Riverville Murder - Chapter 18

riverville cover lg

Case of the Riverville Murder

A Short Story by Ernie Whitenack

Chapter Eighteen

Previously:

The patrol plane continues to make a wide circle over the Dolphin as support surveillance. “Here comes another cutter from the south. Looks like the same class, the chief said as he lowered his binoculars, should be here in about an hour and a half, at the speed its going.”

“In case they aren’t watching their radar, we’ll notify the Spencer. Perhaps they don’t need the back-up,” The pilot replied.

The radioman, on the inter-comm, tells the Pilot, “Sir, they will wait for the other Cutter, and told us that we can go on home. A good day wouldn’t you say, Lieutenant?”

The Dolphin’s crew is transferred to the Spencer and locked up, An officer, and several seamen, man the Dolphin for the trip back to Boston.

Men from the Northland, who assisted the Spencer crew, returned to the Northland, which turned about and set out for home; Portsmouth Virginia.

The Dolphin is confiscated by the Coast Guard at Boston and the crew is turned over to ATF agents for transport to Portland, where they will be interrogated and arraigned.

Somerville:

Chief Grant and his crew are making good progress as they stealthily approach suspects on the street, in restaurants and in homes.

One SPD detective is following two suspects walking, as his partner follows in a car. Suddenly, the suspects begin arguing loud enough for the detective to hear one say, “Geeze, Gus. There’s a meeting at the Carter Street warehouse this afternoon. We can’t possibly go to the track. What are you, crazy?”

“Oh yea, I forgot about that. Guess our ass would be in a sling, or worse, if we missed it.”

The detective following, signals his partner to pull over, as he speeds up to get close to the suspects. The car pulls to the curb, and the detective gets out about six feet in front of the suspects, weapon pressed flat to his leg. As the following officer grabs their shoulders, the other brings his weapon into view and proclaims, “You two are under arrest for gang related activities. Hands behind your back, please.”

The two are transported to the station and booked. Then, the detectives go to the communications room and call Chief Grant about the warehouse meeting.

“We might just clean up this operation with a raid on that warehouse. What do you think, Sergeant?” Chief Grant asks his state police partner.

“Yes Sir, I would say you’re right on with that; at least all the top men will be there. Minus Goddard, of course. I feel safe in saying, anyone who isn’t at this meeting is at the bottom of the pile in this gang. Furthermore, whoever is left over will, more than likely, be heading for parts unknown when the news gets out.”

Grant, being relieved at the prospect or a big haul, laughs as he says, “I sure hope you are right, Sarge. I’ve been trying to get a rope around this bunch of bastards for too long now.”

South Boston:

The rest of the morning things are slow for Scott and his crew. His men are getting anxious just sitting and looking at faces as the pass by. It’s beginning to appear that the word might be out, and people are in hiding.

Scott, noticing the men in his car fidgeting, gets on the radio. “We are getting nowhere this way. Car two, take the street to the north and car four, the street to the south. I’ll take this street. Let’s get out and walk, checking any bars, pubs, restaurants, pool halls, gyms, or any establishment you find that can be a place to hang out. Don’t bunch up and be careful and as inconspicuous as possible. You have all been issued the limited range radios. Make sure they are all on the corrected channel. Don’t hesitate to use them should the need arise.”

Two hours later, the results of the tactic are less than gratifying, having bagged only two suspects in a pool hall.

Scott retrieves his short-range radio. “OK, let’s bring it in. We only have two, so meet at Goddard’s bar. We’ll put two more away and see if we can extract any information from the prisoners.”

Shortly after arriving at the bar, Scott directs Detective Qualter to bring John Byrne from the storage room.

“Over here Byrne, and sit down,” Scott demands.

While Qualter cuffs Byrne to the table leg, Scotts says, “Do you have any idea how much trouble you are in, Mister Byrne? You will be arraigned on one count of accessory to murder, one of attempted murder and conspiracy to comment another murder of a young lady. Oh yes, illegal arms trafficking and racketeering too.”

“Yea, yea, your stooge here already told me. But I’m telling you, I had nothing to do with murders. That was a guy named Albert Nunsay, on Mister Goddard’s orders.”

“So, you say, however we have proof that you set up the whole thing, Scott replied. Now, I believe the word is out and people are in hiding, and I want you to tell me where. Cooperation with the authorities is in your best interest.”

