Riverville Murder - Chapter 15

riverville cover lg

Case of the Riverville Murder

A Short Story by Ernie Whitenack

Chapter Fifteen


“Very efficient, Scott. We can use you at Interpole, if you are interested.”

“No thanks. I like what I’m doing just fine. Do you know anything about the destination for the arms on the Dolphin? There is a chance, albeit a small one, that the Dolphin could escape the U.S. Coast Guard patrols.”

“Ulster and the Provisional IRA, without a doubt. If the Dolphin does escape, we’ll grab them at sea. Through friends in Ulster, we have learned the name of the freighter that is to meet the Dolphin. And, be it a fact, that ship has already left port, as have two fast chase-destroyers of the Irish Navy. We hope to capture the Dolphin, should it get that far, along with the freighter and its captain. If you folks get the Dolphin, we will certainly bring in the freighter’s captain for a long talk. He, and the ship, are under foreign registry. I just hope we can hold on to them. So, you can see that we’ve been watching the North American weather as well.”

“Looks like things are going well all around. I’ll call you again regarding the Dolphin so you can alert your navy if the boat escapes the coast guard. Oh yes, and for cooperating thoroughly, Jim Hurley will probably be deported, rather than serve time in a federal prison. He will be sent directly to Dublin under guard of a federal marshal.”

“I’ll be waiting for him to deplane and happily clamps the cuffs on, of that you can be sure. There must be outstanding warrants on him. If not in the North, surly here in the Republic.”


Gus Malone slams the handset into its cradle and mumbles a string of obscenities at the phone, turns to his lieutenant and says, “They must have shut down the U.S. I can’t get anyone on the bloody phone! Hurley doesn’t answer for three days. Goddard’s service tells me he’s been given my messages, yet he doesn’t call. And, Global Mortgage and Loan Company isn’t answer at all. I’ve got to find out about the guns. The storm has blown out to sea and the boat should be underway. It will take some planning, and several pay-offs, to get that cargo from Dublin to Ulster.”

He bangs on the table in frustration, and then frantically puffs a cigarette, as if afraid it will go out. The third in an hour. Then, starts to pace around the small office, hidden in a partially burned-out brewery.

Malone says, “Timmy, Let’s see if you can find a way to get some fresh air in here. This place stinks. We have to find a permanent office space. Think of a business we can use as a front and I’ll do the same – something we can actually do in case we acquire any business. I’m bloody tired of moving around all the time to keep invisible. I’m beginning to think that legitimacy might be the best invisibility. Look at Connors and his mortgage company in New York! He is extremely wealthy from his legit business and still has time to help fund the cause.”

“Yes, Gus. Let’s do that. Will be nice to have a place to sit that the seat of your pants doesn’t get dirty, and the air fills with dust from just walking. Sure, and it can’t be healthy here.”

The State House, Boston:

“I’m glad we were heading in-town from the North instead of out. Did you see all the traffic going North – everyone going home from work, I guess.” Allan said to Scott as they entered his office.

“I’m just glad you were driving.” Scott replied. “See if you can find us some coffee, please.

As Allan leaves the office, Scott calls the State I.D. Division.

“See if you can dig up a photo or mugshot of Nathen Goddard. I’ll need a dozen copies very quickly. Overtime is warranted for this one – top priority. Please call me with an estimate of when they will be ready. By the way, Nathen Goddard is presently under indictment. I’d start looking at that record first. In addition, put someone on finding an address for Goddard on Cape Cod. Cape Cod is as close as I can give you, we don’t have the town.”

Next, he called state police headquarters and asked to be put through to Detective Cpl. Mark Simmons.

“Cpl. Simmons, Scott Wadsworth here. We are about to stage a clean-up of South Boston. I want you to contact everyone who has been patrolling with you in Southie; both state and Boston personnel. If you are still on that special frequency, I gave you, you can easily do it by radio. Otherwise, figure out your best way of doing it. You have tomorrow only, as I want to meet with everyone at seven-thirty Wednesday morning at my office in the state house. Do you see any immediate problem doing this?”

“No, sir. No problem at all. The frequency is still in use and everyone is on duty. Some were asking the other day how long this patrolling will continue. Can you give me any more info regarding the clean-up? It might cheer-up a bunch of bored cops.

