WILLOUGHBY KNEW HE would need to find the right moment to confront Bellows. He had lied to him and that pissed him off but as he reflected further, it might mean nothing at all in the grand scheme of things. Breaking and entering was serious stuff but nothing compared to murder – unless he could use Viola Finch’s foray on her boss’ behalf to make someone – anyone – talk about the circumstances of Scatcherd’s death. Bellows was clearly using his assistant in his frantic effort to get the photographs back and, no doubt, she was a willing accomplice. He had seen those doe eyes she had fixated on the archivist. Willoughby was starting to form a different opinion of Viola Finch. He knew that she regularly met her friend, Amanda Silverbridge, in the clerical area and they went down to the cafeteria for lunch. She must have lifted Scatcherd’s keys from his jacket hanging on the coat rack, rushed over to Lock & Load to make a duplicate key and replaced Scatcherd’s keys before he knew they were missing. The little bird had some moxy, he said to himself. Maybe it was time for him to take up bird-watching.
It was getting near noon and Willoughby wanted to see Woody but lunch hour was not the best time to walk into Pudge McFadden’s. He wanted to talk to Caldigate one last time before the medical examiner authorized the disposal of Scatcherd’s body.
“TELL ME YOU found a relative or friend to claim Scatcherd,” Caldigate said as soon as Willoughby walked into his office. “Thorne called here, all officious sounding, and asked if I knew about some relative in Sheboygan Falls. Are you playing with him again, Hank?” Caldigate was trying to look serious but even the tightly-wound medical examiner couldn’t suppress a grin.
“I looked in the telephone book and our corpse was the only Scatcherd listed,” Willoughby said by way of explanation. “Nice detective work,” said Caldigate. They both smiled.
“I need one last look at Scatcherd, Sandy. This morning, I caught two people who had it in for him in a lie. Something about the body is still bugging me.” There was a brief stare down and Caldigate said, “The official cause of death is accidental, Hank, so I’m going to pretend that you were not here today, okay? Now, let’s get this over with.”
When Caldigate unzipped the bag, Willoughby noticed that Scatcherd’s mouth was now shut and he almost looked peaceful. Probably for the first time, he thought to himself. He homed in on Scatcherd’s chest and the two distinct bruises that had troubled him from the start.
“So, correct me if I’m wrong but these chest bruises likely occurred at the time of death and not post-mortem, right?” Caldigate nodded and Willoughby went on. “Okay, the man falls backward down the stairs with extensive damage to the back of his head but still has two chest bruises. What caused them?”
“Listen, Hank. I did not say that the bruises occurred exactly at the time of death and I’m not saying it now. He could have had an accident or a confrontation earlier in the day totally unrelated to his fall.”
“Still, isn’t it possible that he turned to face his assailant in the stairwell and was hit in the chest with a blunt object, causing him to fall down the stairs on his back instead of face forward?” Willoughby saw the skeptical look on Caldigate’s face and stopped.
“Assailant? I’m no detective, Hank, but don’t you need a murder weapon and/or a witness to go along with your theory? You know, evidence? And what kind of object causes that kind of bruising?” said Caldigate, shaking his head and pointing to the larger odd-shaped bruise and then the small, coin-shaped one right below it.
“Yeah, those bruises have me stumped, Sandy. I won’t deny it. Do me a favor and I won’t bother you again. Take another shot of Scatcherd’s chest for me unless you have an extra photograph you can spare. Don’t worry, it’s not a sick souvenir. I feel like I’m on the verge of a break-through but can’t seem to get there. Let’s just say that some things just don’t add up and I’m not giving up yet.”
BELLOWS COULDN’T GET away from Armbruster that morning. He demanded that Bellows join him in the executive dining room for lunch to discuss final plans for the transfer of files to the new facility. Armbruster said nothing about Scatcherd and the archivist clearly understood that there was no interest at the highest levels in acknowledging publicly anything about the dead clerk or his connection to the missing documents.
It was after 1:00 when the archivist finally trudged back to his office. Viola Finch had waited dutifully for Bellows’ return but even little birds need their sustenance and she reluctantly left the archivist alone. Bellows saw the stack of pink message notes on his desk and quickly flipped through them. When he saw the one from Helga Dumont, he cursed Willoughby, his boss and even Leonard Scatcherd. Now, he would have to explain how he had a momentous breakfast meeting with Woody Meacham over five hours ago and never bothered to call her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE:
Lack Of Trust
SIEGFRIED HAD WARNED Helga that morning to contain her growing hostility and suspicion toward Bellows – even if the archivist didn’t call right away, reminding her that if he was duplicitous that it could tip him off that he was being watched. “It’s not the time to destroy trust and cooperation until we know all,” he had advised that morning.
When Helga heard Bellows’ voice, it immediately grated on her. She desperately wanted to lash out but heeded Siegfried’s admonition. She listened patiently and didn’t interrupt as he told her almost everything that transpired in his meeting with Woody, failing to mention that he had been grabbed by the lapels of his jacket and felt helpless in the bartender’s grasp.
“It’s almost 2:00. Why did you wait so long to inform me? If money is to change hands, I need to speak to Augustus. He may balk before coming around and that means we could face some delay in assembling the necessary cash.” Helga now felt free to release her pique before Bellows explained that he was called into several meetings in connection with the big move. He decided not to mention the visit by Det. Willoughby.
“Come over here right after work. We need to decide what you will say when this Meacham character calls you tonight. In the meantime, I will meet with my husband.” When she hung up the phone, Helga sensed that Bellows was hiding something from her. She wanted to get guidance from Siegfried and was irritated that he was not available.
WHEN AUGUSTUS HEARD the latest from Helga, he shuddered. He would gladly give away the family’s vast fortune to erase history. Lucy had just left for Europe with friends and it reminded him how much he relied on her quiet companionship. He rarely saw Barrington except when his son wanted to discuss financing his latest campaign. Thinking of the photograph of the German soldier, he was forced to confront the likelihood that he had not actually sired the heir to the Dumont name and the family’s considerable assets. And now, standing before him, defiant and autocratic, was the fountainhead of all his misery and discontent. In the moment, he simply could not bear to look at her.
If only he had stayed in England instead of volunteering for the assignment in Berlin, he thought to himself, looking back over decades to the end of the war and the beginning of the German occupation. Helga coughed and he almost looked at her before saying, “Pick an amount, say $250,000, and keep doubling it if you have to until the vultures are satisfied. I’ve already liquidated some holdings in anticipation of this kind of bad news. Spare me the sordid details. Just let me know what the final number is.” Augustus had been looking down as he spoke and raised his eyes briefly to signify that their conversation was over. He loathed everything about his wife and what she represented but his bitterest contempt was reserved for himself.