Leaning back in his chair, Byrne smiles smugly at Scott, “I don’t think so. Sure and, you’re bluffing, and I can’t see how you can possibly have any proof of anything about me. I’m too smart for you guys.”

“Oh really, I’m glad you think so. You have a big mouth, Scott replies. I have a witness who will testify regarding conversations you’ve had with Nunsay, and between you and Mister Mc Dougal, mentioning Kelly Adams and two ATF agents. You know, one of your big mistakes was not knowing the Miss Adams grandfather is the Riverville Chief of Police and her uncle is a Detective Sergeant. We’ve been on Goddard and his bunch since a couple of days after Miss Adams overheard the conversation between Hurley and Sullivan at the All Erin Pub, and the body of Clarence Anderson was discovered in Riverville by Patrolman Francis Hendersen, who, by the way is Kelly’s cousin.”

The front legs of John Byrne’s chair thump loudly on the floor, as he returns to an upright position. His face is pale and his mouth hangs open in surprise. As hard as he tries, he cannot muster-up a rebuke, or even a faint comment. John Byrne sits, shoulders hunched and head down, in realization that he is in a very bad spot.

“OK, Byrne, that’s it for now, but you better think heavily about cooperation, and what the lack of it can mean to your future. Take him back to his friends, Sergeant Qualter.”

“Hold on there, Byrne pleads. It’s not that I think you have anything on us; and I certainly wouldn’t want it know that I’m tellin’ you, but there is a private social club over near the beach. It has some sort of Italian name out front, but isn’t. Goddard owns it. You might take a look there. And, it’s hopein’ I am, you’ll remember, when the trial comes ‘round, it was I who told you.”

As Qualter returns Byrne to the storage room. Scott beckons to Sgt. Allan Rockford.

“Allan, take a ride along the beach. See if you can find a building with a sign indicating an Italian Social Club. Look around and determine if there is any activity there. Be as inconspicuous as possible.”

As Rockford leaves the building, Scott has Jerry McDougal brought out of the storage room, and follows the same line with him as with Byrne. McDougal wasn’t near as flippant, and revealed information about Goddard’s gambling empire and minor prostitution activity. He obviously had little knowledge of gun running, and put the murders on Nunsay’s head.

From then on, it was a steady procession from the storage, room and back. Most of the questioned are errand boys and bag men for Goddard’s protection racket. One is allotted to keeping the “girls” in line and two men, suspected of being bodyguards, kept silent. Thinking of bodyguards, Scott made a mental note to talk to the four men captured with Goddard at the bar.

Scott is drinking more coffee and conversing with Henry Reichmann when Allan Rockford returns from reconnoitering the Italian Club.

“I found the club right on the beach road, a mile from here, but saw no activity. A few lights are on in the building, but the place isn’t fully lit, like it would be if open. Looks like you’ll need a specific warrant if you want to look inside.”

“You’re right, Allan. Find Captain Callan, please.”

“Captain, I’d like you to take charge of these prisoners, please. I have to get a warrant in a hurry. If you can call for a wagon and haul these guys to the BPD Central Division for holding, we might be able to wind this up today. Have everyone else remain here until I get back.”

“Doesn’t sound like a problem, if I can take Sergeant Simmons away from you?”

“Sure, he’s yours anyway. We will double up where needed.” Scott replies, and heads for the pay phone on the wall next to the hat-check room. He digs into his pockets for change and call Judge Millstone.

After several minutes, the judge’s receptionist comes back on the line and announces, “The judge will speak to you now. I’ll connect you.

“Wadsworth, how is it coming?” the judge’s voice booms over the phone.

“Very well, sir. I’m afraid I have to bother you for one more warrant. There is a social club called simply, “Italian Club”. One of the gang members tells us, after considerable persuasion, it is no such thing. In fact, it is owned by Nathan Goddard and a probable hiding place for his lieutenants. An immediate search warrant seems in order, sir. It is becoming apparent that the word of the roundup has somehow leaked.”

“Your request is quite out of the ordinary, Wadsworth. Yet, under the extraordinary circumstances, I will comply with your request. You can pick up the warrant in an hour or so. Good job, and good luck.”

As Sergeant Allan Rockford stood with him, Scott informed Captain Callan, Sergeant Simmons and Henry Reichmann of the new warrant.

