6.The Alcatraz Rose (17 page)

It had been a wonderful vacation. But now . . .

He put down the restaurant guide and stood. It was time to get back to work.

He and Andy Harris had agreed to meet at Sam’s Grill, one of San Francisco’s oldest and most iconic restaurants. When Kingston stepped inside, he was met by a wall of chattering men and women squeezed into a small reception area, alongside a long mahogany bar. Most of the men—many holding drinks—were wearing suits, and the few women were also dressed for business. Kingston edged his way in, looking for
someone resembling a maître d’. With his height, he had a slight advantage and was about to elbow his way to the other side of the room, glimpsing white-clothed tables, when he saw an equally tall man with military-cropped gray hair wearing a navy blazer and open-necked shirt, waving to him from several feet away.

Kingston waved back.

“Dr. Kingston, I presume?” The man smiled. “Andy Harris.”

The two shook hands. “A pleasure to meet you,” Kingston said.

“And you. Your timing’s impeccable, Doctor.”

“Lawrence, please.”

He nodded. “Okay, Lawrence. It appears our table is ready.”

He gestured toward a black-coated waiter, who was motioning to them, and within a couple of minutes they were seated at the far end of the main dining room, well away from the hubbub. As if out of nowhere, another waiter appeared and took their order for a bottle of Chateau St. Jean Fumé Blanc, placed two menus on the table, and disappeared with a gravelly, “Thank you, gentlemen.”

“So how was Seattle?” Harris asked. “Your future son-in-law?”

“It was truly wonderful, couldn’t have been better,” Kingston replied, with a gleam of pride in his eyes. “He’s a really nice chap. We got on famously together. As for the two of them, the cliché ‘made for each other’ is the best way I can put it. I wish I could have spent more time with both of them, but you know how that goes.”

Harris nodded. “Plenty of time for that in the years to come.”

“Right. They’re planning to come over to England next year.”

Further conversation about Julie and Brandon and Kingston’s reacquainting himself with Seattle ended with their studying and exchanging thoughts on the menu, moving on to a round of small talk, mostly about San Francisco and London.

As if divining the suitable moment, the waiter returned with the wine, pouring it and taking their orders with an atypical economy of words, which Kingston appreciated.

“So, the plot thickens, eh?” Harris said, sipping his wine. “Quite a hornets’ nest you’ve stepped on, Lawrence. You start off looking for a rose and end up getting bloodied by thorns.”

“Not literally, but as I mentioned in my letter, my friend Andrew did.”

“Yeah, that was tough. How is he?”

“Oh, he’s fine.”

“That’s good.”

“By the way, I hope I didn’t saddle you with too much information.” Kingston had e-mailed Andy, telling him about the recent developments, along with a copy of the abbreviated history of the Great Highway Robbery, as well some notes he had made concerning the rose. “It was difficult to know what to leave out.”

“No, not at all,” Harris said. “You did an excellent job, and I can see where your reputation comes from. A while ago, I took the liberty of reading your life story on Google. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all. Most of it’s reasonably accurate, I suppose.”

“Having read the material several times, I have to agree with you that it’s possible—even though a bit remote—there could be a connection between the Belmaris rose growing on Alcatraz and one or more of the people involved in the robbery. Incidentally, your summary of the heist and everything that followed was unbelievable. Like a British movie.”

Kingston nodded. “It wasn’t difficult, most of it was easy to find online. So much has been written about it: books, hundreds of serialized newspaper and magazine stories, and the Internet, of course.”

“I know what you mean. It’s reminiscent of our Great Brink’s Robbery in Boston. Oddly enough, that was in the fifties, too. I believe three or four movies were based on it.”

“The name’s familiar. I’ll have to read up on it.”

“So tell me what’s your plan now. You’re touring the island, you said?”

“Yes. The last tour this afternoon, so I have to keep an eye on the clock.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll get you out of here in plenty of time. Cabs are easy and it’s only a ten-minute journey this time of day.”

“It’s going to be interesting to revisit the scene of the crime, as it were.”

“The crime.” Harris smiled. “With the police taking over, what is it, exactly, you hope to achieve?”

