Arno Zimmer - Death Comes to the Torpedo Factory

Helmut Brunner had been dead for over ten years but Siegfried knew that the revelation that his name was on a list with the vilest reprobates in history would be, along with the revelation of Barrington’s dubious paternity, more than enough to destroy the Dumont family.

Siegfried Fuettener was an insightful man but his judgment was now clouded by his desire to protect the son he had never met. He had no way of knowing that Bellows had followed his original plan to gradually remove portions of the damaging file he found in the Torpedo Factory basement. Over a few days, he had tucked items inside his clothing before he left work and had, in fact, destroyed all of them except for the list discovered by Siegfried. The archivist in Bellows simply wouldn’t allow him to eliminate this piece of history. And so, Siegfried concluded that while Bellows wasn’t necessarily playing both sides, he still wanted an insurance policy. Even if he helped retrieve the damning photographs, Bellows would still have the list with Helmut Brunner’s name on it. It would be like a Sword of Damocles hanging over the head of Barrington Dumont for the rest of his life. Even if the original photographs eluded his grasp, Siegfried could at least eliminate this particular threat to the family.

The simple fact was that Addison Bellows was, from the very beginning, motivated by the desire to protect the names of two venerated Virginia families and to ingratiate himself with Lucy Dumont. After all, the giant blue signs trimmed in gold that hung from the top of several bank buildings in the city still read Dumont & Bellows. Any shame brought upon one would adhere to and be shared by the other for years to come.

SIEGFRIED CALLED HELGA after leaving Bellows’ apartment and learned the details of the archivist’s diner meeting with Woody Meacham. She then told him about her meeting with Augustus. He did not tell her where he had been and what he had discovered; by now, Helga knew not to ask.

Siegfried decided to lay a trap for Bellows to confirm his suspicions concerning the list with Helmut Brunner’s name on it. He told Helga to ask the archivist if he was aware of any other documents from the Torpedo Factory files that could be damaging to the Dumonts. How Bellows responded would be very revealing and might dictate what steps needed to be taken next.

WHEN SIEGFRIED WALKED into Pudge McFadden’s, it was mid-afternoon and the place was practically empty. He sat in the corner stool by the door, causing the few regulars at the bar to look over to see if the ghost of Nigel Longstaffe had appeared.

Siegfried cased the bar and saw Woody emerge from the back with an apron tied around his waist. When he brought him his red wine, Siegfried decided it was the moment to engage the would-be extortionist.

“Quaint little town. You from here?” Siegfried asked, mindful to deploy his French accent. Woody explained that he was from a small town in Upstate New York and had only been in the area for a few months following his discharge from the military. “Sorta fell into this job as I decide what to do next,” Woody added in a desultory tone. He sounded very genuine to Siegfried and not at all cautious or contrived.

“French, right?” Woody asked, curious about his customer. “Belgian, actually,” said Siegfried. “Common mistake, though. We have three primary languages so it depends where you grew up. For me it was Wallonia, a region in the south near the French border. For others it would be Dutch or German.”

“Your English is excellent,” Woody observed, “what brings you here?” “Oh, a little business mixed with some sightseeing,” Siegfried replied. He took a sip of wine and immediately looked away. Woody took the hint that additional conversation would not be welcomed.

Woody heard his name and saw Pudge emerging from the kitchen and motioning him over, leaving Siegfried to ponder their brief exchange. Perhaps, he was a very cool customer but Meacham didn’t fit any profile of a con man imaginable to Siegfried. He wasn’t even convinced that the bartender had the original photographs and it was certainly possible that Scatcherd had only given him the same Polaroid that had been mailed to Helga. If so, who had the originals? If they were in Bellows’ apartment, they were hidden well. Siegfried had a lot to think about before his evening conversation with Helga. He might need to go back to Bellows’ apartment. Perhaps, he had lost his touch and hadn’t been thorough enough.

He finished his wine and left change on the bar. Had he lingered a while longer, he would have met Det. Willoughby walking in the door.

WILLOUGHBY LISTENED INTENTLY as Woody pulled out the Polaroid and then recounted the request made to Prof. Humboldt and the break-in at Nellie’s apartment. Pudge jumped in with his own mea culpa but before Willoughby could comment Woody stopped him and said, “Sorry Pudge. There’s more that even you don’t know about.”

After hearing about Woody’s late-night call and then the diner meeting with Bellows, Willoughby got up and paced back and forth while Pudge sat in stunned silence. When the detective sat down, he looked at both of them and said, “I could run both of you in for interfering with a police investigation.” Pudge detected a slight smile form under the detective’s thick mustache and was emboldened to say “But then you’d have to run the bar until we got out, Hank. Okay, we were wrong but we wanted to help solve the damn mystery surrounding the photographs. And Scatcherd’s death is officially an accident, right?” Willoughby didn’t answer Pudge but instead motioned for Woody to leave them alone.

When Willoughby was confronted with a difficult decision, he had an unconscious habit of working his tongue from one jaw to the other and stroking his chin at the same time. He was doing it now and it unnerved the Irishman. Willoughby suddenly looked up to the ceiling and then scanned the bar, as if he was searching for words. It was not the usual dead-pan look designed to hide his emotions. Finally, he leaned in close to Pudge and said, “I’m inclined to give the kid a pass, Pudge, but I’m surprised and disappointed in you. You should have come to me first. There are other things going on which I can’t talk about. I know your heart is always in the right place but I’m not happy. Yeah, I’ll get over it. Our friendship will survive. Now, let nothing else be said about it, okay? The truth is, I’m going to need some help from both of you.”

Willoughby signaled for Woody to rejoin them and asked, “Where’s that newspaper with the article you wrote?” “I’ll get it,” Pudge said quickly, glad for the opportunity to leave the two alone for a few minutes. “Something special about the girl?” Willoughby asked. “There might have been. Not so sure any more,” Woody said. “It’ll probably work out,” Willoughby offered, trying to sound encouraging. If the detective had known Woody’s history with Nellie Birdsong, he would probably not have been so sanguine.

Willoughby understood the unpredictable, out of character things a man will do when a woman is involved. He would swallow his own indignation and cut Woody some slack, even use his free-lancing detective work to hopefully corner and expose Bellows.

“Now, here’s what we’re going to do,” Willoughby said with a decisiveness that would not be challenged by either Pudge or Woody, both of them sufficiently humbled by their earlier subterfuge and the detective’s tacit forgiveness.