Rafferty left the drugstore after buying a couple of the cheap cigars he liked to smoke and headed back down Osceola Street toward the Kirchmeyer mansion. But he didn’t go all the way there. Instead, he turned east on Lee Avenue, following the route Michael Kirchmeyer would have taken on his way to the brewery.
At Drake Street the “Omaha” shops, as everyone called them, came into view. The shops consisted of a series of low brick structures, including a roundhouse. Men in overalls were working on cars or moving locomotives in and out of the roundhouse on the north end of the property. Across Drake from the shops was a foundry, its wide doors open to dissipate the heat. A group of men inside were pouring molten iron into a sand mold. Other men were working in a small yard outside the foundry, loading finished goods onto drays. Teamsters with their wagons clattered along Drake, carrying supplies to the rail shops. Rafferty was struck by the amount of activity and the openness of the area. With potential eyes everywhere, it would hardly have been a good place to kidnap someone in broad daylight.
Farther down Lee, however, toward the river, the landscape abruptly changed. The street entered a long steep ravine, well-wooded, and followed it down to the river, where the brewery stood at the base of a low cliff. This rather secluded portion of the street, Rafferty concluded, would have been an ideal spot for the kidnappers to snatch young Kirchmeyer without being seen.
But where had they taken him and how had they spirited him away? At first Rafferty thought it likely the young man had been forced into a carriage or wagon, probably after being bound and gagged. But this theory had a problem. The street was very steep—Rafferty guessed the grade at twelve percent or better—and also quite muddy after heavy rain a few days earlier. Getting any kind of wheeled vehicle up and down the street under such conditions would have been very difficult.
As he was pondering this problem, Rafferty noticed something peculiar. A yellow ribbon—neatly tied with a square knot—dangled from a bush to his left where a goat trail led off into the woods. Curious, Rafferty turned up the muddy trail, instantly regretting that he had put on his best new loafers before going to the Kirchmeyer house. Rafferty followed the trail for perhaps a hundred yards, looking for any evidence that Michael Kirchmeyer and his kidnappers might have passed by. Before long, Rafferty saw a shanty, built of scavenged lumber and lodged up against one side of the ravine.
He scrambled over to take a look, fighting off a cloud of gnats that seemed to have been eagerly awaiting his arrival. The shanty looked as though it had been built by the hoboes who often camped near the railroad tracks. Inside, Rafferty found a fire pit, next to which was a crude plank bench supported by beer barrels. The dirt floor was littered with bottles of cheap whiskey, cans, and other signs of recent habitation. Rafferty sat down on the bench and used a stick to poke at the ashes in the pit, hoping he might find a clue. Almost immediately, he felt a peculiar sensation—at once cold and damp—around his feet. And in that instant, a most curious idea began to form in his mind.
By early evening, Rafferty was back at the Kirchmeyer mansion, waiting with everyone else for another message from the kidnappers. At around 6 o’clock, Rafferty called Thomas to see if he’d managed to talk to Red Banion. Thomas had, and the upshot of the conversation came as no surprise to Rafferty. The gambler, Thomas reported, was very insistent in stating that he’d had no involvement in Kirchmeyer’s kidnapping and that the young man had never owed him anything close to $10,000.
“You know Red,” Thomas said. “He’s a very cautious fellow. You won’t get much credit from him unless he’s thoroughly convinced you’re good for it. And when it came to young Kirchmeyer, Red wasn’t convinced. He said $250 was the biggest debt the boy ever had and that he always paid up on time.”
“How much did he gamble away in all?”
“About five thousand at most,” Red said. “Anything happening on your end, Shad?”
“No, I’m just sittin’ around like everybody else. But I have a feelin’, Wash, that it won’t be quiet around here too much longer.”
Rafferty’s prediction proved accurate. At 10 p.m. a boy arrived at the mansion’s front door bearing an envelope that he said was to be personally delivered to Johann Kirchmeyer. O’Connor, who had returned to the house not long before after spending several fruitless hours trying to pry information out of the local hoodlum community, intercepted the boy at once. A quick grilling revealed that the boy had been given the envelope by a man of vague description who’d stopped him at Seven Corners and offered him a five-dollar gold piece to deliver it, no questions asked.
O’Connor took the sealed envelope, which seemed to have something heavy inside, and brought it upstairs to Kirchmeyer. The chief was peeved to discover Rafferty in the room, but kept his unhappiness to himself, since Kirchmeyer obviously had placed his faith in the saloonkeeper.
“This has just come, sir,” O’Connor said. “I would think it is from the kidnappers.”
“At last,” Kirchmeyer said when O’Connor handed him the envelope. The brewer’s hands were shaking as he opened it. Inside were a note and a gold pocket watch.
Kirchmeyer turned over the watch to inspect the engraving on the back. “It is Michael’s,” he announced. “I gave it to him on his twenty-first birthday.”
With Rafferty and O’Connor looking over his shoulder, Kirchmeyer unfolded the note, which read:
MR. KIRCHMEYER: THE WATCH WILL TELL YOU THAT WE ARE NOT LYING. WE HAVE YOUR SON. IF YOU VALUE HIS LIFE, DO THIS: LEAVE YOUR HOUSE AT MIDNIGHT WITH THE RANSOM PACKAGED AS PER OUR EARLIER INSTRUCTIONS. ALLOW NO POLICE OR ANYONE ELSE TO FOLLOW YOU OR YOU WILL REGRET IT. BRING ALONG A LANTERN. WALK TO LEE AVENUE AND FOLLOW IT UNTIL YOU REACH A POINT APPROXIMATELY 200 YARDS TO THE WEST OF YOUR BREWERY. THERE, ON YOUR LEFT, YOU WILL SEE A PATH MARKED BY A YELLOW RIBBON. FOLLOW THIS PATH FOR APPROXIMATELY 100 YARDS. YOU WILL SEE A SHACK TO YOUR LEFT. GO INSIDE AND PLACE THE MONEY BENEATH A BENCH SUPPORTED BY TWO BARRELS. THEN LEAVE AT ONCE AND RETURN HOME. IF THE RANSOM PROVES SATISFACTORY, YOU WILL RECEIVE INSTRUCTIONS ABOUT WHERE TO FIND YOUR SON. HE WILL NOT BE HARMED IF YOU COMPLY.
Once again, it was signed, THE BLACK HAND.
Kirchmeyer stood up and said, “I must do as they say.”
“Of course,” O’Connor agreed. “But don’t worry. We have time. I will post my men all around the area. These criminals will not get away with their evil deed.”
These words alarmed Kirchmeyer. “No, no. You have seen what the note says. No police. I cannot risk it. Do you agree, Mr. Rafferty?”
“I do. We can take no chances with young Michael’s life.”
“I do not think it would be wise to give up the money so easily,” O’Connor said, shooting a nasty glance at Rafferty before turning to Kirchmeyer. “You have only their word that they will not harm your boy. I assure you that my men will be very discreet—”
“No,” Kirchmeyer said sharply. “You are to instruct your men to stay well away. Is that clear?”
“It is,” O’Connor replied, though Rafferty greatly doubted that the chief had any intention of living up to his promise.
After O’Connor left, Rafferty reread the note and told Kirchmeyer, “As it so happens, I was in that shack earlier today.”
“In it? But why?”
Rafferty explained how he had run across the shanty. Then he added, “Now, I don’t want you to worry. Just drop off the money as you were instructed to. I’m confident everything will be all right and you will soon see your son.”
When Rafferty came downstairs, O’Connor was waiting for him.
“Kirchmeyer is a fool and so are you,” he said. “That boy will be dead if we allow the kidnappers to get away with the ransom.”