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By Root 2258 0

wanted him dead. He and Chase prowled the small towns on Chicago’s outskirts, Nelson and Helen sleeping in their car every night, in pastures, behind service stations. They dropped Chase at a hotel each evening, in Morris or Elgin or Palestine, and picked him up the next morning. They drove all day every day, stopping in roadside taverns to make phone calls. Most nights they met Nelson’s friend, the mechanic Clarey Lieder, outside the city. If Nelson had a plan other than a vague idea of eventually escaping to Europe, he told no one. In the short term, he needed men and money. He had mulled Jimmy Murray’s train-robbery scheme for months, and Murray was among the first people Nelson saw upon his return.

Monday, November 26, Nelson and Chase braved a drive into the city, depositing Helen on a street corner on the North Side; she said she wanted to see a movie. Instead, without telling anyone, Helen wandered into their old neighborhood. She walked by the homes of her parents and siblings, hoping to see someone she knew. Helen was never the most complicated soul, and it’s easy to imagine what she felt when she peered into the warm, well-lit homes of her family. As Helen wandered the streets, Nelson and Chase stole a sparkling black V-8 Ford from a dealership. Afterward they drove to a clearing outside Chicago to meet Clarey Lieder and Fatso Negri, who had arrived with Nelson’s Hudson.

“Well boys, nearly all the gang’s dead,” Nelson said, “so the first thing we gotta do is organize a new gang. There are plenty of jobs for us to do, but we can’t charge on anything until we get some more members. I want good reliable men, fellas like Ray Karpis.”19

Nelson still wanted what he had from the start, to team up with Karpis and the Barkers. The problem was, he couldn’t find them. Negri suggested they enroll Chicago gangsters. “Not in a million years!” Nelson said. “I know those rats. I grew up in Chicago. Do you think the G-men would have to hunt for months to run down a bunch of rats like those? No, every one of ’em would turn tail and surrender.”

Later that evening Nelson picked up Helen on the North Side. That night they slept in their car, as always. Nelson needed his rest. The next day, Tuesday, he had people to see in Wisconsin, after which he hoped to drive into Chicago and talk to Jimmy Murray about the train robbery. With any luck, it would be an eventful day.

Lake Geneva, Wisconsin Tuesday, November 27, 2 P.M.

Charles Winstead sat waiting in the upstairs bedroom of the Hermanson home, as he had done every day for three weeks. Cars came and went all day, many stopping on the way to the Lake Como Inn up the road. Agent Jim Metcalfe, the aspiring poet, was in the kitchen. They had sent a rookie named Colin McRae into town for groceries.

Around two, Winstead saw a big Ford V-8 coming up the road. “Get ready, here comes a car,” he hollered downstairs to Metcalfe.

Metcalfe wasn’t concerned: some days a dozen cars visited the Hermansons. He glanced out the window. The approaching car was caked with dust. It looked like the Hermansons’ Ford; they had left on a trip the previous Saturday, and he assumed they were returning.

“Everything’s okay,” Metcalfe yelled. “It’s Mrs. Hermanson.”

Metcalfe stepped onto the front porch to see if Mrs. Hermanson needed help unloading the car. The midday sun was glowing on the Ford’s windshield as it pulled into the yard; neither Metcalfe nor Winstead could see inside. Squinting, Metcalfe could just make out a woman sitting in the front seat. She was a kid, maybe twenty-one, wearing a dark coat with a fur collar.

From inside the car the driver asked if Hermanson was home.

“No,” Metcalfe said, “he isn’t here.”

“Well is Eddie here?” the driver asked.

“No.”

“Where is he?”

“He went downtown to do some shopping,” Metcalfe said.

The driver thanked him and backed out toward the road. Upstairs, Winstead took his rifle and, though he couldn’t make out a face, aimed it directly at the driver’s head. As the Ford drove off, Metcalfe caught a glimpse of the man behind the wheel wearing sunglasses