“As far as the murder and anything to do with the robbery—nothing. But I still want to know how that damned rose crossed three thousand miles of ocean and almost another three thousand overland, to end up where it did.”

“Well—” Harris frowned. “The warden would have been the only one with the authority to order plants and such, unless he delegated that responsibility—but even then it would only be up to his secretary. And that begs the question: How the hell would he have learned about such a rarified rose? Not only that, but from everything you’ve told me, it would be damned near impossible to obtain one—even at a price. Would he have known all that?”

“To be honest, I rather doubt it. Not unless he was an avid collector. Frankly, if I wanted to lay my hands on one, I wouldn’t even know where to start, and I’ve been involved in plants and roses most of my life.”

“If it wasn’t the warden, then you’ve got me.”

Kingston downed the last of his wine and placed the glass on the table.

“In one of our earlier conversations, I remember your saying that, in addition to the warden’s garden, there were a couple of others that good-conduct prisoners were permitted to work in.”

“That’s right. Over the near-thirty years that Alcatraz was a federal penitentiary, there were a few places on the island where there were what you would call gardens. One, as you said, was the garden surrounding the warden’s house. There was another, larger one near the old NCO cottages, with a greenhouse that was used for propagation and whatever else they do in greenhouses—you would know all that, of course. A third, I remember, was above the roadside wall, planted over some old foundations that were never removed. I’m not sure if any prisoners worked in the warden’s garden, but a few privileged inmates were allowed to work regularly in the other gardens. In fact, there was one whose name escapes me—a convicted counterfeiter—who built a garden shed that still stands.”

“A counterfeiter and a gardener.” Kingston smiled. “A rare combination.”

“He was a gifted man, all right. But that’s about all I can tell you.” Andy paused, shaking his head. “You know, Lawrence, over the years I’ve been asked the damnedest questions but very few about plants.”

Kingston smiled back. “I beg to differ with Kipling when it comes to the world’s oldest profession. I believe that gardening came first.”

Harris chuckled. “It would certainly make more sense. But not as much fun, maybe?”

“I can’t argue against that,” Kingston said.

Harris snapped his fingers. “Ryan Matthews, that was the gardener’s name, the counterfeiter. As kids, we were forbidden to talk to the prisoners, but I chatted with him briefly now and then. He was an exceptionally intelligent man and genuinely friendly.”

“How many wardens were there over the years?”

“Four, with very different and progressively more lenient management styles. The last two, Madigan and Blackwell, were the least strict—more humanitarian might be a better way to put it. Naturally they were the more popular, too. I think it would be fair to say that under their stewardship, more inmates were permitted to work on various tasks outside the prison walls. You, of all people, can appreciate that working in the gardens was one of the most sought-after jobs.”

“What years were they running the prison?”

Harris had to think for a moment. “From 1955 to 1963.”

“Which happen to be the years following the robbery,” Kingston noted, sipping his wine. “Is there any evidence—records and such—to suggest that either of them was personally involved in gardening—a hands-on sort?”

Harris smiled and shook his head. “Lawrence, give up on the warden idea. It’s not going to wash, take my word for it.”

“I suppose you’re right. It’s too convenient an answer.”

“Although—” Harris paused, frowning. “I just remembered something. Thinking of the two wardens reminded me. The secretary who served through both their terms was Elliot Hofmann. I’d have to check, but I’m pretty sure he had a hand in developing the gardens when he first came on board. I seem to recall that he was the one who influenced the warden to increase the number of privileged inmates allowed to work outside.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. So if it helps any, it’s possible he could’ve received permission from the warden to go ahead and purchase seeds and plants. But why would he have wanted to get his hands on a rare rose from another continent?”

“You’d be amazed, Andy. Gardeners are among the most obsessive collectors in the world and sometimes go to extremes or pay huge sums for a rare plant. Not long ago, a Chinese orchid was sold at auction for £160,000—that’s nearly a quarter million dollars. You might not believe it but there are serious collectors out there who’ll pay up to $50,000 for a cycad.”

“A cycad?”

