The Anderson Tapes (9 page)

So … I was identified on the closed-circuit TV screen in the lobby, and the doorman pressed the button unlocking the service door and allowed me entrance into the basement. Pardon?

No, this was merely to be an inspection. There was no intent to steal or destroy. Anderson merely wanted a complete rundown of the basement plus Polaroid photos of anything interesting. You understand? If I thought there was anything illegal required, I never would have accepted this job.

So. I am now in the basement. I went first to the telephone box.

Quite ordinary. I made notes of main phones and extensions. I took instant photos of the entrance of the main trunk line into the basement and where it should be cut to isolate the entire house.

This was requested by Anderson, you understand. I also ascertained that there were two separate wiring systems which, by their arrangement, I judged to be alarm systems, one to the local precinct house, perhaps triggered by an ultrasonic or radio-wave alarm, and the other to a private security agency which would be, I guessed, activated by opened doors or windows.

Quite unexpectedly, both systems bore small tags with the apartment numbers written on them, so I was able to note that the precinct alarm was attached to Apartment Five B, and the private agency alarm to Apartment Four B. I made notes of this, plus photos. As Anderson had requested.

At this moment a door opened into the basement and a man came in. I learned he was Ivan Block, the superintendent of the building.

He asked me what I was doing, and I explained that the telephone company was intending to bring a new line down the street and I was examining the premises to see what new equipment would be required. This was the same explanation I had given to the doorman. Another glass of water, please? I thank you.

[Lapse of six seconds.]

Block appeared satisfied with my explanation. Listening to him speak, I realized he was Hungarian or perhaps a Czech. Since I speak neither of these languages, I spoke to him in German, to which he replied in very bad, heavily accented German. However, he was pleased to speak the language. I believe he was somewhat inebriated. He insisted I come into his apartment for a glass of wine. I followed him, happy at the opportunity of making a further examination.

The super’s small apartment was dirty and depressing. However, I took a glass of wine with him while looking around. The only thing of value I saw was an antique triptych on his dresser. I guessed it as being at least three hundred years old, beautifully carved. The value, I estimated, might be as much as two thousand dollars. I made no reference to it.

Block continued to drink wine, and I told him I had to call my office, and I left. I then explored the main basement. The only thing of interest I found was quite odd… .

It appeared to be a kind of a box—or rather, a small room—built into one corner of the basement. It was obviously quite old, and I judged it had been built into the basement when the building was constructed. Two walls of the basement formed two sides of the boxlike room; the two walls projecting into the basement at a right angle were constructed of fitted wooden slabs. One wood wall had a flush door, closed by an extremely heavy, old-fashioned brass lever and hasp. The big hinges were also of brass. The door was secured with a large padlock.

Closer inspection revealed that the door was also protected by a rather primitive alarm system obviously added years after the boxlike room had been built. It was a simple contact alarm that might ring a bell or flash a light when the door was opened. I traced the wire and judged it went up into the lobby area where it might alert the doorman.

I took complete Polaroid photos of this strange boxlike affair, and made notes of how the alarm might easily be bridged. Almost as an afterthought, I put my hand to the side of this unusual room and found it quite cold to the touch. It reminded me of a large walk-in refrigerator one might find in a butcher’s shop in this country.

I took a final look around and decided I had everything that Anderson, my client, required. I then exited from the basement and got into the truck. The two men, Ed and Billy, had waited quite patiently. We pulled out of the driveway. The doorman was standing on the sidewalk, and I smiled and waved as we pulled away.

They dropped me on the corner of Seventy-ninth Street and Lexington Avenue, and then left. I have no knowledge of what they did after that. The entire operation consumed one hour and twenty-six minutes. John Anderson called me on June fifth. I suggested he come over to my shop on the next day. He did, and I delivered to him the photos I had taken, the diagrams, and a complete report of what I saw—which is exactly what I have reported to you gentlemen. I thank you very much for your courtesy.

Binky’s Bar & Grill, 125th Street and Hannox Avenue, New York City; 12 June, 1968; 1:46 P.M. On this date, these premises were under electronic surveillance by the New York State Liquor Authority, on suspicion that the owners of record were knowingly allowing gambling on the premises. The following is tape SLA-94K-KYM. Anderson’s presence was verified by voice print and testimony of an eyewitness.

ANDERSON: Brandy.

BARTENDER: This place for blacks, not for whiteys.

ANDERSON: What you going to do—throw me out?

BARTENDER: You a hardnose?

