Willoughby looked at Bellows in disbelief. He wanted to throttle him and dislodge the truth. With Scatcherd dead, there was no way he could challenge Bellows’ story, at least for now. “What did you find during your search?” Willoughby demanded. “Nothing – and I took nothing. It was very frustrating, I must tell you. Whatever he stole, he hid it pretty well – or he gave it to an accomplice.”
Willoughby felt that he was at least temporarily check-mated. “I’m not buying your explanation, Bellows, so if I find out that you’re lying to me again, I’ll make a big show of hauling your ass downtown for a formal interrogation,” Willoughby said, poking his finger inches from Bellows’ face for added effect. As he was talking, he got up from the chair and abruptly opened the office door, catching Viola Finch by surprise. “Did you miss anything, young lady?” he asked with exaggerated politeness before leaving the mating bird and her unlikely paramour staring at each other.
WOODY LOOKED UP when Nigel Longstaffe walked unsteadily into Pudge McFadden’s. He seemed slower than usual and labored to climb up on his corner stool. Woody put a drink in front of the Englishman and smiled. Longstaffe raised his eyes to Woody and a faint flicker of a smile creased his mouth.
It was several minutes until Woody checked on Longstaffe and noticed that he had hardly touched his drink. Normally, he would have signaled for a refill by now. Longstaffe motioned with a half-raised arm and Woody gingerly approached him. Longstaffe pulled an envelope from his back pocket and handed it to Woody. “Cavete idibus martiis”, he whispered. He held onto the end of the envelope and Woody looked perplexed, not wanting to pull it toward him. Longstaffe tugged on the envelope, drawing Woody toward him. “You can do better than that puff piece on Barrington Dumont but beware the Ides of March, my friend. It brought nothing but evil tidings to me,” he said, staring intently into Woody’s eyes.
Longstaffe let go of the envelope and seemed exhausted by his effort. After Woody walked away, Longstaffe laid a twenty-dollar bill on the bar and left. Pudge walked out from the kitchen and, seeing Longstaffe leave, just shook his head. He made a promise right then to check on him that evening.
When he realized that Longstaffe was gone, Woody looked at the envelope and what he assumed was the Latin warning printed across the bottom. He read the original scrawl made earlier, in another hand writing, which said “Please hold for me, L.S.”
IT WAS A busy lunch crowd at Pudge McFadden’s that day and Woody had no time to examine the contents of the envelope but would occasionally reach back to confirm that it was still in his back pocket. When Pudge left to meet with some city official about a licensing issue, Woody was left with a few locals who had no place else to go and had retreated into their private worlds.
Woody went to the end of the bar and opened the envelope. Inside were two old photographs plus a recent Polaroid taken with the originals side by side. It only took him a minute to realize the significance of what was now in his possession. He recalled the photographs in the 1946 newspaper he had seen in the library depicting Helga, Augustus and the baby. Now, he was looking at Helga with what appeared to be a German soldier around the same time.
The pictorial spread that accompanied his article in the Alexandria Observer told an almost irrefutable story, namely that the German soldier standing with Helga bore a striking resemblance to Barrington Dumont. He turned the photographs over and examined the dates. They coincided perfectly with the time Augustus Dumont was stationed in Berlin.
Woody was feverish with excitement as he stuffed the photographs back in the envelope. He looked at the initials “L.S.” on the outside and was certain they stood for Leonard Scatcherd. But how had these photographs come into the possession of Nigel Longstaffe? He was an unlikely choice to be engaged in a conspiracy with the dead clerk. Was it possible that Scatcherd’s death was somehow connected to the photographs? Was Longstaffe urging him to write another article, an in-depth piece on the Dumonts?
Woody called the police station but Det. Willoughby was out. He left a message for him to call or come by Pudge McFadden’s as quickly as possible. He understood the importance of getting what was potentially evidence of a crime into the detective’s hands.
After a few minutes, Woody pulled out the envelope again and studied the photographs. He knew that Willoughby would want the originals but did anyone besides Scatcherd and possibly Longstaffe know about the Polaroid copy?
Woody had no desire to embarrass or expose the Dumont family but he had an idea on how he could help identify the German soldier. As he saw it, he would not be interfering in an official police investigation if he kept the Polaroid photograph and gave the originals to Willoughby. Leonard Scatcherd had come to him for help and he had callously turned him away. Now he might be able to atone for it.
WILLOUGHBY WAS TRYING to decide if any part of Bellows’ latest explanation was truthful. He was having trouble believing that Scatcherd volunteered his key to the archivist. There was palpable animosity between the two of them and it just didn’t seem plausible that the clerk would trust Bellows alone inside his apartment. And if Bellows didn’t have the missing documents, who the hell did? Well, he would just have to chew on this growing mystery for a bit.
Willoughby was not happy when he drove away from the Torpedo Factory but he still managed to laugh out loud when he thought of that parting scene with Bellows and Viola Finch. Did the archivist understand how devoted his little assistant was to his every whim? He was pulling into a fried chicken joint on the outskirts of town when the radio crackled with Woody’s message. He ignored the enticing odor wafting through the air and drove straight to Pudge McFadden’s.
CHAPTER NINETEEN:
Another Dead Body
WILLOUGHBY WALKED INTO Pudge McFadden’s uncertain how much he should tell Woody. Scatcherd’s death would soon be officially classified as “accidental” and to challenge it or even imply that it was wrong, with no countervailing proof, and particularly with someone outside the department, would be not just unwise but unprofessional.
Woody had been watching for the detective and waved from the end of the bar while holding the Longstaffe envelope aloft. “Watcha got, kid, your message said it was urgent?” Willoughby said with his usual deadpan demeanor. “I hope I wasn’t overly dramatic. Here, take a look,” Woody said as he handed the envelope to Willoughby, suddenly feeling wary and less confident in what he had considered a dramatic discovery.
Pudge, like a proud papa, had kept a copy of the Alexandria Observer issue that carried Woody’s article on Barrington Dumont. Woody went in the back to retrieve it as Willoughby studied the photographs.
The detective had no doubt that “L.S.” on the envelope stood for Leonard Scatcherd and he recognized what he thought was Latin but was not able to translate it. When Woody returned, he asked, “How did you come into possession of these photographs, son? Is there anything that you haven’t told me about your earlier confrontation with Scatcherd?” Woody was momentarily offended by Willoughby’s tone but realized that he was doing exactly what his stepfather would have done. Billy Meacham, Jr., renowned in and around Parlor City as a crack detective had once joked that if he had been questioning his own grandmother during an investigation, he would have tried to break her like the lowest form of criminal. Woody told Willoughby all he knew about Nigel Longstaffe and his sudden departure from the bar after handing Woody the envelope.