Riverville Murder - Chapter 26

riverville cover lg

Case of the Riverville Murder

A Short Story by Ernie Whitenack

Chapter Twenty Six


“With the cooperation of Reverend Carlton Mac Elroy and yourself, I think it will go like clock-work. Reverend Mac Elroy feels as you do but is willing to step around ethics to save Mark’s life. To answer your other question, Mark Simmons will only be at your place for a matter of hours. Allan and I will come to the funeral home, as towel and lab coat delivery people, in a panel truck with proper signage on its sides. We will take him out in a large hamper. After he is safely in Riverville, I can discuss the funeral with you and Reverend Mac Elroy. Keep in mind that the funeral is only for the family. Normally, there would be a large contingent of police at the funeral. That is OK, but they cannot enter the church. I will talk to the Chief about that problem.”

“When do you anticipate all this will take place?” Mister Gregg asked.

“As soon as I hear from the hospital that Mark can be discharged, we will finalize everything. Arrangements have been made to keep Mark at the hospital longer than necessary for his safety and allow time to figure out what to do with him when he is released.”

“I guess we have covered everything, Mister Wadsworth. I’ll await your next phone call, and trust that all will go as planned.”

“I’m surrounded by the best people I can find,” Scott replied with determination in his voice. I’m very confident that you have nothing to worry about.”

With that statement, Scott rose from his chair, followed by Allan. Allan stepped to the door and opened it, as Scott extended his hand to Mister Gregg -- “Happy to meet you, Sir. This will be over soon.”

Lloyd Qualter appeared at Scott’s office at the appointed time and walked right in.

“Good afternoon, Boss and Allan. What’s the important news you have for me?”

“Have a seat, Buck. Do you remember the woman from the raid on Goddard’s bar, Alice Nadeau? Well, she is back in the picture. Allan, Mic Mitchell, and I were in Palmer’s Bar, at the Palmer House, and she appeared at our table and gave me the names of Goddard’s three lieutenants, whose names are Jason Atkins, the top man,  and the sub lieutenants are named Cressey and Zebrine. She saw them in a restaurant in Northborough, so they might be living in that vicinity. We are looking into their records to find their first names and, with some luck, their photos.” Scott replied.

“Then, you don’t have them yet?”

“I expect them momentarily. In the meantime, your activities for this office have changed. While tailing Callan, he might, from time to time, lead you to the place called the Italian Club in South Boston, or to his bar. I think you and Al Guatino took a look at the club when we first learned of it.”

“Yes, Boss. We found nothing.”

“Callan was spotted at the Italian Club recently. More than likely, that club will be his meeting place for the lieutenants. Now, I do not want you going up against any three gangsters alone, much less those four, and I’m calling Captain Callan a gangster.” My superior and I have mulled over the question of arresting Callan and the lieutenants together or separately. We consider together to be the most expedient. However, that may not be possible. You will have to make that decision when the time comes. So, you can see, this is more than a surveillance job now.

“Buck, do you have the radio yet?”Scott asked.

“Yes, Sir. It was delivered yesterday evening. I’ve been familiarizing myself with it.”

“Then, you have noticed a button, on the bottom left; that button will get you in direct contact with the state police. All you have to say is Scott and a location. Use either an address or place, and there will be patrol cars with you in a short time. Remember to press the button again to disengage that feature.”

“ I have arranged an increase in patrols in South Boston. I think that is where you will grab them. Should you be elsewhere, it might be a bit longer for cops to join you.”

“Will I have to change a frequency to use that button?” Qualter asked.

“No. Only two frequencies are reachable. Squeezing the talk leaver gets you directly to me on one frequency. Pressing the button, rather than activating the lever, changes the frequency and electronically opens the radio to talk to the state police.”

“That’s some kind of radio. Where did you come up with that?” Qualter quizzed Scott.

“Salinger Radio Company came to me saying they want a more significant part in the police communications market and asked me for ideas and testing. They are a good company trying to get to the top and are pushing their engineers for innovation. I came up with the general idea. Salinger dropped it in the engineers' lap, and they came up with what we now have. The Massachusetts State Police have a half-dozen prototypes to test, the only ones in existence. They are the same radios we used during the raids, but those were without the instant call button.”