ANDERSON: Hard as I gotta be. Do I get that brandy?

BARTENDER: You from the South?

ANDERSON: Not deep. Kentucky.

BARTENDER: Lexington?

ANDERSON: Gresham.

BARTENDER: I’m from Lex. Cordon Bleu okay?

ANDERSON: Fine.

[Lapse of eight seconds.]

BARTENDER: You want a wash?

ANDERSON: Water on the side.

[Lapse of eleven seconds.]

ANDERSON: There’s a guy I want to meet. Light brown. Sam Johnson. Goes by the name of Skeets.

BARTENDER: Never heard of him.

ANDERSON: I know. He’s got a razor scar on his left cheek.

BARTENDER: Never saw such a man.

ANDERSON: I know. My name’s Duke Anderson. If such a man should come in, I’m going to finish this drink and go across the street and get some knuckles and collards. I’ll be there for at least an hour.

BARTENDER: Won’t do you no good. Never saw such a man. Never heard of him.

ANDERSON: He might come in … unexpected like. Here’s a fin for you in case he does.

BARTENDER: I’ll take your pound and thank you kindly. But it won’t do you no good. I don’t know the man. Never saw him.

ANDERSON: I know. The name’s Duke Anderson. I’ll be across the street in Mama’s. Keep the faith, baby.

BARTENDER: Up yours, mother.

Tape recording NYSNB (New York State Narcotics Bureau) 48B-1061

(continuing). Taped at 2:11 P.M., 12 June, 1968, Mama’s Soul Food, 125th Street and Hannox Avenue, New York City.

JOHNSON: Here’s my man, and gimme your han’.

ANDERSON: Hello, Skeets. Sit down and order up.

JOHNSON: Now that I’m here, I’ll have a beer.

ANDERSON: How you been?

JOHNSON: I get some jive so I’m still alive.

ANDERSON: Things going good for you?

JOHNSON: I do this and that, but I don’t get fat.

ANDERSON: Cut the shit and talk straight. You got some time to do a job for me?

JOHNSON: If it’s a crime, I’ve got the time.

ANDERSON: Jesus Christ. Skeets, there’s a house on the East Side.

If you’re interested I’ll give you the address. There’s a live-in spade maid works one of the apartments. Every day at noon she comes out to do shopping.

JOHNSON: When you talk a chick, you gotta click.

ANDERSON: Light tan. West Indian. Big lungs. Pretty. I want you to get close to her.

JOHNSON: How close, oh, Lord, how close?

ANDERSON: Everything. Whatever she can tell you about her apartment. Her name’s Andronica. That’s right—Andronica.

She’s from Apartment Four A. There may be a coin collection there. But I want to know about the rest of the house, too—

whatever she’ll spill.

JOHNSON: If she won’t spill, then her sister will.

ANDERSON: There’s a funny room in the basement. A cold room. It’s locked. Try to find out what the hell it is.

JOHNSON: If the room is cold, then I’ll be bold.

ANDERSON: You on?

JOHNSON: If you’ve got the loot, I’ve got to suit.

ANDERSON: A bill?

JOHNSON: Make it two and I’ll be true.

ANDERSON: All right—two. But do a job for me. Here’s a loner to get you started. I’ll be back here a week from today, same time.

All right?

JOHNSON: As a man you’re mean, but I like your green.

Transcription of tape recording POM-14JUN68-EVERLEIGH.

Approximately 2:10 A.M.

MRS. EVERLEIGH: Did the doorman see you come in?

ANDERSON: He wasn’t there.

MRS. EVERLEIGH: The bastard. We’re supposed to get twenty-four-hour doorman service, and this bastard is always down in the basement drinking wine with that drunken super. Brandy?

ANDERSON: Yes.

MRS. EVERLEIGH: Yes,
please
.

ANDERSON: Go fuck yourself.

MRS. EVERLEIGH: My, we’re in a pleasant mood tonight. Tired?

ANDERSON: Just my eyes.

MRS. EVERLEIGH: I think it’s more than that. You look like a man who’s got a lot on his mind. Money problems?

ANDERSON: No.

MRS. EVERLEIGH: If you need some money, I can let you have some.

ANDERSON: No … thanks.

MRS. EVERLEIGH: That’s better. Drink up. I bought a case of Rémy Martin. What are you smiling about?

ANDERSON: You figure this will last for a case?

MRS. EVERLEIGH: What’s that supposed to mean? You want to cut out? Then cut out.

ANDERSON: I didn’t want to cut out. I just figured you might get tired of me slamming you around. Are you tired of it?