“I agree with you. To start, Somerville cops will be doing the same there. First, we will be looking to arrest Nathen Goddard, head of the Compton Hill gang, who we have learned also runs the C street gang. Then, both we and Somerville will start picking-up the players. We have a good list, with pictures for most, in both areas. One more thing, let your captain know about this, and also tell him I want you advanced to Sergeant and put in charge of the men with you. If he gives you any static, let me know. Also, tell him I would like him to attend the Wednesday meeting, and I welcome any in-put he might have.”

“Thank you, sir. I’ve passed the Sergeants examination, so I doubt he will question it. As it is, I’m close to the top of the list.”

“OK, see you Wednesday.”

Scott arranged his desk in an orderly fashion, and walked into the outer office where Sgt. Allan Rockford sat waiting.

“Let’s go, Allan. I need to go to the Charles Street office. You can go home from there.”

Allan popped from the chair, opened the outer door and followed his boss through, and to the car.

Entering his law firm office, Scott sees Mic Mitchell propped on the corner of Annie’s desk “Well! this is a surprise, finding you here. What’s up, Mic?”

“Just waiting for you, Scott. I’ve invited Annie for an after-work drink at the Parker House.”

As Annie, with her fair complexion, blushed mightily while wondering what her boss will say, Scott replied, “That is very nice, Annie. I’ve been wondering what’s been holding Mic back. You two go on then, and have dinner too. Annie, put dinner on my bill.”

Both Annie and Mic answered in unison, “Thanks you, Mr. Wadsworth,” as Mic grabbed Annie’s hand and they rushed out the door.  

Henry Reichmann, dialing Scott’s number promptly at six-o’clock, hopes he isn’t making a mistake and adding more responsibility for Scott on a very serious operation.

“Right on time, Henry. We are starting at four AM, but there is no reason for you to be here for the first part of this operation. The second part starts at seven. There is a train leaving Riverville at five-forty-five for North Station – arriving about six-thirty. Allan will meet you and bring you to me in Southie. Or, you can drive down to the state house tomorrow; spend the evening with us and stay over. I have a meeting early tomorrow morning and plan to be there until about three. You can leave your car at the state house and I will notify the guards that it is authorized for indefinite parking.”

“I’ll drive down tomorrow. That way I can be in on the entire thing. And, for the first time in weeks, spend the evening with some nice people in a normal setting. Thanks, Scott for asking me. I look forward to meeting your family.”

“I thought you might like that, and it’s my pleasure. See you then.”

The meeting Wednesday morning went off without a hitch. All officers were alert and anxious to remove a scourge from their city. Cpl. Simmons’s captain publicly announced Simmons’s promotion to the applause of those there.

Henry Reichmann walked into Scotts office at two-thirty, just as Scott was collecting papers and pictures and placing them in his briefcase.

In the morning, about three-o’clock, Scott and Henry walked along the footpath to the Wadsworth front gate and stepped onto Walnut Street, just as Allan brought the car to a stop at the curb.

Immediately, Allan turns to the back seat and says, “I just heard from headquarters. They found an address in Barnstable for Nathan Goddard and the Cape detail has it.”

“I was wondering why I didn’t hear from someone about that. I guess it took this long to search every town and village on Cape Cod. That’s a relief.”

“Allan, remember the independent gas station on D Street? Scott asked without waiting for an answer. That’s where we are headed. Get going.”

Two cars were waiting when Allan pulled into the station, and another came in right behind him. Scott was standing outside his car and noticed Detective Sgt. Simmons heading over to him, and was surprised to see, his captain with him, as well as the BPD officer.

“Looking for a bit of action, Captain?” Scott asked with a big smile.

“Not really. I’ve seen enough over the last thirty years.” He replied. “Actually, just want to see how well this plan works and the final results. Hope you don’t mind me hogging in.”

“Not at all, Captain. In fact, you are not alone. Let me introduce ATF Special Agent, Henry Reichmann. He is along for the same purpose. He is armed, I trust you are; seeing you are on duty.”

Scott, not actually looking for an answer, turns his attention to the car just entering the station and waves them in closer.

“Well, you called it a little close,” Scott said as the two men quickly approached him.

“Ok, here it is. I want two cars at Goddard’s residence, one in front and the other in back. Coordinate a time to enter both doors and move in together. I, and the remaining car, will block the closest intersections on C Street.”

