Humboldt was still teaching at Thorndyke and Woody caught him in his office between classes. “I do recall you. You wrote a paper on the Deutchnationale Volkspartei that impressed me. A little shaky in parts but first-rate work for a college boy. What are you doing now?” he inquired.
Woody mumbled something about research and when he described the photographs, Humboldt offered to examine them before Woody could even ask for help. Humboldt had to leave for another class but before they hung up the phone, he confirmed that his department did have a fax machine. Woody promised that he would have an image of the photographs within the hour. “I’ll try to have something for you tomorrow. Call me late in the afternoon, young man,” Humboldt said before hanging up.
Woody emerged from the back of the saloon with a smile on his face as Pudge looked over from behind the bar. “Help out here and I’ll call the lawyer,” said Pudge, handing Woody a towel. Pudge was back in a few minutes and said, “Head over to South Royal Street. When you turn the corner, you’ll see the sign out front – Law Offices of Bennett Carbury. Talk to no one else, Woody. I told him it was highly confidential and he promised he would personally handle the fax transmission.” Pudge was having second thoughts about his spontaneous decision to help Woody. He should have demanded that they first clear Woody’s plan with Willoughby before proceeding. Pudge thought of that adage about it being easier to ask for forgiveness than for permission and just shrugged his shoulders.
On his way out of the bar, Woody was stopped by a man near the door holding a map. He looked at Woody with that confused expression of an out-of-towner. He spoke in clear English but with a distinct French accent. “Could you direct me toward the Masonic Temple. I’m a tourist here and was told it was nearby but I seem to have lost my way.” Woody pointed him west on King Street and hurried on his way.
WOODY RUSHED BACK from the lawyer’s office to let Pudge know that the fax went through successfully. Thinking of what Willoughby had said earlier, Pudge suggested that Woody should consider staying at his place for a few days.
Woody looked skeptical and said, “Pudge, if I’m lucky, I’ll be heading over to DC soon and won’t make it back tonight. But don’t worry, I’ll be here in the morning.”
WOODY GOT OUT of the shower and called Nellie. When she answered the phone, her voice was shaky. “When Liz and I walked in after work, our apartment was destroyed. Torn apart. Clothes and books thrown everywhere. They even tipped over the davenport and ripped open the bottom. What’s strange, though, is that we can’t identify anything that is missing.”
Woody shouted into the phone that he was on the way. As he hung up, he heard Nellie say, “Okay, the police are here now.” He immediately thought about the similarity to the break-in to his own apartment. Nothing missing, just complete havoc. Suddenly, enlisting the help of Prof. Humboldt to solve the mystery of the Dumont photographs was no longer an adventure. Woody was terrified, not just for himself, but now for Nellie Birdsong as well.
ON THE RIDE downtown, Woody struggled to decide how much he should tell Nellie about the Dumonts, Scatcherd, Longstaffe and Det. Willoughby’s investigation. He wanted to believe that the break-in at her apartment was just another strange coincidence in a string of bizarre events. But when he heard that Nellie’s couch had been ripped open, just as his had been, and that nothing was missing, he could not avoid the conclusion that the invaders in both cases were looking for something. It had to be the photographs, he concluded. But why Nellie? The only sensible answer was that he had been followed. Ripping open the couches wasn’t just a search, it was also a warning. No, he had no choice but to tell Nellie everything. She deserved it.
BY THE TIME Woody arrived at Nellie’s apartment, Liz had already arranged for them to stay with friends on Capitol Hill. They would be heading there to spend at least one night right after filing a police report.
“It’s weird, Woody,” Nellie said, shaking her head and frowning. “We both get our apartments broken into and trashed in the same week.” She had given him his opening and Woody felt that he had no choice but to reveal everything.
Nellie listened intently as every detail, both proven and speculative, related to the Dumont photographs spilled out in rapid fire. When Woody finished, she asked pleadingly, “Tell me the truth, Woody. Are Liz and I in any kind of danger? Are they coming back? You realize that I have made her vulnerable because of you, right?”
Woody was dumbstruck. He had told her everything and he had anticipated a sympathetic reaction. Instead, he was harshly rebuked. Consequences are often pitiless, and Woody now experienced the full-force of that reality as Nellie stared at him with cold, unyielding eyes. Woody had known Nellie Birdsong only briefly back in Parlor Harbor in the summer of 1967 and now, four years later, for only a few days. He looked for some softening in her demeanor but her gaze was impenetrable. If she had been an innocent ingenue back then, she was certainly not one any more. Finally, he said, “I’m sorry for all this, Nellie. So sorry. I can’t imagine you will put much faith in my advice right now but I’ll give it anyway. Stay away from your apartment until these bastards are caught.”
Nellie’s face had softened but Woody had turned away too quickly to see it. He drove back to Old Town in a rage, as if he had absorbed and now owned all of the venom that had consumed Leonard Scatcherd.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE:
Coffee With Bellows
WOODY’S MOOD SWUNG wildly on the ride back to Old Town. He had seen a side of Nellie, a cynical edge beneath her soft, angelic veneer which he did not want to acknowledge was possible. After the murder of her cousin back in Parlor Harbor while she was still a college student on summer break, maybe she had changed forever. And how was he to know what had occurred in the intervening years when he was in the Army and had no contact with her? He was delusional if he thought she was still the naïve teenage schoolgirl who had made him think of the pop singer Jackie DeShannon the first time he laid eyes on her.
Woody realized that he had created this image of Nellie Birdsong based on a fantasy, all from a few fleeting moments in Parlor Harbor back in the summer of 1967. Something made him think of the Beach Boys song “Caroline No”, that plaintive tune of innocence lost or corrupted – or perhaps it was both. He remembered the line “where did your long hair go” and knew it meant much more than a mere change of style. He was certain that the physical attraction was mutual but what else was there of any substance between them now after a chance meeting at a bar in Georgetown and a single night out at a café? And now, whatever fragile basis there was for a relationship had probably been shattered.
Even if there was only a scant possibility that something enduring might develop between them in the future, Woody still felt a sense of duty to Nellie in the midst of his self-pity. He had exposed her to the Scatcherd intrigue and quite possibly put her life in danger. Now, he had to do something to protect her. He thought back to that brief encounter with Scatcherd at Pudge McFadden’s. Scatcherd had made an accusation against someone at the Torpedo Factory who he insisted was out to get him. At the time, Woody was only half listening and assumed that the clerk was paranoid. Now, it didn’t seem like the rantings of a mad man.