“Captain Callan, forget about hauling the prisoners away. Give the job to a couple of the BPD officers. You and Simmons still take command here. You’ve heard Allan describe the Italian Club building and surroundings. Form a plan for invading the building. We don’t know who, if anyone, is in there, so stress being ready for resistance. Use as many access points as possible and coordinate your entrance. Allan and I are leaving to pick up the warrant. Do not move on the building until we return, However, send a couple of men to keep an eye on it. I can call them back on the limited distance radio when I get here.”

“You’ve got it, Chief Investigator,” Callan said, as he feigned a salute.

On the way to pick up the warrants, the portable bag phone Allan keeps in the car rang loudly. “This is Wadsworth. Who’s calling?”

It’s Mic, Scott. Boy, am I glad I got you – thought you would be near that funny bag phone. The town is buzzing. Everyone knows about all the cop activity. Even here in the shop, people are commenting on it; some for and some against it. If you are having trouble finding people, this is why.”

“I also overheard comments about a social club on the beach and a Rugby Club facility near the end of Telegraph Street. Guess they play at Thompson Park. The consensus is, gang members are probably hiding at one or both places.”

“Thanks for thinking of us, Mic. We know about the Italian Club, but haven’t heard anything about the Rugby facility. Your call is very timely. We are on our way to get a search warrant for the Italian club; maybe I can get one for the Rugby Club spot. Don’t suppose you know the number on Telegraph Street.”

“No, sorry. Good luck, Scott. Call me when this is over. I’ll be interested in how it all turns out.”

Scott immediately got the mobile operator and gave her Judge Millstone’s number.

“Judge Millstone, I’m very sorry to bother you again, but I have received a tip that there are another place Goddard’s gang members are possibly hiding. I’m hoping you can add it to the Italian Club warrant, or issue a second one for the Rugby Club building on Telegraph Street, South Boston.”

“Wadsworth, I’m not going to say it not a bother. I’m so deeply into this action, that bother can no longer be considered. The cause is good, and I have a lot of respect for you and the man who raised you. I want you to remember just how busy I am and make this the end. If necessary, use your initiative and hope you can dig up enough, on whom ever it is, to make an arrest stick. You lawyers sometime carry the word of the law too far. I’ll add it to the Italian Club Warrant. Good bye.”

“We have it, Allan. And I just received the nicest dressing-down of my life. I think the judge is really behind us on this one.”

“I’m not sure getting that last warrant and executing it was worthwhile. Scott says, as he sits at a table drinking coffee with Henry Reichmann, Captain Callan, Detective Sgt. Mark Simmons and Detective Sgt. Allan Rockford. What did we net? Sixteen bottom rung gang members; numbers runners, extortion collectors and hard-fisted bullies. Not a lieutenant in the bunch.”

“At the least, we cleaned up the streets, Captain Callan added. Goddard can’t function without them, even if he were free.”

“You are absolutely correct, but we don’t have a single lieutenant. The bums we grabbed are a dime a dozen. Goddard’s next in command can be back in action in a couple of days. We’ll have to exert some real pressure on the people we have in custody and find out just who they are and where they might be holed-up; even if we have to take some extreme measures.”

All at the table grew quiet, as if contemplating the situation.

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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 17

riverville cover lg

Case of the Riverville Murder

A Short Story by Ernie Whitenack

Chapter Seventeen

Previously:

The three men finished breakfast and are relaxing with coffee. Scott is about to light an Ehrlich Rhodesian pipe, when the telephone interrupts the quietness of the room.

 “Do you have him, Mr. Wadsworth?” the voice loudly asked.

“If this is Chief Grant and you are referring to Nathan Goddard, I do indeed. He is presently in a holding cell, all by himself, thinking over his plight. We got him at his bar, sound asleep beside a lovely young woman. As yet, we know nothing about her. In addition, four men were also arrested while sleeping in another room. We are assuming they are all gang members – bodyguard, perhaps. Almost forgot that we found a steel safe that, when they get it open, might turn out to be a treasure cove of insight into the two gangs,” Scott answered.

“Fabulous catch! Grant exclaimed. I have men in good position to nab several of the “Hill” gang when we start part two at seven. From there on, it will be patrolling and spotting to get others. My men are highly motivated to clean this up, so I expect great results. I’ll call you tonight and let you know how it went.”