Scott continued, “Henry, if you want a close look, get in an attack car, but not with Simmons. He already has an observer.”

Henry Reichmann, not waiting to comment, hopped from Scotts car and trotted to the other attack car.

“Sgt. Simmons, use the special frequency to let us all know when you are going in.” Scott told him with authority. “All right, let’s move.”

“The inside of Goddard’s lavish apartment shows no signs of recent occupancy, Simmons reports to Scott over the radio. The air is heavy and acrid, and difficult to breath, and there are several moldy and decomposing apple cores in a waste basket. There is a pile of mail on the floor under the mail slot.”

“Ok, back to the gas station, everyone,” Scott orders.

Everyone assembled at Scotts car. “We will hit Godard’s bar next. He might be there. If not, we will wait for the Cape boys to call us. Car one and I will take the front door. Sgt. Simmons’s car and car three, take the back door. Officers in cars two and four, block roadways out of the neighborhood. Simmons, what does your watch say?”

“Four-thirty-two, Sir”

“Mine too. We will execute the warrants at five o’clock. That will give plenty of time to get there and in position. No one know just where Goddard’s apartment, or room, is in the building, or if anyone else lives there. For those who don’t know, it is a stand-alone building, so the choices are minimal. Let’s go. Activate radios. I’ll give instructions on the way. Henry, come with me.”

“Simmons and your BPD officer, and one from car three, investigate the down stairs, suddenly came over the speakers. As long as you are here, Captain, you check the basement along with an officer from car three.  Car one and I will check the second floor. Henry, you can opt out if you wish. Otherwise, stick with me. Any questions, let’s have them now.”

The radio is silent as they make their way to Goddard’s bar – down Dorchester Avenue to Andrew Square, and then Boston Street over the The Southeast Expressway, and a quick left on an unnamed dead-end street. There is no other way out of the street, other than a well-worn footpath leading through the undergrowth in the direction of Carson Beach. The only indication of a purpose for the lone and shabby building at the end of the street, is a sign lit by a streetlight, proclaiming, DRINKS.

Parking the cars some fifty yards away from the bar, the men quietly make their way to the lone building and separate. Those assigned to watch the street, separate to positions on both sides and a short distance down the street, while the rear group moves to various strategic spots in view of the rear door, and the path leading out of the area.  All are looking for indications of an alarm system. None is found.

Scott and his group must find a quiet way to get through the front door. As five-o’clock approaches, they examine the lock, Sergeant Allan Rockford comes forward and inserts two thin metal rods into the keyhole and deftly maneuvers then until a slight click is heard, and the door opens a couple of inches.

Scott quietly asks. “Where did you learn that stuff, Allan?”


Ernie Whitenack was born in 1928 in Springfield, Illinois and moved to Massachusetts in the mid 1930's. He is a Korean War veteran, worked as a photographic illustrator for 43 years and is now retired. Oh, and in case you didn't notice.... he's a pipe smoker too.

Copyright © Ernest N. Whitenack 2020
All Rights Reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced, stored in, or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, printing, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.

Riverville Murder - Chapter 12

riverville cover lg

Case of the Riverville Murder

A Short Story by Ernie Whitenack

Chapter Twelve


Scott and the others run after Nunsay. Scott shouts, “You two, stop. You are under arrest.”

Nunsay stops running as he reaches the waiting van, pulls a revolver and fires at Scott. Scott winces as the round grazes his ribs, but gets off two shots at Nunsay’s legs. Nunsay goes down writhing in pain from the sting of the 45 Caliber slug buried deep in his right thigh. Nunsay’s partner, unknown to this point, stands shaking beside the van. The driver sits silently with his hands placed on top of his head.

As soon as the situation cooled down, Martin Wolfe, his handcuffed hands behind his back, was roughly escorted by two detectives to one of the unmarked cruisers and rushed off to Massachusetts State Police headquarters. His hands were freed on the way, and an explanation given of the fake arrest.

Scott and Albert Nunsay, in separate ambulances, were rushed to Beth Israel Hospital, while the van driver and Nunsay’s, yet unidentified accomplice, were hauled off to Boston City Jail.

Sgt. Allan Rockford, in Scott’s car, followed the ambulance transporting Scott. On the way, he radioed Riverville PD to inform ATF man Henry Reichmann and Detective Hendersen of the recent events. At the hospital, he walked along with the gurney carrying Scott to the E. R. 