“You are sure it works, aren’t you? I don’t want to push that button and have no one show up.”

Scott and Allan laughed before Scott said, “It works, Buck. Allan and I have tested it extensively, so don’t worry.

“There is one thing. If you find yourself following Callan out of the city and heading west, he will probably be on his way to Northborough or even Worcester. Radio me immediately if you are within thirty miles of Boston. Otherwise, phone me as the radio only has thirty miles or so range.”

“I have made arrangements with the Worchester barracks commander to keep an eye out for Cressey and Zebrine. After you call me, I will alert them in Worcester that you are coming. You phone the Worcester commander when Callan stops, and you think he is with Cressey, Zebrine, and or Jason Atkins. Give him a good description of your location, and you will soon have police aid. Do not call the Worcester commander if Callan is not with those three, and the commander will know my call is a false alarm. Be sure to get on Callan early Monday morning. Should you find Callan and Atkins together, and they separate, let Callan go and follow Akins. There is a good possibility he will lead you to Cressey and Zebrin – we can pick Callan any time.”

“Don’t hesitate to call me about anything. In this department, there are no stupid questions – however trivial.”

“Got it, Boss; hope I can meet your expectations. I have never attempted such critical and involved surveillance as this.”

“Do your best, young man. It’s all I expect from anyone. I believe you will discover you are more competent than you think,” Scott declared as he filled a pipe, and someone knocked on the door.

“Delivery Service. I have a package for Chief Investigator Scott Wadsworth,” the old gentleman in an olive-green uniform loudly proclaimed, his massive white mustache bouncing as he spoke, and his gray hair protruding wildly from under his uniform cap.

The photos and records being neatly coordinated make it easy for Scott to sort out a set for Buck Qualter. “Here you go, Buck. Study the photos and try to memorize them. Use them like flash-cards, having someone test you. It won’t take long before you have them sorted out. However, when you are working, keep the pictures close by for confirmation. Now, get going and try to have a relaxing weekend. Best of luck.”                           

Northwood Massachusetts:

Michael Mitchell pulled up to the state police firing range early Monday morning in a rented car and removed his brand-new Colt 1911 from the car's trunk. Confident he will quickly qualify for a license to carry the weapon, Mic entered the building and approached the front counter.

“I’m here for instruction and a certificate of qualification to carry a weapon. My name is Micheal Mitchell.”

The officer at the counter looked at Mic with raised eyebrows. “Really, We can teach you safety, how to load and fire, and clean your weapon. Once you have mastered that, the license is up to you and a more in-depth background check that it took for you to buy the pistol. Have a seat while I find the instructor.”The instructor, a sergeant slightly over six-feet, entered the room wearing his sharply pressed uniform, boots so polished as to be used as a mirror, and his peaked garrison hat held rigidly under his left arm. Except for the garrison hat, he reminded Mic of the drill masters he encountered when first entering the British Army.

“Follow me, young man,” he said after scrutinizing Mic from head to toe.

On the firing range, under the harsh fluorescent lights, the instructor, with a slightly prominent midsection and salt-and-pepper thinning hair, appeared older than at first. In a gruff voice, he explained the 1911 to Mic.

“What do you say, Michael? Do you think you can handle this weapon?

“Yes, I do. I qualified on a very similar piece in the British Army. It held thirteen wounds, however.”

“Oh, you did, did you. We’ll just see,” the sergeant said and placed a box of cartridges on the low counter in front of Mic and ran out a target. “Go to it, son.”

Mick’s hands flew as he rapidly filled a magazine and shoved it in the gun, expertly holding the gun down-range. He worked the ejector slide, driving a round into the chamber, flipped the safety off, and lifted it to arm's length. The roar was almost deafening when in rapid-fire, Mic emptied the magazine at the target.

Standing with his hands on his hips and a deep frown, the sergeant growled as he started to retract the target. “Now, do you think you hit anything that way, boy?”

“Yes, Sir, I did.”