At precisely 0700, Scott entered the BPD parking area and found the men standing at their cars waiting to go. “OK, let’s make the best of the day and aggressively make some arrests. It is doubtful if we can get them all today, and maybe never. You have been cruising this area for a couple of weeks and should be fairly knowledgeable about who is regularly on the streets. Sergeant Simmons, please assign a couple of men to Goddard’s bar. If needed, we will use it as a holding area for prisoners today and call a “Wagon” to haul them in. That’s it, good luck and be careful.”

The cars, head out in various directions to their assigned neighborhoods, as radios crackle and checks are made to assure all are in communication.

Streets of Southie:
As the cars take up positions, there isn’t much stirring on the streets of Southie, other than, determined by their uniforms, waitresses and nurses, on their way to work. A few cabs are cruising or just sitting near corners, and some men with lunch pails, and wearing overalls, heading out to work.

The officers sit patiently, comparing faces to photos as men walk by when the radios come to life with; “Wadsworth here. I guess these guys aren’t early risers. I know this is tedious work at the moment, but don’t lose concentration.”

The round-up started slowly until 10:00 when the radio announced, “Attention, attention! This is car four parked near the “Butter & Egg” restaurant on C Street, about a block west of Goddard’s building. We have spotted five or six matches to our photos go into the restaurant. Back-up requested. Over.”

“This is Wadsworth, car one. We will be right there. Car two, respond as well. No one move in until we can do so together.”

The cars quietly approached the position from two directions. When in place, Scott instructed, “Car two, cover the rear and be ready to enter if things get hot. The rest will move into the restaurant individually or by twos, beginning with car four. Car one will follow immediately. Try to spot the suspected people and position near them. Do not use deadly force unless absolutely necessary. We don’t know how many uninvolved folks are in there, and there is no time to sort them out. I’ll make an announcement and you all move in. Be careful.”

As Scott entered the restaurant, he quickly determines where his people are before standing and loudly saying, “Attention please. There are several police officers in here to make arrests. Everyone else please remain seated until we are finished with the task.”

At that, all officers stood and took charge of suspects seated nearby, retrieving several handguns and identification before securing them with handcuffs. One man working behind the counter, eases his way to the kitchen to escape out the rear, but is abruptly stopped by the men from car two. As discovered later, he had no affiliation with Goddard, but had warrants against him for home burglary.

Goddard’s Bar:
The two men assigned to Godard’s place, Detectives Lloyd Qualter and Al Guatino, pull car three in behind the building and enter through the rear door, turn on the lights and hang their jackets in a small check-room.

“Think we should bring in the shotgun?” Guatino asks.

“Plenty of time if we need it. Let’s see how many prisoners they bring us. First, we need to find a place to hold the prisoners. I remember seeing a fair-sized storage room at the right of the bar when we were here earlier. We better have a look. I don’t want anything in there that will prompt someone to try an escape.”

The room is about one-eighth full with paper goods, bar supplies and light bulbs, all packed neatly in one corner. The one window is securely covered with heavy steel mesh imbedded in the framing. Nothing usable as a weapon is discovered. A pad lock with key is found hanging on the inside wall next to the door.

Qualter pockets the lock saying, “I hope there is a hasp on the outside of this door.”

The two detectives sit at one of the tables and check their weapons. Shortly, Lloyd Qualter gets from his chair and walks to the door, takes a quick look around and returns saying, “I sure wish there was an eatery close by. It’s my coffee time.”

“There is a double coffeepot setup on the back of the bar, Guatino noted. I’ll see if there is any coffee back there. I’m sure Mr. Goddard won’t mind donating some to two of Boston’s finest.”

Qualter, sitting at the bar, and Guatino, now in a bar apron standing behind the bar, are enjoying coffee as the sound of a car on the gravel parking lot grabs their attention.  Soon, two men come in and sit at a table near the rear. Detectives Qualter and Guatino continue in conversation until one of the men yells, “How’s about a couple of Guinness over here, mate?”

“Comin’ right up,” Guatino says as he removes his clip holsters and sticks his revolver in his belt under the apron.

Qualter slides from the barstool saying, “You’re busy, Al. I’m off to the men’s room and then home. I’ll see you later.” He folds his jacket over his arm to hide his weapon and walks to the men’s restroom in the rear. Guatino pulls the tap handle, fills two glasses, then starts toward the two men at the table. About half way there he realizes the two men are Jerry Mc Dougal and John Byrne, both high on the state’s wanted list.

“Who in hell are you, Mc Dougal asks. And where is Jake?”

