaper material, and he also scoured the bound volumes of the Kefauver Crime Committee testimony, sending along to me reams of photocopied material from both sources. This book draws more than anything on the original coverage in the Chicago press and those bound volumes of testimony. The scene involving Dan “Tubbo” Gilbert’s appearance before the Kefauver Committee incorporates material from a Gilbert appearance before the Chicago Crime Commission as well as newspaper interviews.

As indicated in the text, the lively journalism of Jack Lait and Lee Mortimer was key to this work; if my portrait of Mortimer was in any way unflattering, chalk that up to his karma…but know that I love reading the Lait/Mortimer
Confidential
books, which have had a huge influence on the Heller memoirs, never more so than this time around.
Chicago Confidential
(1950),
Washington Confidential
(1951), and
U.S.A. Confidential
(1952) all extensively cover the Chicago mob, the Drury story, and the Kefauver inquiry. I also consulted an imitation of their successful series,
Washington Lowdown
(1956), by Larston D. Farrar.

Most of the characters in this book are real-life figures and appear under their actual names. Jackie Payne is a fictional character, however, suggested by Rocco Fischetti’s documented wenching and woman-beating, including throwing a former Miss Chicago out of the Barry Apartments penthouse, leaving her and her bags on the nearest street corner. Fred Rubinski is a fictionalized Barney Ruditsky, a real-life ex-cop turned private eye in Los Angeles. Tim O’Conner is a fictional character, as is lawyer Kurnitz; both have historical counterparts, though I do not mean to impart the sins of the fictional characters upon the real people. O’Conner is designed to suggest that traitors existed on the police force, while Kurnitz suggests the not too radical theory that criminal lawyers are sometimes as much criminal as lawyer.

My portrait of Estes Kefauver is drawn primarily from the following sources:
Estes Kefauver: A Biography
(1980), Charles L. Fontenay;
Kefauver
(1971), Joseph Bruce Gorman;
The Kefauver Story
(1956), Jack Anderson and Fred Blumenthal; and
Standing Up for the People: The Life and Work of Estes Kefauver
(1972), Harvey Swados.

Two books relating to Kefauver, however, must be singled out as particularly key to this novel: the first-rate scholarly work
The Kefauver Committee and the Politics of Crime, 1950-1952
(1974), William Howard Moore; and the senator’s own
Crime in America
(1951), Estes Kefauver. Also, in addition to photocopies of actual testimony, I used the government document
The Third Interim Report of the Special Committee to Investigate Organized Crime in Interstate Commerce
(1951).

I am an enormous Frank Sinatra fan, with an extensive library of books on the singer, his life, and his art; the portrait in this novel—meant to be fair and even affectionate, without ducking certain realities—was primarily drawn from
Frank Sinatra: An American Legend
(1995, 1998), Nancy Sinatra;
Frank Sinatra: Is This Man Mafia?
(1979), George Carpozi, Jr.;
His Way: The Unauthorized Biography of Frank Sinatra
(1986), Kitty Kelley;
Sinatra: Behind the Legend
(1997), J. Randy Taraborrelli; and
The Sinatra Files: The Secret FBI Dossier
(2000), Tom Kuntz and Phil Kuntz, editors. Some Sinatra fans may object to my using the Kelley book as a source; I feel this is balanced out by the Nancy Sinatra biography, which has an excellent year by year (sometimes day by day!) breakdown of her father’s remarkable life.

Jayne Mansfield and her first husband Paul are, obviously, real people; I remind my readers that these are, like all of the characterizations in this novel, fictionalizations. The story Vera tells in this novel about her rape is one reported in several books and something she apparently told from time to time; but I have reason to disbelieve it—and its suggestion about the paternity of her first child. Also, the events in her life described herein—including her studying at UCLA and her attempt to become Miss California, as well as Paul’s objections to both— have been moved in time a few months, to accommodate the needs of this narrative. Consulted were
Jayne Mansfield’s Wild, Wild World
(1963), Jayne Mansfield and Mickey Hargitay;
Jayne Mansfield
(1973), May Mann;
Sexbomb: The Life and Death of Jayne Mansfield
(1988), Guus Luijters and Gerard Timmer;
The Tragic Secret Life of Jayne Mansfield
(1974), Raymond Strait; and
Va Va Voom!
(1995), Steve Sullivan. Strait also published
Here They Are—Jayne Mansfield
(1992), with a new copyright and no mention of the earlier
Tragic Secret Life,
although they appear to be substantially the same book with different pictures.

