Arno Zimmer - Death Comes to the Torpedo Factory

Bellows knew that his influence with and usefulness to Helga Dumont was at a low ebb but now he had a chance to redeem himself. He would call her before lunch and ask for instructions on how to proceed.

Helga had taken her old lover’s advice and assigned her two goons to watch Addison Bellows’ every move. They sat in their car in the parking lot outside the diner and watched Bellows and Woody talking inside. Then, they saw the handshake out front. After trailing Bellows back to the Torpedo Factory, the two men dutifully reported in.

WOODY WAS PERSPIRING and felt drained of energy as he walked to Pudge McFadden’s. It had been an intense 30-minute ordeal and it had been months since he had experienced the emotions that come with such high-stakes moments.

He had made up his mind in the middle of the back and forth with Bellows to demand a meeting with the Dumonts, come hell or high water. It was an empty threat but it seemed like a good ploy at the time. He had rightly concluded that Bellows was a pompous, conceited ass and yet he had no choice but to deal with him – at least for the present. Of course, any plan regarding the photographs would not proceed without Det. Willoughby’s concurrence. Woody had been flying solo for the past 24 hours but that had to end. He suspected that Willoughby would be furious and hoped that the break-in at Nellie’s apartment would somehow mitigate his anger.

Woody walked away from Bellows full of self-doubts. Was it all to avenge Nellie and prove his manhood, to demonstrate that he could protect her against the evils of the world? If so, he had failed miserably so far. He knew he had acted rashly but was determined not to back down – unless Willoughby compelled him to do so.

BELLOWS WALKED INTO his office and was surprised to see Viola Finch glaring straight ahead. He looked to his left behind the door and saw the reason for her displeasure. Det. Willoughby was sitting in the corner.

WHEN HELGA GOT the call from her henchmen reporting on Bellows seemingly warm interaction with Woody Meacham, anger boiled up and her immediate reaction was that the archivist had either turned on her or, worse yet, was part of the conspiracy from the very beginning. She called Siegfried at his B&B and told him the latest about Bellows. “Can I come over there so we can discuss what to do?” she implored. Siegfried was getting tired of fending off this aging twin of one-time bombshell Shelly Winters but he didn’t let on. “It is not wise that we take the chance of being seen together, particularly during the day. It’s best that we talk on the telephone. Plus, I am going out shortly.

“Listen, Helga, you need to stop making every little thing that happens a cloak and dagger event. I watched the kid at the bar and I can tell you he’s no pro. How he got mixed up in this caper remains to be seen. My guess is that a desperate Scatcherd passed the pictures to him at the bar when they met that day and told him how valuable they were. If so, it would be logical, if Scatcherd also told him about Bellows, that he would want to take advantage of a chance encounter and make a deal, especially with Scatcherd dead.”

“So, Scatcherd’s death – it was an accident?” Helga asked. “Most likely. The only one with a possible motive would be someone who had somehow got a hold of the originals and wanted to get rid of him. That would not be this Meacham kid, unless we are to assume that he got into the Torpedo Factory, lured Scatcherd to the stairwell and then pushed him – all without being seen by anyone.”

“Bellows?” Helga asked next. “It’s possible, but then does he have the guts to do it?” Siegfried inquired. “No,” Helga said emphatically. “Okay, so let’s put aside all the conspiracy theories and focus on the task at hand. If emotions get in the way, we will not be successful. You asked for my help and I am here. Are you with me, Helga?” Siegfried asked soothingly.

Siegfried’s voice was mellow and measured and Helga knew it was futile to challenge him. When they hung up, she felt better. Siegfried confided that he would search Bellows’ apartment and stop by Pudge McFadden’s to engage Meacham in conversation if that would make Helga feel better. In the meantime, she was cautioned to remain calm and to give Bellows a chance to explain himself. If he reached out to her right away and provided details of the meeting with Meacham at the diner, then he was assuredly still in their camp. If not, there might be cause for concern. In either case, she was to call Bellows and invite him to the house that evening.

BELLOWS SMILED WEAKLY when he saw Det. Willoughby sitting behind the door. His head was still swimming from the meeting with Woody Meacham and he was anxious to speak with Helga Dumont. Reluctantly, he pointed to his office and as they walked in, Willoughby said, “Perhaps you could send your assistant to the cafeteria for coffee?” Viola Finch was standing in the doorway, looking stern. Unfazed and not waiting for an answer, Willoughby said cheerily, “Black for me, young lady.”

Despite his discomfiture, Bellows couldn’t help laughing. “The usual for me, Miss Finch. Thank you.” To Viola, Willoughby was a predator threatening her nest. She wanted to resist but instead fluttered her arms and hurried away. She would be gone no longer than necessary.

“I just don’t get it,” Willoughby said, stroking his chin. “We’re wrapping up the investigation on Scatcherd and his death will be officially classified as accidental. And yet, I keep seeing that wretched soul laying on his back looking up the stairwell. Are you sure he didn’t have any other enemies here – besides yourself, that is? Of course, you have a solid alibi for the time of his death so there’s no question there.”

“I wasn’t his enemy, detective. I hardly knew him but if you ask around, you will learn that it didn’t take long to dislike him. He was a low-life creature, a cretin if you will. And don’t forget, he purloined classified government documents,” Bellows said calmly, before changing his tone and adding, “But why are you here, detective? Is there anything else? We are in the process of moving a considerable number of sensitive government files to another facility. We are all rather busy.”

“Right. Of course, someone might suggest you’ve been rather sloppy with what you admit are some highly classified files, letting some clerk carry them around, unsealed and all. Cretin and purloined, I like that Mr. Bellows. Well, hopefully those missing documents will turn up before the move, heh?”

As Willoughby was talking, Bellows was bent over, unlocking the bottom drawer of his desk. When he sat up, he dropped a set keys on his desk. If he had heard Willoughby’s not so veiled insult, he didn’t show it. Willoughby looked at the keys and had an epiphany, prompting him to change his strategy on the fly.

“Oh, I almost forgot why I stopped by. I am going along with your story that Scatcherd gave you his key to search his apartment and that you found nothing there pertinent to this investigation. He’s dead now so what does it matter, right?” When Willoughby finished, he saw Viola Finch standing in the doorway. She had floated in without a sound and he wasn’t sure how much she had overheard.