“What notebook?”
“It’s a list of Mr. Hoffa’s Chicago phone calls, with dates and everything like that. Roland said he stole the phone bills of some of Mr. Hoffa’s friends because Mr. Hoffa was afraid to call long distance from his hotel, because he thought his phone might be tapped.”
“Mrs. Kirpaski…”
She grabbed a binder off the breakfast table. “Roland would be so mad if I didn’t show it to the authorities.”
Littell opened the binder. Page 1 listed names and phone numbers, neatly arranged in columns.
Mary Kirpaski crowded up to him. “Roland called up the phone companies in all the different cities and found out who the numbers belonged to. I think he impersonated policemen or something like that.”
Littell flipped pages front to back. Roland Kirpaski printed legibly and neatly.
Several “calls received” names were familiar: Sam Giancana, Carlos Marcello, Anthony Iannone, Santo Trafficante Jr. One name was familiar and scary: Peter Bondurant, 949 Mapleton Drive, Los Angeles.
Hoffa called Big Pete three times recently: 11/25/58, 12/1/58, 12/2/58.
Bondurant snapped manacles bare-handed. He allegedly killed people for ten thousand dollars and plane fare.
Mary Kirpaski was fondling rosary beads. She smelled like Vicks VapoRub and cigarettes.
“Ma’am, could I use the phone?”
She pointed to a wall extension. Littell pulled the cord to the far end of the kitchen.
She left him alone. Littell heard a radio snap on one room over.
He dialed the long-distance operator. She put him through to the security desk at L.A. International Airport.
A man answered. “Sergeant Donaldson, may I help you?”
“This is Special Agent Littell, Chicago FBI. I need an expedite on some reservation information.”
“Yes, sir. Tell me what you need.”
“I need you to query the airlines that fly Los Angeles to Miami round-thp. I’m looking for reservations going out on either December the eighth, ninth or tenth, and returning any time after that. I’m looking for a reservation under the name Peter Bondurant, spelled B-O-N-D-U-R-A-N-T, or reservations charged to the Hughes Tool Company or Hughes Aircraft. If you turn up positive on any of that, and the reservation is in a man’s name, I need a physical description of the man either picking up his ticket or boarding the airplane.”
“Sir, that last part is needle-in-a-haystack stuff.”
“I don’t think so. My suspect is a male Caucasian in his late thirties, and he’s about six-foot-five and very powerfully built. If you see him, you don’t forget him.”
“I copy. Do you want me to call you back?”
“I’ll hold. If you don’t get me anything in ten minutes, come back on the line and take my number.”
“Yes, sir. You hold now. I’ll get right on this.”
Littell held the line. An image held him: Big Pete Bondurant crucified. The kitchen cut through it: cramped, hot, saints’ days marked on a parish calendar–
Eight minutes crawled by. The sergeant came back on the line, excited.
“Mr. Littell?”
“Yes.”
“Sir, we hit. I didn’t think we would, but we did.”
Littell got out his notebook. “Tell me.”
“American Airlines flight 104, Los Angeles to Miami. It left L.A. at 8:00 a.m. yesterday, December 10th, and arrived in Miami at 4:10 p.m. The reservation was made under the name Thomas Peterson and was charged to Hughes Aircraft. I talked to the agent who issued the ticket, and she remembered that man you described. You were right, you don’t forget–”
“Is there a return reservation?”
“Yes, sir. American flight 55. It arrives in Los Angeles at 7:00 a.m. tomorrow morning.”
Littell felt dizzy. He cracked a window for some alt
“Sir, are you there?”
Littell cut the man off and dialed 0. A cold breeze flooded the kitchen.
“Operator.”
“I need Washington, D.C. The number is KL4-8801.”
“Yes, sir, just one minute.”
The call went through fast. A man said, “Communications, Special Agent Reynolds.”
“This is Special Agent Littell in Chicago. I need to transmit a message to SA Kemper Boyd in Miami.”
“Is he with the Miami office?”
“No, he’s on a detached assignment. I need you to transmit the message to the Miami SAC and have him locate SA Boyd. I think it’s a matter of a hotel check, and if it wasn’t so urgent, I’d do it myself.”