“That’s not much more than a very painful scratch,” the E.R. doctor told Scott as he injected a pain killer near the wound, and applied a compress. “You can wait. The other guy is in worse shape.”

Rockford pulled a chair close to the Gurney. “That’s good news. You will probably be out of here in a couple of hours. I’ll just hang around. That was a close one, wasn’t it? We got there just in time. A minute later and they would have had Agent Wolfe in that van. Would you like something to drink, Sir, Coffee – a Pepsi?”

“Yes, actually I would like a nice hot cup of coffee -- black. If you don’t mind.”

“Not at all. I’ll have one as well,” Rockford said as he hooked his badge over the breast pocket of his sport jacket, and headed to the nurse’s station; knowing the coffee there is better than out of a machine.

Returning with the coffee to Scotts cubicle in the ER, Rockford encountered the doctor attending Nunsay.

“How is Mr. Nunsay’s wound, doctor.”

“The slug almost went entirely through his thigh, but missed the bones. He’s lucky in that respect, but he’s not going to be walking for quite a while. I hate it when I see a wound by a “45”. There is always a lot of deep clean-up and closing associated with them. Smaller slug wounds are much cleaner unless they go through and leave a jagged exit hole. He is in the process of being stabilized. We have controlled the bleeding, but he won’t go to surgery for a couple of hours. Tell Mr. Wadsworth I’ll be in to see him soon. Where his wound is not serious, I think we can get him patched up without going to a surgical suite. However, to be on the safe side, I want him to stay here for a couple of hours to make sure there is no residual shock to his system.”

“Thanks, Doc. I’ll pass this on to Mr. Wadsworth.”

While handing Scott his coffee, Rockford related the information from the ER doctor and asked, “Should I call Mrs. Wadsworth for you?”

“Oh no, it’s better I tell her in person. Otherwise, she will be here before I can leave. She often gets over anxious.”

“One thing you can do is radio Carl Hendersen in Riverville and tell him what happened. He’s expecting me there today. Also, tell him I’ll call him as soon as possible.”


Kelly Adams’s Aunt Helen, with much effort, finally has the family seated at the table for lunch and make an announcement. “I received a phone call from your uncle Carl this morning, Kelly. He asked me to tell you that things at home are being finalized and cousin Francis will be here to take you home tomorrow about two in the afternoon.”

“Really!” Kelly responded. That’s wonderful. Not just for me, but that they are close to closing a very complicated case. I’ll miss you all very much. However, you aren’t getting rid of me. To be truthful, I dreaded spending time in the country, on a farm, with no friends and nothing to do. I was so mistaken. My time with you all has been delightful and I love you all, and I’ll be returning as often as possible to Vermont.”

The family applauded Kelly as she sat and the oldest of her cousins said, “Kelly, you have brought a ray of sunshine into our lives. We love you as well, and welcome you into our home whenever you wish to come.”

Kelly’s cousin Francis, accompanied by Anthony Marzano, parked the car near the rear door at one-forty-five the next afternoon. The sight of Marzano caused Kelly’s heart to jump, and it frightened her. She is strangely embarrassed, bringing an instant blush to her cheeks, and an awareness that this is the first time anything like this has happened to her.

“I hardly know this man,” she scolded herself.

South Boston:

Setting in their favorite bar, under the expressway at the edge of Southie, Jerry Mc Dougal and John Byrne, who quickly got word of Nunsay’s arrest and the apprehension of Sean Keogh, are wondering how it happened

Mc Dougal draws on his pipe and says to Byrne, “And they got Nunsay in the act of trying to grab Keogh from off the street. From what I heard, it was an actual pinch of Keogh, handcuffs and all. Do you think we could have been wrong about Keogh? Maybe he was on the up-and-up, and not an ATF man after all.”

“Well, we’ll never know the whole story for sure. I just hope no one ties us in with Nunsay. You know, we were quite free with meeting him where others were around. We could be in those handcuffs soon. Maybe we should talk to the boss about getting out of town for a while.” Byrne replied before he downed the last of a bottle of beer.

That evening Nancy Wadsworth is barely speaking to Scott, but after the boys are in bed she settles in beside Scott on the sofa, looks at him sternly and says, “What were you thinking? Obviously, it wasn’t about the boys and me. A couple of inches to the left and that bullet would have punctured your lung. You could be dead by now.