“Jake’s brother-in-law. He’s down with the flu,” Guatino replies.

Reaching for his wallet, Mc Dougal asks, “What’s the tab, pal?”

“I’ll run one for you. You are going to have more, aren’t you?”

At that time, Qualter realizes Guatino is up to something and quietly heads back toward the table; his weapon now in-hand. Guatino, in his peripheral vision, is aware of Qualter approaching and quickly brings his revolver from beneath his apron.

“Hands on the table, gents, and drink your Guinness. I doubt you will have another for quite some time. Oh yes, it’s on Mr. Goddard who, not so incidentally, is currently in a holding cell at BPD Central Division.”

Suddenly, Mc Dougal up-ends the table, turns to make for the rear door, and runs smack into Qualter with his ’38 aimed at Mc Dougal nose. Mc Dougal raises his hands and returns to where John Byrne is up righting the table. Both men are pushed into chairs and have one hand secured to a table leg by handcuffs.

“Now, get you other hand on the table, please. I’ll get you another beer. Seems Mr. Mc Dougal spilled them. Detective Qualter will tell you that you are under arrest and inform you of your rights.”

“Are you blokes Feds, and how do you know us? Byrne askes.”

“No, I’m a Mass. State Detective and Detective Guatino is with the BPD. And, we know all about you and Albert Nunsay, your association with Nathan Goddard and the murder of Clarence Anderson, ATF agent. Also, the attempt at Martin Wolfe, who you know as Sean Keogh, and your plans for a young lass, Kelly Adams. Now shut-up and enjoy your final beers.”

Turning to Guatino, Qualter says, “We should let Wadsworth know who we have here. Radio it in, and bring the shotgun back with you. Also, let him know about the storage room, and that we are ready for prisoners.”

On the radio, Scott replied to Guatino, “That’s great. I was wondering when, or if, we might get those two. We’re on our way to you with a bunch we picked up at the “Butter & Egg”. See you soon.”

Returning to the bar, Guatino, shotgun in the crook of his arm, tells Qualter, “They’re on the way with prisoners.”

“Get up, you two, Qualter tells Jerry Mc Dougal and John Byrne. Pick up your chairs and head for that door,” indicating the storage room.

He releases them from the handcuffs, leaves the storage room and slips the padlock through the hasp loop just in time to hear the cars enter the gravel parking lot. The prisoners, being ushered into the bar in single file, are met by Guatino and his shotgun, who tells them, “Over against that wall and face it,” directing them with a wave of the shotgun.

Scott walked over next to Guatino and addresses the six men against the wall. “All of you are associates of Nathan Goddard. As such, you are under arrest for racketeering and miscellaneous other crimes. This will all be explained formally in greater detail later today. Now, one by one walk to a table, select a chair, and carry it to that door. You are only six and we are many, and I advise you not to try an escape or anything else foolish.

Immediately, Qualter opens the storage room door and directs each prisoner in, and then secures the hasp behind them with the found padlock.

“Good job, men. Now if we can convince one of these esteemed jailers to get those two pots behind the bar brewing, we’ll take a break before heading out again”

At Sea:
The dolphin, at full speed, is skirting the North American coast five miles out. The Captain, in the wheel house, is elated and congratulates himself on having the foresight to fill the tanks to the brim.

As they clear Montauk Point, with no sight of a Coast Guard vessel, the crewmen begin to consider the chance of getting away without being discovered, and expect an eventless journey to Virginia. The captain cuts to two-thirds speed, sets the automatic steering and turns the wheel-house over to the First Mate. “I’m, going below for some chow and a drink. Call me only in an emergency.”

The men, sprawled around the deck and hatch, are relaxing or playing cards on this sunny and hopeful day.

A couples of miles South-West of the Dolphin’s position, an HC-144A patrol plane is returning to its Coast Guard Air Station from a routine coastal patrol. “There’s something ahead, the spotter tells the pilot as he reaches for his binoculars. By God, I think it’s the Dolphin, but I can’t read it clearly. Move in. Whatever it is, it shouldn’t be at that traffic lane.”

The pilot drops the plane a hundred feet and heads for the sighting.

“Try to get parallel to it so I get a direct look at her.”

Seconds later, the spotter excitedly proclaims, “It is. It’s the Dolphin, just cruising along with the crew relaxing on deck, like the fools didn’t have a care in the world.”

