Chapter Seventeen
Eunice
New York, New York
“Are you ready?” Murray asks me, just as I’m about to knock on Dewey’s door.
I nod, grateful to have Murray beside me. He’s the only one who’s known from the outset that I was investigating the prostitution racket. And while he’s never questioned me about the specifics, he’s supported my decision to consider a different angle.
It’s because of our friendship that I took my case to him.
After I presented all the information I’d gathered, Murray had challenged me, pushing back on several of my points, often echoing some of Dewey’s arguments.
But finally, he was convinced by my arguments, and he agreed not only to help me present the case to Dewey, but to help persuade him as well.
The chief invites us into his office. “How is your son, Mrs. Carter?”
“He’s fine. I received another telegram from my mother last night. All is well.”
“And it will stay that way,” Dewey says, directing Murray and me to the chairs.
As soon as we’re seated, I begin, “With Schultz’s death, there is much to reconsider.”
Dewey interjects, “There is, but our goal remains the same.”
“I agree. And”—I take a deep breath—“I believe I’ve identified a racket that will allow us to not only indict but secure convictions against the Mob despite Dutch’s death. And it centers on prostitution.”
The chief’s sigh cuts through the air like a switchblade. Still, I launch into my presentation as if he’s asked me to proceed, spreading the papers across his desk.
I begin with what first drew my attention—the string of dismissed prostitution cases with the cabal of lawyers and bail bondsmen with the laughable aliases. Then I chart the spread of the brothels, noting how they are often in clusters, operating just feet from each other.
Slowly, the chief unfolds his arms and leans forward as I share my suspicions about the police collusion in this scheme and Ginger Sanders’ statement in court about the Combination.
“I believe that the Combination is the name of the organization behind this racket. Based on what I’ve uncovered so far, I suspect there could be upward of a thousand girls involved.
The Mob would never permit any profitable vice to flourish like this without their approval, especially not one on this scale. ”
The chief leans back in his chair, his eyes on the papers, and he begins to nod. Not emphatically, but he’s nodding nonetheless. I glance at Murray, and he gives me a small smile.
After a moment, Dewey says, “It appears there might be something here.” He holds up a finger. “Heavy emphasis on the ‘might.’ ” He turns his glance to Murray. “Murray?”
It is easy enough to overlook this deferential treatment of Murray over me, since I asked Murray to join me for this very purpose. I have a single objective: to advance my theory. If the chief needs to hear the opinion of a man to support me, so be it. For today.
Murray says, “Like you, I was skeptical, Chief. But Mrs. Carter has made a case for the necessity of gathering more information.”
“I agree. This does warrant a closer look. Now, whether this rises to the level of Mob-boss control rather than some penny-ante racket run by small-time hoods remains to be seen. But you have convinced me, Mrs. Carter, there is something afoot with prostitution in this city. Now you have to come up with solid evidence to link the Mob to all of this.”
The chief turns back to Murray. “So what do you recommend? How should we proceed?”
Murray says, “What about starting with the girls?”
I shake my head, not mentioning my two failed attempts to speak with Polly Adler. “It’s difficult to get access to them. And contacting the girls puts them in danger.”
Murray says, “I would say talk to one of the girls who’s been arrested and is still in custody—”
“None of the girls I need ever end up in jail for any appreciable period of time. The whole point of Karp’s scheme is to get them in and out and off lickety-split.
But I do have an idea for how we can get some firsthand knowledge of the inner workings.
” The chief and Murray both turn to me. “Chief, I want authorization for a wiretap.”
Murray leans back, and Dewey’s eyebrows shoot up so high they nearly touch his hairline. Their astonishment is no surprise.
Wiretapping is a fraught legal tactic, even though seven years ago, the Supreme Court upheld a conviction won based on evidence garnered through wiretapping.
Roy Olmstead was found guilty of bootlegging after his telephone calls had been tapped.
He took his case all the way to the top court, claiming that his right to privacy had been violated.
Although the Supreme Court upheld that conviction, their five-four decision left many of us doubtful that wiretapping will remain lawful.
But for now, tapping is acceptable evidence.
As the idea of such a bold move settles in, I say, “If we wiretap the right people—starting with the corrupt attorneys and the bondsmen—we will get more information, more names, and may find out where the bodies are buried, so to speak.”
Dewey gives me a hard stare. “You do realize what you’re asking?” His reluctance sounds like it’s rooted deep.
“I do. I know wiretapping is not without risk. We could be challenged in court, and God forbid, if the press gets hold of it, we know public sentiment is against what they see as nothing more than snooping, and we could be discredited. But if we succeed, this could give us the evidence we need to crack all of this wide open.”
He sighs, but then says, “All right. Reach out to Justice McCook for a subpoena.”
This time, it’s my eyebrows that lift in surprise and satisfaction. Justice Philip McCook is a New York Supreme Court justice who’s been appointed by Governor Lehman to be the judicial guide for this special prosecution. This directive from Dewey—for me to contact the judge—is high praise.
It’s a battle to rein in my smile. “I’ll contact Judge McCook at once.”
As Murray and I stand, the chief says, “This is good work, Mrs. Carter.”
“Thank you, Chief.”
Now my smile comes easily. But it doesn’t last when the chief adds, “One thing, though. As you continue your work on this, remain diligent. The Mob may have called off the hit on me, but the closer we get, the more desperate they’ll become.
At any point, one of them may decide Schultz was right after all. ”