“Nancy, please. I’m tired and I hurt. Can we put this off until tomorrow?”

“I am sympathetic about your situation, but no. I need an answer.”

“OK, I was thinking of the same thing my job has caused me to consider for a while now; the murder of a Federal Agent and the potential killing of a second one. Also, the fatal peril of an innocent twenty-two-year-old girl, and daughter of a friend. Then there is the shipment of illegal arms to the Irish Republican Army, to ostensibly be used to kill innocent people in a fight that in actuality could be settled by some serious and truthful talking, and eventual legislation. All this because of two gangs of mobsters. One ruling Somerville and the other South Boston. But it goes much deeper. The money collectors across the country who badger folks to support this Irish conflict under the guise of charity, and the financiers who launder this money and dispense it for illegal activities. This is my duty as an attorney, an officer of the court, a member of the state police as Chief Investigator for the State’s Attorney. Most of all, because I am a loyal American who wants to see that we have an upstanding and impartial view of foreign affairs, but to intervene when a faction of society sends this goal off-track. In no way does this detract from my duty to you and our boys. In a way, it is part and parcel of the same duty men have honored since the American Revolution.”

“Well, that was some speech, Mr. Investigator. I should know better than to argue with the best lawyer in the state,” Nancy said before she grabbed Scott in a bearhug and kissed him. “I’m very sorry. I shouldn’t have come at you that way. It’s just that you frightened me, getting wounded in a fire fight. Please wear some protection when you think there will be a possibility of gun fire.”

“I promise. The force recently purchased bullet proof vest. I’ll put in a requisition tomorrow for my driver and myself.”

Sgt. Allan Rockford turned the car onto Walnut Street at seven A.M., just as Scott closed the gate to his front yard.

“Good morning Allan. I have good news. I’ve put in a verbal requisition this morning for bullet proof vest for us and got the OK. I’ll send in a written requisition from the office later. We might be the first to have them, but all state troopers will have them in a week or so – a big step forward.”

“That’s great, sir. I was thinking about that last night. It would have saved you a lot of pain. Where to today, sir?”

“Riverville, please. Now that Nunsay is in custody, it’s time to confront James Hurley and then set up a meeting with Chief Grant of Somerville in preparation to clean up the Compton Hill gang. I have state detectives and Boston cops on everyone we know is, or might be, associated with Nunsay and that gang in Southie.”

About half way to Riverville, Scott phoned Carl Hendersen.

As soon as Carl heard Scotts voice, he interrupted. “Scott, are you OK? I heard, on the news last night, about Nunsay’s arrest and you being wounded.”

“It’s just a scratch, Carl. I’m fine and on my way to Riverville. I want to talk Hurley first and then to you and the chief, as well as Henry Reichmann regarding Somerville. I think it’s time to clean them out. Between The info Sullivan sent me, whatever we can get out of Hurley and anything Chief Grant has, we should be able to do a thorough job of it.”

 “Looking forward to it, Scott. I’ll alert the chief and Reichmann that you are on your way. By the way, Hurley has been silent. I think he figures we don’t have much on him, but he is obviously scared to death – doesn’t eat much and paces around in his cell all the time.”

“Then we have a big surprise for him,” Scott said with a chuckle.


Ernie Whitenack was born in 1928 in Springfield, Illinois and moved to Massachusetts in the mid 1930's. He is a Korean War veteran, worked as a photographic illustrator for 43 years and is now retired. Oh, and in case you didn't notice.... he's a pipe smoker too.

Copyright © Ernest N. Whitenack 2020
All Rights Reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced, stored in, or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, printing, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.

Riverville Murder - Chapter 13

riverville cover lg

Case of the Riverville Murder

A Short Story by Ernie Whitenack

Chapter Thirteen


About halfway to Riverville, Scott phoned Carl Hendersen.

As soon as Carl heard Scotts voice, he interrupted. “Scott, are you OK? I heard, on the news last night, about Nunsay’s arrest and you being wounded.”

“It’s just a scratch, Carl. I’m fine and on my way to Riverville. I want to talk Hurley first and then to you and the chief, as well as Henry Reichmann regarding Somerville. I think it’s time to clean them out. Between The info Sullivan sent me, whatever we can get out of Hurley and anything Chief Grant has, we should be able to do a thorough job of it.”