“It’s the oldest living plant on the planet, over 250 million years old. It’s sort of a cult plant. There are stories about collectors traipsing all over the world to find mature ones. I read about one man risking his life going into a guerrilla-held jungle area in Colombia to get a specimen. Needless to say, like arms and drugs, there’s an illegal trade in cycads, which, as we all know leads to smuggling and host of other crimes.”

“Jeez, all for a damned plant? That’s hard to imagine. So, what you’re suggesting is that if Hofmann was fanatical about roses, he might have gone to similar extremes to get his hands on the world’s rarest rose?”

“Maybe not quite that far. It could’ve been quite a trophy, though.”

Harris was slow to answer, his expression muddled and mildly incredulous.

“I just don’t think that’s the case, here,” he said. “We have an expression for it, you’re ‘whistling Dixie.’ These men—the wardens, the secretary, and the correctional officers—had far too much on their minds, huge responsibilities to deal with each day. I just can’t buy it.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” Kingston replied. “I’m probably overreaching. But bear with me for a moment, and let’s stay with Hofmann. Assuming that he had set his mind on getting the rose, where could he have learned of its existence? Books, garden magazines, nursery catalogs, other members of the staff—there would have been plenty of sources. And what about all the civilian employees?”

“As for civilians, I’m rusty when it comes to the numbers, but I believe that, at any given time, there were sixty families living on the island, about a hundred children. The number of guards hovered around a hundred, too.”

“So any of those people could have learned of the rose and told Hofmann,” Kingston said, breaking off as the waiter appeared with two bowls of steaming clam chowder. Once placed in front of them, he checked the table to make sure everything was as it should be, then retreated with a polite, “Enjoy.”

For a few minutes, all thoughts of Alcatraz and the robbery were cast aside as they enjoyed their soup. It wasn’t until the main courses arrived—boned Rex sole for Kingston and sautéed shellfish for Harris—that they picked up where they’d left off.

“Going back to what you were saying, Lawrence—even discounting the fact that the rose was the best-kept horticultural secret of its day—I don’t think we will ever know how Hofmann or the warden would have learned about it—or if they even did.”

Kingston detected a subtle change in Harris’s tone. Was he starting to lose interest? he wondered.

He rested his fork and looked at Andy with a shamefaced smile. “I hope I’m not boring you to tears. Sometimes I get carried away without realizing it. Perhaps we should change the subject for a while?”

“Not at all, Lawrence. I’m just as curious as you to get to the bottom of the mystery. Ninety percent of all the questions I ever get asked are about the prisoners and the escapes—Al Capone and the Birdman, the sensational stuff. So it’s actually a pleasant change for me to discuss other aspects of life on the island. Though, from what you’ve told me, I can now see that gardening can sometimes be a hazardous occupation.”

“I haven’t told you about the plant hunters yet, Andy. Some of those stories would make Indiana Jones’s hair stand on end.”

Kingston was wondering how to keep conversation on the subject alive. For the moment, he seemed to have run out of questions. Harris saved him from having to concoct one.

“Well, maybe we’ve been going about this the wrong way—backward,” Harris said, knife and fork suspended. “Perhaps we should
be looking at it from the perspective of those on your side of the pond. Who acquired the rose and arranged for its shipment to Alcatraz? What difficulties would they have encountered and who would they be sending it to?”

“Unfortunately, there’s not much to go on there, either. I doubt that export licenses for plant products were as stringent then as they are now. Even if it was sent by legitimate means, the chance of finding any records or documentation sixty years later is wishful thinking.”

“I notice that when you talk about the rose, you refer to it as a plant. Why wouldn’t they ship seeds? Wouldn’t it be a lot easier?”

“Generally, you’re right. But in our case, if someone wanted to be certain that the rose he was sending was identical to its parent, the Belmaris rose, the most reliable method of propagation at the time would have been by stem cuttings, which, incidentally is quite simple and can be done by a novice, if the right steps are followed.”

Harris nodded. “I’ve heard about it.”

“It’s done with many plants. Seeds are much trickier to deal with and often produce a plant and flower that differ from the rose the seeds came from. It’s complicated, all about pollination. Anyway, it can take a long time to germinate seeds, and you’ve got to know what your doing. It requires controlled conditions, and I doubt anyone would’ve wanted to go to all that trouble.”