The man glared at him until the returning target came back and hit the end of the cable. He turned to the paper target, and his eyes widened as his mouth dropped open.

“What is this, a joke? What is Wadsworth up to, sending you here? Does he think he is making a fool of me?. Damn, boy, you shredded the center of the target!

“Not at all, Sir. Scott believes I need personal protection because my life has been threatened. I helped him capture a thief during a case about a rare ancient smoking pipe. He has escaped prison.”

The sergeant looked at him for quite a while, wondering if he should believe Mic’s story.

“Well, where have you been practicing, then?”

“Honestly, I haven’t. The British Army said I have a born talent for firearms. They were sorry when I had to leave.”

“And why was that? The sergeant inquired.

“I was too young. I lied about my age to get into the army.”

Later, sitting on a bench drinking cola and smoking, Mic and the instructor talked for most of an hour. Mic explained his connection to Smyth and the antique pipe and Smyth breaking out of prison.

“That is some story, Michael, and aren’t you fortunate to meet Mister Wadsworth, the kind and gracious man he is,” the sergeant said, losing all gruffness.

“Scott took me in hand and into his family, and I was ready for it. He got me a job and paid for my night school. I have a business education, thanks to him.”

The sergeant, stretching as he got up from the bench, with a hint of stiffness, shook hands with Mic saying, “I will qualify you for sure. There’s no point in coming back here unless you want to say hello occasionally. I’d like that.

“Thanks, sergeant, I might just do that, Sir.

“You call me Pop – all the boys do,” he said as Mic drove off.

Mic waved in acceptance and thought of what his mother told him, “You can never tell a book by its cover.”

In the meantime, Buck Qualter sat in an old Plymouth coupe a block away, waiting for Callan to leave his house. When he did, Buck followed as far back as he dared until Callan pulled up in front of a small dingy looking restaurant. Buck continued on, turning around in a gas station and driving back to stop across from the restaurant. Callan took a half-hour for breakfast before driving off again. Buck made a u-turn and followed as Callan went directly to the Police headquarters parking lot and into his reserved birth next to the door. After he went in, buck found a spot where he could see Callan’s vehicle and waited. Callan didn’t come out until four-forty-five and went directly to his home.

Later that evening, Buck sat writing the day's events in a ledger book, thinking the Boss might expect repots. When finished, Buck read what he had written and thought, “That sure wasn’t very exciting – thought I’d have more action.”

Charles Street South:

Scott and Allan entered the Charles Street South office shortly after nine o’clock to find Annie typing up a storm.

“At it already, Annie,” Scott asked.,

“Oh yes, you have a contract for Marathon Shoe due tomorrow,” she replied. “Did you forget?”

“What would I do without you. Yes, it slipped my mind – thanks. I’ll review it when you finish, please.”

Scott, finishing his coffee and about to light a pipe, is aware of Annie buzzing him, ”A doctor Colligan from City Hospital is on the line.”

“This is Scott Wadsworth, Doctor.”

“I’m calling about Mark Simmons. He is getting quite nervous and anxious over being in the hospital when perfectly healed. In my judgment, he should be discharged before that condition becomes a problem.”

“Absolutely, Doctor Colligan. I’ll try for tomorrow, and please tell Mark I’m working on it. I'll call you back later today if I can make the arrangements. Please give my secretary your phone number and extension.”

Scott immediately called Mathew Hart at the statehouse in hopes he can expedite acquiring a white laundry truck, a large hamper, and two white jackets and caps. Naturally, his superior wants to know the particulars of the request. Scott went onto his plan to get Simmons safely to the Funeral home using a hearse and to Riverville in the laundry truck.

“I’m hoping to smuggle Mark out of the hospital tomorrow; it seems he is clinically upset at being there when he is well. The doctor wants him out. Sorry, but this is a bit of a rush.”

“I’ll do my best, Scott. We’ll paint a truck if necessary and purchase the rest. You will have it tomorrow.  We don’t want our new employee going loopy before he starts!”

“What more can I ask. I’ll talk to you later today.”

