Arno Zimmer - Death Comes to the Torpedo Factory

Helga had been hurt when they met at the door but now anger, and wounded pride, were building up as she studied the impenetrable face of her former beau. She reached into her purse again and pulled out the latest edition of the Alexandria Observer , the one containing the article on Barrington Dumont, and thrust it at him. When he saw the photographs, he lingered over the one of the dashing young man in his Air Force uniform. His expression changed and she saw his eyes flutter. Well, I played at least one card properly, she said to herself, and spoke forcefully with renewed self-confidence.

“I have learned that the extortionist is someone by the name of Leonard Scatcherd. He is a lowly clerk who stole the photographs from files maintained in the war archives. His apartment has been searched as well as his work area but we have been unable to find the originals. To keep on the pressure, I’m having him followed in a conspicuous manner. We think he may have an accomplice.”

“The writer, this Meacham guy?” Siegfried asked, pointing to the newspaper. “His apartment has been thoroughly searched. Nothing. He was seen meeting with Scatcherd at a bar in town. He’s being watched as well,” said Helga.

“Is there anyone else?” asked Siegfried. He did not suspect her of holding back but she did not understand his question and was offended. “There is an archivist who came to me and exposed Scatcherd. He is helping me,” she said almost defensively.

“Has it occurred to you that this archivist might be playing a double game?” Siegfried raised his eyebrows as he posed the question. No, Helga had never entertained that possibility and she smiled for the first time since their greeting at the door. “Very unlikely. He’s one of us. Besides, he is in love with my daughter. He doesn’t know that I know.”

“One of us?” Siegfried asked, knowing what she had meant but forcing her to explain further. Helga blushed before saying, “What I meant was that he comes from old Virginia money, too.” She didn’t say the name Dumont but knew that she had blundered badly.

Siegfried nodded but said nothing. He couldn’t help gazing at the photographs of Barrington in the newspaper as he listened to Helga. Was it possible that this striking young man could rise through the political ranks and eventually become one of the most powerful men in the United States? Siegfried determined at that moment that he must see this young man and look deep into his eyes to confirm that he was indeed his son.

“Of course, I will help,” he said, almost warmly. “Give me a few days to decide how to proceed. In the meantime, continue to have Scatcherd and Meacham followed. Leave me a message if anything significant happens. I will be in touch shortly.”

Siegfried stood up and Helga knew that their meeting was concluded. It was way too soon but what was she to do? “Perhaps you have time for dinner, for old time’s sake? We could eat here in the room,” she said, immediately regretting the pleading tone in her voice.

“It would not be wise, Helga,” he said, sensing that he should speak soothingly. “You would be ordering room service for two and it might get out. It’s better to be cautious.” Siegfried stuck out his hand and Helga had no choice but to shake it. Once again, he had thwarted any possible intimacy. In a few seconds, he was out the door, clutching the newspaper tightly in his hand.

HELGA DID HAVE room service for one that evening, too shaken and forlorn to venture outside of her room. She stopped to wonder if she had really come to New York on behalf of her son or, instead, in a desperate attempt to rekindle a fleeting love affair that had died, at least for Siegfried, many years ago. Helga had a passion for Siegfried which she had never relinquished but it would be a mistake to call it love. She wanted to possess him, even though she had given herself up to an unmanly American soldier in a callous, calculated act. Still, it galled her to think that someone else, perhaps even that evening, would have even a small portion of Siegfried’s affection.

AFTER LEAVING HELGA, Siegfried stayed in the City and enjoyed the evening with a much younger woman who knew him as a businessman from Long Island who was not reluctant to spend lavishly and who neither made nor asked for any commitments beyond an occasional assignation. If Helga had seen them together and watched how he charmed her rival while she yearned for that young German soldier in her room at the Essex House, she would have been devastated.

What Helga also did not know was the other reason why Siegfried was so anxious to end their meeting in her hotel room. When he saw her at the door, he thought he was looking at some aging actress who, in her efforts to look younger, had practically turned herself into a floozie, a modern-day Jezebel. The puffed-up platinum hair that looked like rolls of barbed wire, the low-cut silk dress with pearls accentuating two sagging breasts that had somehow been propped up too high. It was almost a caricature, but Siegfried felt that he had shown incredible tact through it all. As he hailed a cab in front of the Essex House, he laughed when he remembered the inspiration for the image that had formed in his head. It was a movie called “Alfie” with that British actor Michael Caine playing a roughish cad who seduces an aging and besotted Shelly Winters who eventually dumps him for an even younger man. Siegfried didn’t mean to be cruel but he couldn’t help thinking that Helga Dumont could have played the part to perfection the way she looked this evening.

Siegfried had been sincere when he offered his assistance to Helga and felt certain that she now understood that it was on behalf of Barrington, and him alone, that he would do so.

THE NEXT MORNING after breakfast, Helga took a walk in Central Park, longer than usual, thinking about Siegfried, the Berlin of her youth and all that could have been. Gradually, she shook off her lethargy and self-pity and returned to the Essex House more like her domineering self.

She would head over to Fifth Avenue before her train back to Virginia. She was in no mood for it, but it would be imprudent not to do some shopping. To return home empty-handed would raise unnecessary suspicions with Augustus and Siegfried would have cautioned against it.

SCATCHERD WAS ON edge when he thought about the second note he had sent to Helga Dumont. Soon, he would need to provide her with a way to contact him or she – and Bellows – would likely conclude that he was an enfeebled crank. In that event, the game would be over.

Addison Bellows was still grumbling and ill-humored at work. He had called Helga only to learn that she was out of town. Consequently, he had no excuse for dropping in on the Dumonts in the hopes of catching a glimpse of Lucy, if only from a distance.

Viola Finch was miserable, having absorbed all of Bellows’ discontent as her own. She kept herself immaculate, pert and dainty, and fluttered about the office in the hope that her colorful presence would prompt her boss to pay attention and acknowledge her fidelity. Viola had selected her mate and it was settled, whether he was aware of it or not. Perhaps, it was the brightly-colored bow ties that first attracted her. Did she know that the female bird was drawn to the male with the reddest breast?