 “Looking forward to it, Scott. I’ll alert the chief and Reichmann that you are on your way. By the way, Hurley has been silent. I think he figures we don’t have much on him, but he is obviously scared to death – doesn’t eat much and paces around in his cell all the time.”

“Then we have a big surprise for him,” Scott said with a chuckle.

The rain and wind along the coast, that keeps the Dolphin tied to its dock in Portland, slowed traffic on Rt. One. The monotonous rhythm of the windshield wipers distracts Scott as he tries to concentrate, once again, on the information provided by Inspector Frank Sullivan.

“When in hell is this rain going to stop?” Scott asks angrily as he shoves the papers back in to his briefcase. “I want to refresh my memory on the stuff Sullivan sent me. I really want to shake-up Hurley and get him talking.”

“Well, let’s see what the radio has to say about the weather,” Allan said as he switched on the car’s civilian radio.

“And now for some good news. The tropical depression, that has been plaguing the East coast, from the Carolinas to Nova Scotia, for more than a week, looks like it is about to end. A strong high-pressure system is sweeping down from Canada, and the upper Mid-West. If it maintains its intensity, it will weaken the existing depression and it will dissipate in three or four days. Welcome the sun! Be sure to stay tuned for further news and weather from coast to coast. This is WBZ and WBZA – Boston and Springfield. At the tone, the time will be eight-thirty-seven.” Bing-Bong-Bing.

“Thanks Allan. That’s good to hear and I’m sure the FTA and Coast Guard will be happy to tie this up. I wish this traffic could loosen up.”

As Scotts car turned into the Riverville PD parking lot, and found a parking spot, Scott noticed Henry Reichmann a short distance away exiting his car and waited for him at the door.

“Henry, have you talked to Hurley?”

“I tried, but he isn’t saying a word – just sits there with a smug look on his face as if we didn’t have a thing on him. Watching him in his cell, he is like a different man. He appears to be very nervous and paces a lot.”

“And well he should be, Scott replied. If he really thinks we have nothing to bring him to trial, he is in for a big surprise.”

Chief Hendersen and Detective Carl Hendersen welcomed Scott and Allan warmly. “Scott we’re so happy you got Albert Nunsay and your wound was not serious. That was quite a bag and will more than likely lead to the clean-up of that Southie crowd.” The chief said.

“It’s not going to hurt the interrogation of Hurley either. Once he hears of it, and I intend to tell him, he’ll start wondering how much Nunsay is talking. It gives us the upper hand. That, and the material Sullivan gave us

should soften him up considerably.”

Carl Hendersen said, “Well, shall we get on with it. I have had Hurley steaming in interrogation room “A” since early this morning.”

“Yes, let’s do it then. I would like just Carl and Henry with me, at least in the beginning. The rest can observe from the viewing room. If I think your presence will be helpful, I’ll signal and you can come in,” Scott instructed.


At the harbor, things are buzzing around the trawler Dolphin. The report of better weather raises hopes of getting to sea. However, the plans have changed. Instead of heading directly for the three-mile point, the skipper plans to hug the coast and go north, then reverse course a short distance in hopes of fooling the Coast Guard. Then, make an all-out run to the open sea. Disguised as dock workers, ATF agents are watching the Dolphin closely from several strategic spots. The Maine State Police are nearby, and the Coast Guard is already in the harbor awaiting the departure of the Dolphin.


“OK, Mr. Hurley, it’s time to cooperate. We, the state police, Somerville police and the ATF, intend to break-up and arrest, the Compton Hill gang. And, you are going to help us.”

 “Now, why would I be doin’ a thing like that?” Hurley asked smugly.

“To start with, we have Albert Nunsay – you know him. We also have photos of you tailing Kelly Adams and waiting around to tail her home and planning her murder because she overheard a conversation you had with Frank Sullivan. One of the pictures shows an unlicensed revolver tucked into your waistband. We also have affidavits outlining your activity in illegal arms purchase and shipment overseas. We have verification of your association with a Mr. Connors of Global Mortgage and Loan Company, who is currently being investigated by the ATF and IRS. Then, there is this large envelope full of information from Inspector Frank Sullivan of Interpol’s National Central Bureau in Dublin”

At that Hurley, sweating and red-faced yells, “Inspector Frank Sullivan! The blighter! I’ll kill him if I ever see him again. So that’s where he went.”