Scott immediately called Arthur Gregg at the Gregg and Son funeral home, who agreed to transport Simmons from the hospital tomorrow and house him for a couple of hours. He next called the Simmons home and related the news to George Simmons, who was verbally delighted at the news. Scott decided to wait until tomorrow to telephone Riverville.

“Allan, are you ready to do some theatrics?” Scott asked.“ With the aid of the undertaker, I will take Mark out of the hospital tomorrow. Then, you and I, dressed in white jackets and caps, will deliver him from the funeral home to Riverville in a laundry truck.”

“I gathered all that from your phone conversations -- should be a real lark.”

“No doubt,” Scott replied. “But now, I have to review this contract. Call the deli in a while and order lunch. I’ll have a toasted BLT and coffee and see what Annie will have. Get whatever you want, and petty cash from Annie.”

After lunch, Scott and Allan sat talking about the Goddard case progression and speculating about Buck’s success tailing Callan. “We have piled a lot on his shoulders,” Scott said, “I hope he can handle it. I know he has some experience filling in as a detective, but not how much.”

“I wouldn’t worry about him. He tells me about some of his activities from time to time. I was surprised by some of the tight spots he has handled successfully.”

“It’s the compound problem of the three lieutenants that bothers me, and the time it might take to get help to Buck. I hope he won’t try to take the four of them alone. He needs a partner, or he’s liable to get hurt.”

“How about Al Guatino?” Allan asked. “They sure managed to fool and bag Jerry Mc Dougal and John Byrne at Goddard’s bar. Remember, they entered the bar when Loyd and Al were left there to receive prisoners during the first raid? Lloyd and Al acted as bartender and customer -- even serving them beer – and then arrested them?”

Scott thought for a few seconds before replying. “Right! So much has happened since then that those days fade away. You’re right. I’ll work on getting Guatino on board. Good thinking.”

While thinking about afternoon coffee, Annie buzzed again. “Michael Hendersen on the phone,” she said.”

“Chief! You are on my schedule to call today. Happy to hear from you.”

Scott, The family is wondering when that lad Simmons is joining us. Everyone, but especially the youngsters, is excited to have a visitor with stories to tell living with them for a while.”

“Exactly why I intended to call today. Tomorrow is the day. I trust the short notice is not a problem. I have no choice. According to Simmons’ doctor, He needs to get out of the hospital for his mental health – getting anxious, just hanging around there. I think we should be in Riverville early afternoon. I’ll bring him to the station.”

“Fine, Scott, I’ll alert the gang. See you tomorrow.”

As Scott cradled the phone, he mumbled something, causing Allan to say, “Didn’t get that, Boss.”“Sorry, I was talking to myself, I guess. I said I wish all these calls were new clients. As if I had time for more!”

Later, Scott looked up at the wall clock as Allan, yawning, leaned on his elbows on the windowsill watching the clouds. “Let’s close up Allan, what do you say?”

“Whatever you say, Boss.”

Annie buzzed again just as Scott locked his desk. “Mathew Hart, Sir.”

“Matt. We were just closing up. How did you make out finding the van and uniforms?”

“Not so good with a white one, but I have a blue one fresh from the impound with “Flowers” painted on the side. Also, blue coveralls and caps are inside the van. It’s parked in the guest area in the back. I have the keys.

“OK, I’ll have Allan take care of that after we get Simmons to the funeral home. I hope there are flowers in the van.”

“Afraid not. Call and have a funeral wreath delivered to your home. Put it on your expense account. When you get back from Riverville, call me. I’m interested to see how it all went.”

On the drive home, Scott turned to Allan add asked, “Do you have a black or navy suit? We should look like undertakers when we take Mark from the hospital.”

“I had a navy double-breasted. I think I saw it in the back of my closet recently – don’t suppose the fit matters much.”

“No, I don’t think so, as long as the pants aren’t up to your knees. That would be too obvious.” Come to the house for breakfast tomorrow, and we will choreograph the day. Make it around Eight.”

Allan arrived precisely at eight, wearing his navy blue suit. It appeared slightly tight, and the sleeves about an inch too short. He and Scott planed out the day over sausage and eggs accompanied by a half grilled tomato and English Muffins. When finished, Scott called City Hospital and informed Doctor Colligan they will be picking up Simmons before noon.

