The Ghost Read online

  THE GHOST

  A NOVEL

  BOOKS BY THE AUTHOR

  AUTHORED BOOKS

  The Psychoanalysis of Symptoms

  Dictionary of Psychopathology

  Group Psychotherapy and Personality: Intersecting Structures

  (Reissued with the subtitle: A Theoretical Model, 2015)

  Sleep Disorders: Insomnia and Narcolepsy

  The 4 Steps to Peace of Mind: The Simple Effective Way to Cure Our Emotional Symptoms.

  (Romanian edition, 2008; Japanese edition, 2011)

  Love Is Not Enough: What It Takes to Make It Work

  Greedy, Cowardly, and Weak: Hollywood’s Jewish Stereotypes

  Hollywood Movies on the Couch: A Psychoanalyst Examines 15 Famous Films

  Haggadah: A Passover Seder for the Rest of Us

  Personality: How it Forms (Korean edition, 2016)

  The Discovery of God: A Psycho/Evolutionary Perspective

  A Consilience of Natural and Social Sciences: A Memoir of Original Contributions

  Anatomy of Delusion

  Psychoanalysis of Evil: Perspectives on Destructive Behavior

  There’s No Handle on My Door: Stories of Patients in Mental Hospitals

  On the Nature of Nature

  Psychotherapeutic Traction: Uncovering the Patient’s Power-Theme and Basic Wish

  THE GHOST TRILOGY

  The Making of Ghosts: A Novel

  Ghosts of Dreams: A Novel

  The Ghost: A Novel

  CO-AUTHORED BOOKS (with Anthony Burry, Ph.D.)

  Psychopathology and Differential Diagnosis: A Primer

  Volume 1: History of Psychopathology

  Volume 2: Diagnostic Primer

  Handbook of Psychodiagnostic Testing: Analysis of Personality in the Psychological Report (1st edition, 1981; 2nd edition, 1991; 3rd edition, 1997; 4th edition, 2007; Japanese edition, 2011)

  EDITED BOOKS

  Group Cohesion: Theoretical and Clinical Perspectives

  The Nightmare: Psychological and Biological Foundations

  CO-EDITED BOOKS (with Robert Plutchik, Ph.D.)

  Emotion: Theory, Research, and Experience.

  Volume1: Theories of Emotion

  Volume 2: Emotions in Early Development

  Volume 3: Biological Foundations of Emotion

  Volume 4: The Measurement of Emotion.

  Volume 5: Emotion, Psychopathology, and Psychotherapy

  The Emotions Profile Index: Test and Manual. 1976.

  THE GHOST

  A NOVEL

  HENRY KELLERMAN

  Published by Barricade Books Inc.

  Fort Lee, N.J. 07024

  www.barricadebooks.com

  Copyright © 2017 by Henry Kellerman

  All Rights Reserved

  No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, by any means, including mechanical, electronic, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except by a reviewer who wishes to quote brief passages in connection with a review written for inclusion in a magazine, newspaper, or broadcast.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Kellerman, Henry, author.

  Title: The ghost : a novel / HeNry KellermAN.

  Description: Fort Lee, N.J. : Barricade Books Inc., [2018]

  Identifiers: LCCN 2017046912 | ISBN 9781569808221

  (hardcover : acid-free paper)

  Subjects: LCSH: War criminals--Fiction. | Assassins--Fiction. |

  Nazis--Fiction. | GSAFD: Suspesne fiction. | Historical fiction.

  Classification: LCC PS3611.E435 G47 2018 | DDC 813/.6--dc23

  LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2017046912

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  To

  The memory of Mordecai Anielevitch

  Leader of the Warsaw Ghetto uprising

  CONTENTS

  Part 1

  The Bronx

  1. Frankie

  2. Willy

  3. The Two Guys

  4. Just Desserts

  5. Lichtenfeld to Wiesenthal

  Part 2

  London / Rome / Tel Aviv / London

  6. Jimmy McKay

  7. The Package

  8. Alois Hudal

  9. The Stevie Trail

  10. Gloria

  Part 3

  Back to The Bronx

  11. Hudal’s Panic

  12. Decryption at Bletchley

  13. Burn It Down!

  14. A Hail of Bullets

  15. Panic

  Part 4

  Home Base

  16. Information to Wiesenthal

  17. Back to the Drawing Board

  18. Belgrano

  19. Mentone

  20. The Hollow Cylinder

  Part 5

  Coda

  21. Gustav Schell

  22. Homecoming

  Who’s Who

  PART 1

  THE BRONX

  . 1 .