[Lapse of seven seconds.]

MRS. EVERLEIGH: No. I’m not tired of it. I think about it all the time.

When I was in Paris, I missed you. One night I could have screamed, I wanted you so bad. I got a million things on my mind.

Business things. Details. Pressure. I’m only as good as my last season. I work for the worst bastards in the business—the
worst
. I only relax when I’m with you. I think about you during the day, when I’m at the office. I think about what we did and what we’ll do.

I don’t suppose I should be telling you these things.

ANDERSON: Why not?

MRS. EVERLEIGH: A girl’s supposed to play hard to get.

ANDERSON: Christ, you’re a stupid bitch.

[Lapse of five seconds.]

MRS. EVERLEIGH: Yes. Yes, I am. When it comes to you. You’ve been in prison, haven’t you?

ANDERSON: Reform school. When I was a kid. I stole a car.

MRS. EVERLEIGH: And you haven’t been in since?

ANDERSON: No. What makes you think so?

MRS. EVERLEIGH: I don’t know. Your eyes, maybe. Those Chinese eyes. The way you talk. Or don’t talk. Sometimes you frighten me.

ANDERSON: Do I?

MRS. EVERLEIGH: Here’s the bottle. Help yourself. Are you hungry? I can fix you a roast beef sandwich.

ANDERSON: I’m not hungry. You going on another trip?

MRS. EVERLEIGH: Why do you ask?

ANDERSON: Just making conversation.

MRS. EVERLEIGH: I’ve been invited out to Southampton for the July Fourth weekend. Then, late in August and over the Labor Day weekend I’ll be going to Rome. May I sit on the couch next to you?

ANDERSON: No.

MRS. EVERLEIGH: That’s what I like—a romantic man.

ANDERSON: If I was a romantic man you wouldn’t bother with me.

MRS. EVERLEIGH: I suppose not. Still, it would be nice to know, occasionally, that you’re human.

ANDERSON: I’m human. Sit on the floor.

MRS. EVERLEIGH: Here?

ANDERSON: Closer. In front of me.

MRS. EVERLEIGH: Here, darling?

ANDERSON: Yes. Take off my shoes and socks.

[Lapse of fourteen seconds.]

MRS. EVERLEIGH: I’ve never seen your feet before. How white they are. Your toes look like white worms.

ANDERSON: Take off that thing.

MRS. EVERLEIGH: What are you going to do?

ANDERSON: I’m going to make you forget the bastards you work for, the business, the details, the pressure. That’s what you want …

isn’t it?

MRS. EVERLEIGH: Part of it.

ANDERSON: What’s the other part?

MRS. EVERLEIGH: I want to forget who I am and what I am. I want to forget you and what I’m doing with my life.

ANDERSON: You want to get out?

MRS. EVERLEIGH: Get out? Yes. I want to get out.

ANDERSON: You’ve got a good suntan. Take the robe off.

MRS. EVERLEIGH: Like this?

ANDERSON: Yes. God, you’re big. Big tits and big ass.

MRS. EVERLEIGH: Duke … be nice to me … please.

ANDERSON: Nice to you? Is that what you want?

MRS. EVERLEIGH: Not … you know … not physically. You can do anything you want. Anything. But be nice to me as a person … as a human being.

ANDERSON: I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. Spread out.

MRS. EVERLEIGH: Oh God, I think I’m going to be sick.

ANDERSON: Go ahead. Puke all over yourself.

MRS. EVERLEIGH: You’re not human. You’re not.

ANDERSON: All right. So I’m not. But I’m the only man in the world who can get you out. Spread wider.

MRS. EVERLEIGH: Like this? Is this all right, Duke?

ANDERSON: Yes.

[Lapse of one minute eight seconds.]

MRS. EVERLEIGH: You’re hurting me, you’re hurting me.

ANDERSON: Sure.

MRS. EVERLEIGH: White worms.

ANDERSON: That’s right. Getting out?

MRS. EVERLEIGH: Yes … yes …

ANDERSON: You’ve got a body like mush.

MRS. EVERLEIGH: Please, Duke… .

ANDERSON: You’re a puddle.

MRS. EVERLEIGH: Please, Duke… .

ANDERSON: “Please, Duke. Please Duke.” Stupid bitch.

MRS. EVERLEIGH: Please, I… .

ANDERSON: There. Isn’t that nice? Now I’m being nice to you as a person. As a human being. Right?

The following is a Xerox copy of a handwritten report, identified by Dr.