“Good sighting, Chief. We’ll get behind them and call it in to all stations.”

Within minutes, two, 270-foot Famous class, Medium Endurance Cutters are dispatched; The Spencer from Boston and the Northland from Portsmouth, Virginia. The Spencer arrives first, with all guns trained on the Dolphin. The captain stepped on deck from his nap, just in time to see the crew of the Spencer boarding the Dolphin.

The patrol plane continued to make a wide circle over the dolphin as support surveillance. “Here comes another cutter from the south. Looks like the same class, the chief said as he lowered his binoculars, should be here in about an hour and a half, at the speed its going.”

“In case they aren’t watching their radar, we’ll notify the Spencer. Perhaps they don’t need the back-up,” The pilot replied.

The radioman, on the inter-comm, tells the Pilot “Sir, they will wait for the other Cutter, and told us that we can go on home. A good day wouldn’t you say, Lieutenant?”

The Dolphin’s crew is transferred to the Spencer and locked up, An officer and several seamen man the Dolphin for the trip back to Boston. The Dolphin is confiscated by the Coast Guard and the crew is turned over to ATF agents for transport to Portland, where they will be interrogated and arraigned. Several men from the Northland, who assisted the Spencer crew, returned to their cutter, which turned about and set out for Portsmouth.

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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 16

riverville cover lg

Case of the Riverville Murder

A Short Story by Ernie Whitenack

Chapter Fifteen

Previously:

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.  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 they examine the lock, Sergeant Allan Rockford comes forward and inserts two thin metal rods into the keyhole and deftly maneuvers them until a slight click is heard, and the door opens a couple of inches.

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

“From a retired guy in my neighborhood who was a locksmith, or so he told me. Thought it might come in handy some day on the job, and it did.”

Scott chuckled internally before directing, in a whisper, “Watch the stairs going up and down. Step in as far as you can on each step, and as flat-footed as possible to avoid squeaks. Check all rooms carefully and look for any escape routes. Above all, do not block the view of your back-up. It might save your life. Come running to the sound of gunfire. You might be needed. OK, it’s five sharp, MOVE.”

The interior is dimly lit by nightlights, the kind one plugs in a wall receptacle. Their illumination just removes the need for flashlights. Two officers rush to the rear door and let in two men for the basement search. The four of them start looking for the door down.

Scott and his group head up the stairs amid hardly perceptible squeaks. At the top, Scott hand-directs his men to the two doors down a narrow hall, lit by more nightlights. He and Allan, backed up by Sgt. Simmons and a BPD detective, step to the door nearest the stairs. All eyes are on Scott as he, with a hand gesture, and turning on his flashlight, signal all to enter their respective targets. The doors are kicked in synchronically with one loud crash.

Four men, fully dressed, are found on separate army cots in the last room. Scott and Allan, in their room, move quickly to a large bed just as Goddard and a young woman emerge from under blankets with stunned looks, and trying to peer around the powerful beam of the four flashlights. Goddard reaches for a drawer in his bed table.

“Try it and you’re a dead man, as the cowboys say,” Allan yells as he quickly moves to the table and removes a short-barreled pistol from the drawer.

In the other room, the four Goddard men are lined up and searched. All are carrying weapons of various size and caliber.

Nothing was found on the main floor or in the basement, other than some bar and cleaning supplies, and a medium size steel safe.

When Goddard and the others are brought down stairs, the lights are on and the safe is already sitting on a table in the middle of the floor.

“Ok everyone, sit down at a table and empty your pockets. Miss, do you have a purse or something?” Scott askes Goddard’s lady.

“I have it, the BPD detective says to Scott, it’s a cosmetic case – the only thing I found in the room.”

Scott’s voice rises above the din of the loudly objecting people at the table. “Quiet, please and give me your attention. You are all under arrest on suspicion of racketeering. This will be completely explained to you at the Boston Police Station, where additional charges might be individually levied against you. Any Questions?”

No questions ensued. However, the woman, found in bed with Goddard, began weeping quietly.

Portland:
The engines of the trawler, “Dolphin” hummed quietly and moved the boat slowly away from the wharf. About two-hundred yards out, it turned North and headed past Little Diamond and Great Diamond Islands. At the top of Great Diamond, the Dolphin turned East and then South through Hussey Sound and the southern traffic lane. east of Cape Elizabeth, where she picked up the out bound Eastern Approach Lane and headed for the open sea.