  FRANKIE

  “It was very dark. Deep into the night. I heard him shouting: ‘Frankie, Frankie, help, help.”

  “So what time would you say it was?”

  “I dunno. Maybe two in the morning. Sumthin’ like that?”

  “How do you know it was about two?”

  “They kicked me outta the bar at one, but I was so looped I couldn’t walk. I couldn’t walk a straight line. I was smashed. I swear I did about three or four shots of vodkas and then another four or five ponies. So, I did what I always do. I don’t cross the street because I’m afraid I’ll fall and just sleep even in the middle of the street. So instead I lean up against the building where the bar is and just slide down onto the pavement and sleep sitting up against the wall of the building. I’m so gone I don’t even hear the sound of the trains. The next thing I usually know is that it’s morning. No one has ever come near me to wake me. At least not that I can remember. But this time I opened my eyes. It’s because I heard Willy.

  “I didn’t hear the trains but I heard Willy. I must’ve heard him because my eyes popped open when I was sure it was Willy’s voice. That I can swear to. He was shouting my name and I swear he could see me sitting up against the building the way I could see him standing there. It was above the El on Third Avenue.

  “Like I said, I could see him from where I was sitting against the wall. He was standing outside the window on the ledge. It’s the third floor so it’s higher than the El, and from where I was sitting, the El didn’t block my view. It’s not high enough to kill the view of the third floor of our building.”

  “Easy. Easy does it. Relax.”

  He was carefully quizzing me, and at this point he was trying to calm me down. I’m lucky they weren’t suspicious of me, as if in my drunken state I would’ve been the one to have caused it all. But here, by this time, it was the next night at the precinct—and that’s where we were—at the precinct.

  They had me going over exactly where I was and what I saw and they had me repeat it a few times. Apparently, they’d been at the hospital all day and took some eye witness reports from the bartender, Leo, along with my drinking buddy Tommy, who also witnessed it all. Now it was my turn.

  “Like I said, I saw him standing on the ledge right outside of our third-floor apartment window, plastered up against the outside of the window exactly across from where I was sitting on the pavement against the building. Like I said, when my eyes popped open I just looked up at him. The first thing I noticed was that we were both motionless; him against the wall, like I said, outside of our third-floor window plastered up against the outside of the window on the ledge, and me just sitting there, coming ou
t of my drunken world and feeling plastered and smashed up sitting against that wall.

  “I could barely see him, but the light from the bar was just enough for me to make out his face and his, well, like how his body looked up against the window. I could tell the window was open. That scared me right there. It scared the hell out of me because even though it’s the third floor, it’s still a long drop. I kinda was sure he was going down. Yup, I knew he was going down. He kept screaming my name. The strange thing is, I also remember that the flower pot was missing from the side of the ledge. But I just knew he was going down.

  “It was at that point that Leo, the bartender, and Tommy, my drinking buddy came outta the bar and into the street because Willy was screaming so loud that they heard it too, from inside the bar. Then I noticed other windows opening at the building and people looking out. They couldn’t not hear Willy’s screams, just like Leo and Tommy. Everyone heard it. Tommy’s in there on weekends like me—all the time. We’re drinking buddies. Plain and simple, I’m a weekend drunk—so is he. Plain and simple. Willy’s on me always to quit but I don’t drink during the week—not a drop. Weekends are another story.

  “Whenever Willy can, he comes to get me. Just drags me home. Imagine that?—a twelve-year-old kid dragging his forty-two year old drunk uncle home. When I think of it, it makes me sick. But do I stop? Nah.