“To continue, Mr. Hurley, The state has enough on you to put you away for about fifty years. And then another fifty on federal charges. Because you have offended the United States of America., the sentences will run consecutively. To top it all off, you just threatened an international police officer in front of witnesses. You will spend the rest of your life behind bars. There will be no paroles.”

Hurley says nothing but throws his head back and stares at the ceiling, as if counting the perforations in the acoustic tiles.

Henry Reichmann clears his throat and interjects, “However, there is an option. We could deport you. You entered this country fraudulently on a temporary visitor’s visa from the port of Dublin. Should you cooperate and give us what we want, the USA has the choice of returning you to that port, and you take your chances. Perhaps you can get help from Gus Malone, your Provo contact in Ulster.”

Hurley bangs both fists on the table, looks viciously at the two men confronting him, and with anger in his voice yells out, “Holy Mother, is there anything you don’t know?”

Burying his face in his hands, and his shoulders slumped in defeat, Hurley says softly, “Ask away.”

Behind the viewing glass, the chief’s secretary opens her shorthand pad and lays out three pencils.

“Do we have a stenographer handy?” Scott askes the viewing window.

“Yes, ready and waiting,” the chief’s voice answers from a small speaker barely visible in the ceiling of the interrogation room.

Scott, sitting across the table from Hurley, spreads out the material Sullivan supplied and starts questioning Hurley based on that material. Hurley freely answers each question, and occasionally amplifies his answer with additional information.

About an hour and a half later Scott says, “Were about done here, Mr. Hurley. Who heads up the Compton Hill gang and where does he live?”

“I don’t dare answer that, Mr. Wadsworth. The boss has connections all over New England. I’ll be dead within twenty-four hours of you collaring him if I do.”

“No, you will not. With the number of charges against you, and some of them being federal charges, you will be held with extreme security in place. We will attempt to institute a press black-out on this whole case until we are through in Somerville, South Boston and have stopped the trawler Dolphin from delivering any armament. Now, I suggest you answer if you expect anything at your trial to go your way. Remember, you are looking at one-hundred years in jail, or simply deportation.”

“Ok, Ok. His name is Nathan Goddard. I think he has charges against him somewhere for assault, but I don’t know where. He lives several places. As I remember, it’s 258 Clark Street, here in Somerville, but I could be wrong about the number. In Southie, he lives on C Street. I don’t know the number. He owns a bar opposite Carson Beach, but off a street under the Expressway. He also has a place on Cape Cod somewhere.”

Scotts attention peaked when Hurley mentioned C Street. “Does Goddard have family or strong connections in South Boston?”

“Just the strongest! He runs the gang that took out the FTA agent.” Hurley answers. “And, about all the gambling on the East coast. He’s a big man here in Massachusetts, and beyond.”

“Last question. Do you know who actually killed ATF agent Clarence Anderson?”

“Nunsay, I’ve heard. Sure, and I do believe it. I don’t know him personally – it’s just that I hear he is a mean and blood-thirsty bastard.”

“That’s it Mr. Hurley. Thanks for your cooperation. It will be noted at your arraignment. Would you like some coffee?”

Hurley nodded and Scott looked at the viewing window. “Can we have some coffee in here, please?”

As the three men enjoy the coffee and pastry, Scott fills an Ehrlich large Pot pipe from his suede pouch and lights it, then says, “Mr. Hurley, you will be transferred to a secure, and little known, Mass. State penial facility, usually used to house felons convicted of business and financial crimes. You will be well cared for there.”

Henry Reichmann finishes a Cheese Danish, washes it down with the last of his coffee, and turns to Hurley. “You might be remanded to federal custody. It depends which trial takes precedence. If, and when, that is the case, you will be in a similar facility and guarded by Federal Marshals. At either facility, I suggest you be on your very best behavior or that also will be noted at your arraignment and will be very detrimental to your future.”

Scott turns to the viewing window and signals that they are through, whereupon two patrolmen enter to escort Hurley to his cell.

“Mr. Wadsworth. They have taken everything from me. Do ‘ya think it possible I can have me pipe, pouch and Zippo?”

“I’ll see to it,” Scott replies.

As they leave the interrogation room, the intercom speaker announces, “Chief Hendersen, Chief Grant is waiting in your conference room.

