“Mr. Brooks, by testifying here today, do you hope to regain your former position in Hollywood?”
“Sir, I have no real hope of ever regaining my former position; too many people will hate me for what I say here today, no matter what I say. But I hope to be able, once again, to earn a living by writing for pictures, the theater and television under my own name. That is all I know how to do.”
Sid was questioned for another half hour along the lines of the agreed script, then he was dismissed.
The chairman spoke the magic words. “Mr. Brooks, you are excused, with the sincere thanks of this committee.”
Back outside, on the steps of the Capitol, Sid discovered that his shirt, under his jacket, was soaked through with sweat. He found a cab and began the long trip back to Los Angeles, not knowing what awaited him there.
56
Tom Terry was at his desk when Ben Morrison called.
“Good morning, Ben.”
“Morning, Tom. I have some news, of a sort. I don’t know if it means anything.”
“I’m all ears.”
“You remember that when we took prints from Susan Stafford’s car, we came up with hers and one other set?”
“Right.”
“And when we finally got to fingerprint Hank Harmon, the other prints didn’t match hers?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I sent the unknown prints to the FBI, and I finally heard from them in this morning’s mail. They were a match to a P. J. O’Toole, no photograph available. He’s six-one, two hundred pounds, brown hair. He has a record of two arrests for rape in Arizona, no convictions. We came up dry on his last known address, in Phoenix.”
“What hope do we have of finding this guy, Ben?”
“On the assumption that, since his fingerprints were found here, he now resides in the L.A. area, we’ve checked the phone books and we’ve found eight P. J. O’Tooles within a twenty-five-mile radius of Los Angeles. I’m short-handed, but I’m going to check them out as fast as I can.”
“Do you want me and my people to help?”
“No. I don’t want your people to be seen to be doing our job. I hope we can whittle down the number with telephone calls before we start interviewing them in person.”
“That makes sense.”
“We’ve already started, but we’ve only found one Mr. O’Toole at home, and he’s a man in his eighties who’s in a wheelchair. We’ll give the others time to get home from work, then make the calls again.”
“Don’t tell them you’re the cops. Tell them you’re looking for somebody who’s won the Irish Sweepstakes or something.”
“Right,” Ben said drily. “We thought of that.”
“You’ve got my home number?”
“Yes.”
“Call me if you get anything good, no matter what time.”
“Will do.”
“And thanks, Ben. This is good news.”
“That remains to be seen. He could be some guy in a gas station who worked on her car. Who knows? I wouldn’t get my hopes up just yet.”
“Okay. I’ll stay depressed until I hear from you.”
Tom hung up and noticed that his heart was beating very fast.
Eddie Harris answered the telephone in his suite at the Plaza Hotel, in New York. “Yes?”
“Mr. Harris, there’s a Mr. Harvey at the front desk, asking to see you.”
“Thank you, please send him up.” Eddie hung up the phone and pushed the room service tray out into the hall, then sat down to wait for the man from Red Targets, a publication that was a primary tool of the blacklist in New York. There was a knock on the door, and Eddie went to open it. “Mr. Harvey?”
“Mr. Harris?”
“Yes, please come in. Would you like some coffee?”
“Don’t mind if I do. Black, please.” Harvey sat down and placed his briefcase next to him.
Eddie poured two cups from the pot on the coffee table and sat down.
“Well, Mr. Harris, what can we do for you?”
“There’s a writer from Los Angeles that I want to get cleared.”
“And who would that be?”
“His name is Sidney Brooks.”
Harvey set his briefcase on his lap, opened it and took out a thick document in a ring binder. “Let’s see,” he said, leafing through the pages. “Ah, here we are: Sidney Brooks, born New York 1901, a Jew, joined the Communist Party 1935 in New York, was an unfriendly witness before the House Un-American Activities Committee earlier this year, cited for contempt of Congress, sentenced to a year in a federal prison, sentence stayed pending appeal. That the one?”
“That’s the one. What your book doesn’t say is that Mr. Brooks recently resigned from the party and that yesterday he appeared again before the committee as a friendly witness and purged himself.”
“We read the papers, too, Mr. Harris.”
“What hasn’t been in the papers yet is that Congress will lift his citation for contempt in session today, or so I am reliably informed.”
“Well, good for Mr. Brooks. Sounds like he’s taken the first step toward cleansing himself.”
“First step? What else could he possibly do?”
“Well, before we clear somebody, we like to have some time to watch his behavior and recheck his associations. Besides, we’re just getting together our resources and working out our procedures; we haven’t cleared a lot of people yet. Have you spoken to any other organizations?”
“I’ve had conversations with people at the Motion Picture Alliance,” Eddie said, “and I’ve been assured that they have no problem with Mr. Brooks’s clearance. I’ve had informal discussions with the American Legion as well, and they seem inclined to agree, although...”
“Although they want to see what we think?”
“Your publication was mentioned.”
“Yes, well, we’re in the midst of a fund-raising campaign that should help us move things along with a bit more dispatch.”
“I see,” Eddie said. He picked up his own briefcase, which was sitting next to the coffee table, opened it, took a stack of hundred-dollar bills secured with a paper binder and placed it on the table.
“That’s one hundred, hundred-dollar bills, Mr. Harvey; comes to ten thousand dollars. Do you think that might augment your fund-raising campaign to the extent that you could accelerate the clearance process?”
Harvey stared at the money and said nothing for a moment, then he licked his lips.
When Eddie saw that, he knew he had the man.
“Well, Mr. Harris, that’s certainly a very generous donation...”
“It’s not a donation yet, Mr. Harvey; it’s just ten thousand dollars sitting on a coffee table. I’d like Mr. Brooks cleared today, and I’d like a news release to that effect hand-delivered to the United Press and Associated Press before five o’clock this afternoon.”
“Well, I’d have to speak to my superiors...”
“There’s the phone, Mr. Harvey. You might point out to your superiors that the money is in cash and that I don’t care who gets it or what is done with it; I’m not going to deduct it from my taxes. I’m going to go brush my teeth and put on a necktie, and if you’re not here when I get back, I will assume that we are of one mind.”
Eddie got up and walked out of the room, leaving Harvey staring at the stack of bills. He brushed his teeth and put on a jacket and tie, taking his time about it. When he returned to the sitting room of his suite, Mr. Harvey and his briefcase were gone, and so was the ten thousand dollars.
57
Rick was sitting on his bed, tying his shoes, when the phone rang. “Hello?”
“It’s Eddie. Glad I caught you before you left for the studio.”
“How’s New York?”
“Just great, kiddo. I bear good tidings of great joy.”