  Believe it or not, I’m a draftsman. You know, architecture? That’s how I’m always noticing little things like spatial things like the flower pot that I saw right away that was missing on the ledge. You know?”

  Both detectives were listening to me intently. They weren’t taking notes.

  “He’s right, Mac. We found the flower pot shattered all over and right adjacent to the building. It definitely fell off the ledge. But the kid wasn’t near the pieces of the terracotta strewn all over. The kid was pushed. No doubt. We measured where he landed. He was exactly seventeen-feet four-inches away from the building. Oh yeah, he was pushed. No doubt about it. Lucky kid. He was under the dead zone.”

  When this other detective said, ‘dead zone,’ I felt cold and I panicked. But I thought quickly—oh yeah, I thought very quickly: ‘If Willy was dead they would have told me immediately, so I instantly knew that even though Willy might be in bad shape, for sure he wasn’t dead, and besides, he said ‘lucky kid.’

  I quickly recovered from my ruminations. “What’s the dead zone?”

  Neither of them answered the question. They were just staring at me.

  “By the way, Frankie, this is Detective Davis, Lyle Davis. I’m Detective Loris McIver. They call me Mac. No one calls me Loris. And this is the 48th precinct, off Tremont Avenue, Bronx, New York.”

  “Are you kidding? I know exactly where this is. I know the whole neighborhood. Besides, I’ve been here twice before when I was wrecked. I know the nighttime Desk Sgt. downstairs—Sgt. Silverstein. Right?”

  “Right. Okay, the fact we now all know is that Willy’s in the hospital and he’s not dead.”

  Again, hearing it said definitely that Willy was alive just about completely relaxed me—more like relieved me. It’s like I needed to hear it more. I thought that come hell or high water, whatever injuries he would have, I would see to it that he gets better—totally recovers. I know I can get like that, like with some big wish that keeps the other possible reality away. Like maybe he won’t get better. I can’t let myself think that. He’s my nephew but to me he’s more like my son. But because of my drinking and how he drags me home, it’s more like he takes care of me. So, in certain ways he’s not more like my son, he’s more like my father, like my guardian.

  “But he’s alive. Thank God. That’s the important thing. I gotta see him. Can’t wait till tomorrow. What did you mean Det. Davis, about the dead zone? You’re not telling me about this dead zone.”

  “Mac here will fill you in. I gotta go downstairs first and do some paper work, then get something to eat.”

  “Lyle, hold it,” Mac said. “Since we’ll be here for the duration, and now it’s almost midnight. When you get back—two burgers and black coffee for me, and Frankie, how about you?”

  “Yeah, thanks, that sounds good. I’ll take one burger and a beer. Thanks.”

  “No beer at the precinct.”

  “Okay, Coke.”

  As Detective Davis started to leave, I turned to Det. McIver, the one known as Mac. He was getting ready to type on an old Underwood sitting directly center on his desk and he was about to fill out his forms—demographics and stuff, but I interrupted him.

  “C’mon, what’s the dead zone?”

  “Okay. Willy fell or was pushed from the third floor where you live. That’s below what we consider the dead zone. The dead zone is four stories or higher above the street. Over forty, maybe fifty but definitely sixty feet up—those heights will do it. If someone falls from there, it’s about a ninety-eight percent chance of no survival. Dead is dead! Keep in mind that when a person falls from a high place the deceleration generates a force that’s one-hundred-fifty times the weight of the person. In Willy’s case, he weighed about one-hundred pounds so that when he hit the ground it would be like he weighed about fifteen-thousand pounds. That’s fifteen-thousand! Get it? So even if he survived, which he did, Willy might now be in something like a coma. Actually, according to the admitting doc he’s almost in a coma but not quite, so that he still has some consciousness. But the doctors can’t really measure the amount of consciousness, and here’s the tough one: someone in this kind of condition sometimes can’t communicate at all. So, Willy, right now, and as I understand it, can’t tell us a thing. But, he was below the dead zone. Like I said, it’s lucky you guys live on the third floor. It’s the fourth floor or above. That’s the dead zone.

  “Okay Frankie, let’s get down to it. I gottta type this. Last name first then age, and then relation to Willy.”