“Winston, good to see you again. I think the last time was the Chiefs Association meeting a couple of years ago,” Chief Hendersen exclaims enthusiastically upon entering the conference room.

“I think you are right -- how time flies. How are you anyway, Michael?”

“I’m doing very well; especially since we have Hurley under wraps. We just finished questioning him and he “sang like a Canary” to quote the movies. Please, have a seat, Wadsworth will be along directly. He is – no we are all anxious to help you clean up Somerville. Anyway, he will bring you up to the minute when he gets here.  It has been a grueling three hours for him, so, I think he is probably refreshing himself.

Scott and Allan enter the conference room ten minutes later. Scott, while shaking hands with Chief Grant, introduces Allan and then says, “I think that went very well, thanks to Frank Sullivan. Being able to confront Hurley, with the surprise of information he had no idea we have, certainly made my job easier. And, we might have saved a couple of days interrogating him.

Chief Grant responds, “And we had Sullivan down as a real hard case; mainly because of his closeness to Hurley. Are we ready to construct an operation to take down the Compton Hill gang?”

“I really want to grab Nathan Goddard first, and then coordinate, as closely as possible, the arrests in South Boston and Somerville. We have confirmed, Chief Grant, that Goddard also heads up the C Street gang, as it is suddenly being called. We have a home address for him in Southie, and a bar he owns there. Also, for a residence on the Cape.”

“You’re biting off a big mouthful there, Scott. That is a massive undertaking involving a lot of cops” Grant replied.

“You are so right. However, it will take a couple or three days to accomplish. The way I see it is: First, Goddard. We will hit all addresses, including his bar, simultaneously. If Successful, we will, as quietly as possible, start to pick-up gang members in both cities. The hope being, that we can complete the job before word gets out that we are making arrests. Who knows, we might even bag a few at Goddard’s bar when we are there. I have state detectives and troopers cruising South Boston around the clock. According to the captain, the gang is a habitual bunch, following the same daily routines with few exceptions. I’m convinced it will go quickly.”


Ernie Whitenack was born in 1928 in Springfield, Illinois and moved to Massachusetts in the mid 1930's. He is a Korean War veteran, worked as a photographic illustrator for 43 years and is now retired. Oh, and in case you didn't notice.... he's a pipe smoker too.

Copyright © Ernest N. Whitenack 2020
All Rights Reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced, stored in, or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, printing, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.

Pipe and Tobacco Podcasts

Country Squire Radio
countrysquirelogoA weekly podcast about all things pipes and tobacco.  Beau and Jon David have a great chemistry and keep you entertained every week. Check their website for show times. They mix it up a lot YouTube  |  Website
(1:00 PM Eastern Time)

PipesMagazine Radio Show
PMag radio show logoA different interview every week with Brian Levine a well known member of the tobacco industry.  Sit back, relax with your pipe, and enjoy The Pipes Magazine Radio Show!       iTunes  |  Website
(Live Tuesday evenings 8 PM )

Pipe and Tamper Pipecast
PMag radio show logoA Podcast for the Tobacco Pipe Enthusiast. Interviews with pipe carvers and industry influencers. Quick tobacco reviews and segments on pipes and tobaccos. New episodes are available on the 1st and 15th of every month.     iTunes  |  Website

Sherlock Holmes Podcasts

I Hear of Sherlock Everywhere (IHOSE)
IHOSElogoA delightful way to spend an evening with Holmes as your affable co hosts Scott Monty and Burt Wolder share their unique perspectives and sense of humor. Find out more than you ever thought possible about the greatest pipe smoker that never lived.

Shows come out twice a month. iTunes  |  Website

Sherlock Holmes: Trifles
Trifles Cover smFrom the producers of the I Hear of Sherlock Everywhere podcast, Trifles is a 15-minute, weekly audio program where Scott & Burt discuss something related to the Canon.
Have you ever stopped to wonder about why Dr. Watson was called James by his wife? Or of Sherlock Holmes's dining habits? Or what happened when he let a criminal escape? Answers to these questions and more await in Trifles, a weekly podcast about details in the Sherlock Holmes stories. iTunes  |  Website

Pipe & Tobacco Episodes:    Episode 71 | Episode 83

Trifles artwork created by Tom Richmond

Keeping the smoking lamp lit since 1989