BEFORE GOING TO Pudge McFadden’s, Siegfried picked the lock to Bellows’ apartment. It was handsomely appointed with expensive, antique furniture. The walls were lined with gilded frames of pictures depicting scarlet-jacketed British lords in white breeches and black derbies surrounded by yelping hounds. The apartment wreaked of wealth and grandeur, making Siegfried wonder, facetiously, if Bellows’ Victorian great-grandmother had decorated the place. Helga had said that he was an unmarried young man in his late twenties so what was he doing living in a museum? She had mentioned his infatuation with her daughter so whatever his motives were with respect to the photographs, Siegfried thought it unlikely that Bellows was out for financial gain. He also knew that if the daughter was, at least in part, the impetus for his actions, that love often made people do foolish things.
He entered a room off the entrance and saw a large oak desk with matching credenza and bookshelves. Except for a pipe rack and a gold pen & pencil set, the desk was immaculate and Siegfried could see his reflection in the glass top protecting the expensive wood finish. He settled into the plush swivel chair and started rummaging through the drawers. At the bottom of one, he saw an officially looking mimeographed document with the imprimatur of the United Nations War Crimes Commission emblazoned across the top. The title right below this inscription read “War Crimes Investigations.”
Siegfried quickly leafed through the document and recognized the names of some of the individuals listed, including notorious members of the Third Reich and Nazi hierarchies. Some had already been captured, like Adolph Eichmann and Franz Stangl while others, including some malevolent sadists, were still on the loose. Siegfried had been part of a number of bloody sieges on the battlefield but never for a moment put himself in a category with these notorious fiends.
He wondered why Bellows would bring such a document home with him since it was clearly marked classified in bold letters across the top. Siegfried continued flipping through the document until he came to a section entitled “Factory Owners”. Almost immediately, he saw the name of Helmut Brunner, Helga’s father. Siegfried had his suspicions about Brunner when he began what he considered his harmless dalliance with Helga. He remembered Brunner as a small-time operator, a maker of boots and belts for the military who only prospered after war began. He was a venal, greedy man who lived well at a time when the average German suffered the deprivations of war. No doubt, he made pay-offs to his military contacts and used cheap, forced labor to keep costs down. At the same time, he was a crass and vulgar nobody in the grand scheme of things. And still, Brunner had made the list. If the press got a hold of his name and linked it to the Dumonts, Helmut Brunner’s stature would be magnified to the point that he would be portrayed as a major cog in the German war machine, a confidante of the Fuhrer, even a frequent visitor to Hitler’s Wolf’s Lair in East Prussia.
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.