Major sources for the Drew Pearson characterization were
Confessions of a Muckraker
(1979), Jack Anderson with James Boyd, and
Drew Pearson: An Unauthorized Biography
(1973), Oliver Pilat. Although I have gathered numerous books on Joseph McCarthy and the McCarthy Era, his characterization here primarily depended upon
The Life and Times of Joe McCarthy
(1982), Thomas C. Reeves, and
McCarthy—the Man, the Senator, the “Ism”
(1952), Jack Anderson and Ronald W. May. Jack Anderson wins the M.V.P. award for writing three of the books I used as sources on three different subjects touched upon (in addition to being a character—albeit an offstage one) in this novel.

Three books on Chicago crime were very helpful:
Barbarians in Our Midst
(1952), Virgil Peterson (with a Kefauver introduction);
Syndicate City
(1954), Alson J. Smith; and
To Serve and Collect
(1998), Richard C. Lindberg. The latter covers the Drury case in some depth, as does George Murray’s
The Madhouse on Madison Street
(1965), a book on Chicago newspapermen in which Drury is viewed in the context of his journalistic endeavors.

Many other general Chicago books were consulted, including
Chicago’s Famous Buildings
(1965, 1969), Arthur Siegel and J. Carson Webster;
Chicago Interiors
(1979), David Lowe;
Chicago on Foot
(1973, 1977), Ira J. Bach;
Kup’s Chicago
(1962), Irv Kupcinet;
Lost Chicago
(1978), David Lowe; and a restaurant guide,
Vittles and Vice
(1952), Patricia Bronte, which provided Chez Paree background. My research associate George Hagenauer’s
True Crime Series Three: G-Men & Gangsters
(1992)—a card set, the first series of which we (notoriously) did together—was a handy useful resource.

The Riverview sequence draws upon my own memories of the park and George Hagenauer’s as well as Chuck Wlodarczyk’s valentine to the park,
Riverview: Gone but Not Forgotten
(1977). Some minor liberties, primarily geographic, have been taken.

Dozens of books about organized crime served as reference, most significantly:
Accardo: The Genuine Godfather
(1995), William F. Roemer, Jr.;
All-American Mafioso
(1991), Charles Rappleye and Ed Becker;
Blood and Power
(1989), Stephen Fox;
Captive City
(1969), Ovid DeMaris;
Capone
(1971), John Kobler;
The Don
(1977), William Brashler;
Double Cross
(1992), Sam and Chuck Giancana;
The Hollywood Connection
(1993), Michael Nunn;
The Legacy of Al Capone
(1975), George Murray;
The Mafia Encyclopedia
(1987), Carl Sifakis;
Mafia Princess
(1984), Antoinette Giancana and Thomas C. Renner;
Mr. Capone
(1992), Robert J. Schoenberg;
Mob Lawyer
(1994), Frank Ragano and Selwyn Raab; and
Playboy’s History of Organized Crime
(1975), Richard Hammer.

Other helpful books included:
Jack Ruby’s Girls
(1970), Diana Hunter and Alice Anderson;
Mid-Century Modern
(1984), Cara Greenberg;
Playing the Field: My Story
(1987), Mamie Van Doren with Art Aveilhe;
The Plot to Kill the President
(1981), G. Robert Blakey and Richard N. Billings;
Twentieth-Century Pop Culture
(1999), Dan Epstein; and
This Was Burlesque
(1969), Ann Corio with Joseph DiMona. Another Jack Ruby reference was “The Lost Boy,” a 1999
Gambling Magazine
article by John William Tuohy.

The Acapulco sequence drew upon the beautifully written
Now in Mexico
(1947), Hudson Strode, as well as
Around the World in 1,000 Pictures
(1954), A. Milton Run-yon and Vilma F. Bergane;
Pacific Mexico Handbook
(1999), Bruce Whipperman; and
The Wilhelms’ Guide to All Mexico
(1959), John, Lawrence, and Charles Wilhelm.

A number of books on L.A. and Hollywood were also sources, including
Death in Paradise
(1998), Tony Blanche and Brad Schreiber;
Great American Hotels
(1991), James Tackach; and
Sins of the City: The Real Los Angeles Noir
(1999), Jim Heimann. Also, the WPA Guides for California, Los Angeles, Illinois, and Washington, D.C., were vital references.

Thanks to editor Genny Ostertag, for her strong support, and to my friend and agent, the indefatigable Dominick Abel.