At the same time, the FTA agent on watch notified the Coast Guard of the Dolphin’s departure and an off-shore cutter set about the search. Unfortunately, the evasive maneuvers, not being the logical thing to do when heading for the British Islands, put the Dolphin out of reach of the Coast Guard; much to the embarrassment of the young Lieutenant commanding the cutter.

At Sea:
The Dolphin made another turn and continued north to Newfoundland where, at the north end of the island, it turned due-east and traveled to the specified coordinates. The captain ordered the engines off in the relative shallow waters above the Mid-Atlantic Ridge; a spot about half way between Newfoundland and the southern tip of England, and the mouth of the Irish Sea.

The low morning sun glistening off the water, made a visual silhouette of the freighter as it approached the position of the Dolphin. The small crew watched the freighter get closer and closer, observing that crewmen lined the rails every ten feet or so. All held a sub-machinegun at the ready.

The freighter’s First Mate, using a line gun, fired fore and aft lines to the Dolphin, then slowly hauled the trawler into the protective bumpers it lowered along its hull.

After a lengthy conversation between the captains, a boom with attached cargo netting swung over the Dolphin and lowered it to the deck, and the boxes marked Auto Parts. And later, through a hatch to the hold. Two hours passed before the cargo was completely transferred to the freighter, and the Dolphin turned southwest and to a port in Virginia to hide. The freighter circled and headed for the Irish Sea and the port of Dublin

Just as the freighter entered the Irish Sea, the sound of a hovering helicopter brought the freighter’s captain out of a sound sleep. Shaking his head, in an effort to fully wake, he staggered along the companionway and up a ladder and through a hatch to the deck. Almost blinded by the sun, he managed to climb to the flying bridge, as the British helicopter’s speaker demand he stop all engines. Two crewmen panicked and fired bursts at the helicopter. In return the plane set off a burst from its Gatling gun, sweeping the hull just below the deck. Crewmen, at this show of fire-power, immediately threw the guns overboard. 

After scrambling to the bridge, and a short argument with the first mate, the engines went silent and the anchor chains clattered as the anchors settled to the bottom of the shallow passage.

The helicopter maintained its vigil until two destroyers of the Irish Navy flanked the freighter. Irish Seamen, heavily armed, boarded the freighter and herded the crew into the galley. Officers and crewmen examine the cargo to determine that it is illegal armament, for which a Bill of Lading cannot be produced.

Essential freighter crewmen are put under personal guard and returned to duty as the ship continues its way to Dublin. The remainder of the crew are locked in the crew’s quarters, with guards at both exits.

The destroyers keep their flanking positions well into Dublin Harbor., with anti-aircraft guns trained on the freighter.

Boston:
In a holding cell at the BPD, Scott and Goddard sit at a small, bare table. “Where can I find Jerry Mc Dougal and John Byrne, and who are the four men we found in the other bedroom?” Scott asks.

“Those names aren’t familiar to me. Nope, never heard of them,” Goddard says as he blows cigarette smoke in Scott’s direction, and ignores the second part of the question.

“Let me remind you, Mr. Goddard, that we know much more about you than you can imagine. We have Hurley and Nunsay in custody and they are being very cooperative. Frank Sullivan gave me five-page essay on you, your two gangs and your activities. But then, perhaps you don’t know about his being an Inspector in Interpole. Believe me, it can be to your advantage to cooperate.”

“You go to hell, cop. You talk to my attorneys and we’ll see how smart you are. I’ll be out of this in a week.”

Scott filled and lit his pipe, looked at Goddard for a few seconds, shook his head and smiled as in disbelief.

“Guard, let me out,” Scott shouts as he walks to the cell door.

The officers working with him, assembled in the squad room, became quiet as Scott entered. “If anyone wants to get breakfast, or take a walk, now is the time. We’ll meet at the cars at 0700 and start cruising Southie for mob members. Don’t forget the photos. Go after those you know first and keep an eye on places you know they like to go. You all have two feet. Don’t be afraid to use them to follow, or to go in a place you know the gang haunts. You have John Doe warrants. You can go anywhere you deem as justified to do your job.”

“Allan, I have to find an office where I can make a couple of calls and talk to Reichman. See if you can find some breakfast for the three of us. If I remember, there is a Deli just down the street to the left as you go out.”

Just as Reichman and Scott entered the office, a sergeant approached and asked, “Are you Wadsworth?”

