The Kidnap Years: by David Stout (if you give a mouse a cookie read aloud TXT) 📕

Eventually, nine men and one woman were implicated in the abduction of James Parker. Besides Pursifull, Betson, and Evans, they included Raymond Stoops; his wife, Bessie; their son, Dean; and Raymond’s brother, Arlo, a Peoria bond salesman. Raymond and Bessie Stoops owned the farmhouse in the hamlet of Banner, fifty miles south of Peoria, where Parker had been held.

Eight defendants were convicted. Betson, Evans, and two other men considered the leaders of the kidnapping ring got twenty-five years in prison. Other defendants got shorter sentences, including Pursifull, identified as a mere go-between, who got five years. (Bessie Stoops, her son, and a worker on their farm were acquitted.)

Law enforcement officials in Illinois were pleased that the James Parker kidnapping case was one in which the victim’s family had cooperated fully—unlike, say, the kidnapping of dressmaker Nell Donnelly, in which gangsters were conscripted to act as police officers. The law enforcement people were saying, in effect, “You should trust us more than you trust kidnappers and other criminals.”

Perhaps the lawmen were thinking of Nell Donnelly, the wealthy dressmaker who had been kidnapped and freed with the help of gangsters while the police remained on the sidelines. Or perhaps they were thinking of the Lindbergh case. Surely, they knew that Lindbergh had reached out to gangsters—to no avail, it appeared.

CHAPTER TWELVE

HOPE AND HEARTBREAK

New York City

Saturday, April 2, 1932

His time had come. John F. Condon, retired educator, was embarking on the greatest adventure of his life. It was no secret to anyone who knew him that he loved the limelight. Now, he was basking in it, and he might be able to render a great service as well.

They waited in Condon’s home: Condon himself, Charles Lindbergh, and Lindbergh’s attorney, Henry Breckinridge. Around eight in the evening, the doorbell rang. A note had been left by a cab driver, who walked away into the dark, forever unidentified. The note instructed Condon to go to a greenhouse on East Tremont Avenue and look for a message on a table outside the entrance.

Lindbergh drove as he and Condon left the house in Al Reich’s car. Reich’s car had been used for the first meeting, and Lindbergh and Condon speculated that the kidnapper might be wary if another vehicle appeared. On the way, Condon glanced over just as Lindbergh’s lapel was open for a moment. The famous flyer was carrying a pistol in a shoulder holster.

Lindbergh parked not far from the greenhouse. Condon got out, relieved that Lindbergh stayed in the car. He walked to the greenhouse, found the table, and saw the message, held down by a stone. It was too dark for him to read, so he took the message to the car.

By the dashboard lights, Condon and Lindbergh read the message: “Cross the street and walk to the next corner and follow Whittemore Ave,” it began.* It ordered Condon to come alone and bring the ransom money.

Lindbergh wanted to accompany Condon, but Condon persuaded him to stay in the car. The two men decided to defy the kidnapper up to a point: Condon would not give the kidnapper the money until after they had met.

In the cold, Condon walked the route specified by Cemetery John. The path took him along the edge of St. Raymond’s Cemetery. It was very dark, and Condon felt vulnerable. Would the kidnapper be furious that Condon didn’t have the money with him? On the other hand, not having the money might be good, because the kidnapper would have to—

“Ay, Doctor!” The shout was in a heavily accented voice. It came from the dark, among the tombstones. “Over here! Over here!”

Condon found himself on a dirt road next to the cemetery with the man inside walking parallel to him. Then the man scaled a small fence and crouched behind a hedge. Condon approached him. Yes, it was Cemetery John. He asked Condon if he had brought the $70,000.

Condon said the money was in a nearby car with Lindbergh. The exact words that were uttered next are forever unknown, but as Condon told the story, he complained to the kidnapper about the ransom being increased to $70,000 from the original $50,000.

Whereupon, in Condon’s telling, the kidnapper said, “Well, I suppose that we will be satisfied to take the fifty thousand.”

Cemetery John agreed to provide a note with directions to find the baby—but only after the money had been handed over. What’s more, the note was not to be read for six hours.

Condon returned to the car, told Lindbergh what had happened, and got the entire $70,000, just in case the man in the cemetery changed his mind about accepting only $50,000. Crucially, the $50,000 was packed in a wooden box, while the remaining $20,000 was in a separate packet.

Condon went back to the hedge where he’d last seen Cemetery John and waited in the dark. After thirteen minutes, according to Condon’s watch, John reappeared. Condon handed over the box with the $50,000 and got an envelope in return.

Then Cemetery John vanished among the graves, and Condon felt a moment of pride that he had saved Lindbergh the $20,000 in the separate packet.

(The FBI squad assigned by Hoover to keep tabs on the Lindbergh case had learned in advance that a ransom was to be paid on the night of April 2. Though some of its members were eager to follow Condon and stake out the drop site, Hoover had instructed his agents that under no circumstances should they intervene until the child was safely recovered.)43

In the car, Lindbergh was cautious and resisted the impulse to tear open the envelope. If John had specified that the note inside was not to be read for six hours, then so be it. Lindbergh feared that the kidnappers—if indeed there was more than one—might be watching his every move, even in the dark.

Lindbergh intended to drive Condon home with the envelope still sealed. But within minutes, the aviator who had seemed to have ice water for blood could