  “Carbone, Francis Antonio Carbone. I’m forty-two. I’m Willy’s uncle.”

  “Okay. What else should I know instead of me spending time digging it out. Know what I mean?”

  “Wait a minute, he didn’t just fall. You’re right. I remember that the way he went down from the ledge was like he was pushed from behind. Yeah, that’s right. I remember thinking that I kinda saw the uh, what is it, kind of like a, uh the word, maybe like a dark outline—the word might be like ‘opaque’ or ‘fuliginous’—sorry, I like interesting words. It’s almost like you can’t quite see the background of a kinda big man, yeah, a big guy—yeah, the look of it, of a big guy, definitely a man, not a boy, inside behind the wide open window standing right behind Willy. And I saw Willy going down. But it wasn’t down. His hands were stretched out in front of him like almost he was diving into a pool. Oh God, I saw it. My heart was in my mouth.

  Like I said, that’s the third avenue elevated train there where we live. So, then a train was passing and at that point I couldn’t hear if he was screaming or not. But as the last car was about to pass, I thought I saw under the wheels of the last car of the train a glimpse of Willy falling. Then, even though that last car of the train blocked my view, the next thing I saw was Willy hitting the ground. He was almost into the gutter—right on the street, right at the curb. I tried getting up and running over to him but I fell back down. I was still out of it; hung over like I was dying myself.

  “But here’s the thing of it. It wasn’t straight down like it was that he slipped and fell or even did a suicide jump which I guess would also be more or less straight down. No. And besides, Willy was in no way ever thinking suicide. That’s outta the question. Willy was pushed. I remember feeling almost like I myself was being pushed by someone like from the back. I had that reaction when I, in a split-second saw Willy going down away from the building the way he had his hands stretched out—palms out. I felt it like he must’ve been feeling it, like if someone much bigger and stronger than me pushed me like that and then you go flying.

  “But that’s not the worst of it because—it’s very hard
for me to say this—even though I did see Willy hit the ground, the worst of it was that I heard it. I actually heard it. When something like that happens, I now know that you automatically know by the sound of it that it’s a body that hit the ground. Like the sound is different than you would imagine—like if it was a heavy object that dropped, like a frigidaire or something like a sewing-machine. Know what I mean?—a heavy object. Something not human. It’s just a different sound.

  “So, I could tell. I knew right away the moment I heard it that it was the sound of a body, of a human being. And it was Willy’s body. I actually heard the sound that Willy’s body made when it hit the ground coming outta our window on the third floor. It’s like I automatically know what you mean when you say a person who weighs a hundred pounds will hit the ground like he weighs over a thousand pounds. I know you said fifteen thousand pounds.”

  “You’re right. We know that. Police know that. A body makes a different sound then that of some non-human heavy object. In addition, like Detective Davis said, the distance from the face of the building to where Willy landed was measured to be more than seventeen feet. And that’s the result of quite a push—along with the effort Willy must have made to kinda we might say, elongate the way down; like he was pushing himself horizontally away from the downward trajectory. Know what I mean?

  “He also got smashed up but only on the front of his body so that it gives us more evidence that he was pushed. No one suiciding dives off a building. They just jump and either go straight down, or pinwheel down, or if they change their minds in the middle of the fall, they try to grab the side of the building or anything else they can grab onto so that when we find them, for sure their hands are all scraped up and badly damaged—all broken up, fingers and all. But usually they also have back of the head injuries and injuries all over their bodies, not just on the front. In Willy’s case, his hands were also damaged with broken bones but no real scraping and there were no injuries to speak of on his back.

  “Okay, now, tell me briefly about Willy’s life. I mean a quick look at it from the time he was born, parents, place of birth, and so forth. We’ll do more of it after we visit Willy tomorrow at the hospital. We’ve gotta see if he can communicate. If he can’t, then we gotta figure out how maybe we can communicate with him. Lyle, Det. Davis, spoke to the admitting orthopedic surgeon and he said he can’t tell if Willy will be able to tell us anything at all. Okay, g’head—Willy’s life.”