“Yes, what can I do for you?”

“First, there is an overseas call we’ve been holding on to while trying to locate you. From Ireland, I believe. The call has been bouncing around from place to place trying to catch up with you, second, John Guilford, District supervisor, ATF, wants you to call him.  The sergeant said as he picked up the phone on the desk.

“I’ve found him, thank the Saints. Put the call through to this extension, please.”

“Yes, inspector, he’s right here,” the sergeant said and handed the phone to Scott.

“Sullivan here, Wadsworth. I just received word that the guns have been transferred to the freighter and the Navy is escorting it into Dublin Harbor, even as we speak, thanks to a British Navy helicopter who gave us a hand. Unfortunately, we did not capture the Dolphin. It was out of sight when they finally found the freighter. If you are in touch with John Guilford or Henry Reichmann, please let them know and ask them to notify Washington.”

“Great news Inspector. Thanks for calling. Reichman is with me and I’ll let him know immediately. I’ll also arrange for someone to notify the Coast Guard about the Dolphin, if that hasn’t been done. I hope the C.G. can catch them. I doubt they will return to Portland.

“Today, we are rounding up the Compton Hill and C Street gangs. We have Nathen Goddard, four of his men and a young woman in custody; all captured in a middle-of-the-night raid. They are being questioned right now. As soon as the city wakes up, we will be cruising in South Boston and Somerville and gang popular places. I think we will just about clean up this bunch today. I’ll let you know how we make out as soon as I hear from Winston Grant, Chief of the Somerville Municipal Police. Also, I might need you here soon; affidavits and information, you know. Can you get away for a couple of weeks?”

“That will not be a problem. The government police will handle the freighter’s crew. Just give me notice -- a day or two. My best to your Family, Scott. Good bye.”

“Henry, John Guilford requested I call him. I guess he is still in Portland. Do you have the number?” Scott asked.

“Yes, in my head. Hand me the phone.”

“Reichman here, director. Wadsworth wishes to speak to you,” as he pushes the speaker button and hands the phone to Scott.

“Hello, John. If you are calling about the guns, Sullivan called me from Ireland and told me the story. Too bad they didn’t grab the Dolphin as well. He suggested someone notify Washington ATF and the Coast Guard.

“Thanks, Scott. Yes, Apparently the Irish Naval Department notified Washington. Washington called me. I was wondering what you know. Washington was very brief and blunt, as if questioning whether I can handle things or not. They did say the Coast Guard promised to put out every possible cutter on the east coast to catch the Dolphin.”

“I hope you are wrong about their attitude. I’ll get a letter off to your Washington headquarters applauding your devoted work in Portland. It’s not your fault. The CG was alerted weeks ago, and again when the weather cleared. They were just outsmarted by the Dolphin’s maneuvering.”

“That’s generous of you, Scott. Don’t hesitate to call if you need anything from the ATF. I’ll be in Portland until the CG gets the Dolphin’s crew back here, where their crime started. We are already talking to the dock workers.”

Allan comes through the door with three orders of scrambled eggs with sausage, and coffee to wash it down, just as Scott is dialing the Somerville Police Department.

“This is chief investigator Wadsworth. Please put me through to Chief Grant.”

“Yes, sir. It might take a while to hunt him down. Can I call you when I have him?”

“Fine,” Scott replied and gave him the number.”

The three men finished breakfast and are relaxing with coffee. Scott is about to light an Ehrlich Rhodesian pipe, when the telephone interrupts the quietness of the room.

 “Do you have him, Mr. Wadsworth?” the voice loudly asked.

“If this is Chief Grant and you are referring to Nathan Goddard, I do indeed. He is presently in a holding cell, all by himself, thinking over his plight. We got him at his bar, sound asleep beside a lovely young woman. As yet, we know nothing about her. In addition, four men were also arrested while sleeping in another room. We are assuming they are all gang members – bodyguard, perhaps. Almost forgot that we found a steel safe that, when they get it open, might turn out to be a treasure cove of insight into the two gangs,” Scott answered.

“Fabulous catch! Grant exclaimed. I have men in good position to nab several of the “Hill” gang when we start part two at Seven. From there on, it will be patrolling and spotting to get others. My men are highly motivated to clean this up, so I expect great results. I’ll call you tonight and let you know how it went.”

-------------------------------------------------------------

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.

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