As they pulled away from Scott’s home, Allan observed Qualter sitting in an old pickup truck and brought it to Scott’s attention.

“Yes, I know. I asked Lloyd to follow us today and watch our rear. If there is someone following us, it could blow the plan to smithereens. He has orders to detain anyone he spots.”

Allan parked in the rear of the funeral home at nine-forty. “I’ll go get Gregg. I see the hearse is out of the garage, so I guess he is ready.”

Qualter waited on the street at a discrete distance.

“Am I happy to see you two,” Simmons said when he saw Scott and Allan. He was seated near the ICU nurses' station, wearing a white knee-length medical coat, a stethoscope in the side pocket, and a name tag on his chest. His complexion was much darker, thanks to an astute nurse with pancake makeup.

The three men walked to the ambulance entrance where Mister Gregg and the backed-up hearse awaited six-feet away. Mark removed his disguise and hopped on the gurney. Mister Gregg covered him with a large blanket. Scott and Allan pushed the gurney into the hearse, then moved to the front seat. The drive to the Funeral Home was uneventful.


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 28

riverville cover lg

Case of the Riverville Murder

A Short Story by Ernie Whitenack

Chapter Twenty Eight


“Thank you -- very informative.” Judge Millstone said. “I read in the paper, the young officer Simmons passed away. I understand he was shot outside your office. Tell me more about that.”

“Respectively, Sir, I cannot. All I can tell you is that he is not dead. It’s all tied into the attempts on my life and this case. To tell you more will jeopardize Simmons’ life.”

“All right, Chief Investigator. I’ll accept that. But, when this is over, I want the full story.”

On the way out, Allan said, “That wasn’t bad. I thought you might get a good chewing-out for something, Boss.”

“No. Despite the judge’s abruptness, likely caused by being so busy, he is a good and reasonable man. Now, how about Angelo’s for lunch?”

The car headed out, traveled to Hanover Street, turned left onto Prince, and stopped at Angelo’s, Allan’s favorite restaurant.

The restaurant has none of the trappings of some Italian restaurants in the area; no murals of gondolas in Venice, or leaning towers, or hill senes in Sicily, no basket-housed Cianti bottled on tables. The interior is dark Walnut with a beamed ceiling and just the right amount of light emanating from stained-glass chandeliers placed about ten feet apart. The tables are correctly set with china and silver on white linin. The service people are all men, impeccably dressed in black trousers, white shirts with black bowties. They intimately know each wine on the list and what makes up each menu item. To top it all is the excellent, authentic food.

Later, walking to the car through Angelo’s parking lot, Scott and Allan hear a gruff voice yell, “Scott, oh, Scott.”

Turning, they saw a large man rushing toward them. Allan immediately pulled his weapon and concealed it behind his leg. Scott, sensing Allan’s tension, said, “It’s OK, I know him. It’s Pops Klien.”

Pops approached with a huge grin, and his hand extended. “Pops, How long has it been? How are you?” Scott asked.

“Six years, I think, Scott. And I’m fit as a fiddle.”

“Well, what brings you here, my friend?”

“Food, of course. I come here once a week – the best Italian in the city.”

“No argument there,” Allan said and held out his hand, saying, “I’m Allan Rockford.”

‘Well, Pops, what’s new in your world?” Scott asked.

“Micheal Mitchell, that’s what! I first thought you were pulling a prank on me. He knocked the middle out of his first target as if he lived with that pistol half his life. No lengthy lessons on the Colt 1911 for that young man.

“How about range safety? Did Mic handle the weapon correctly?”

“Like a pro, Scott. I handed him a box of cartridges, and he did everything correctly from then until I pulled the target back for inspection. I gave him no preliminary instructions, either.”

“So, will you qualify him?”

“Absolutely. I haven’t seen shooting like that since my competition days. The certificate is in the mail to you. I thought you might like to give it to Mic. Now it’s getting late, and I’m as hungry as a bear. Good to see you, Scott, you too, Allan,” Pops said as he hurried on to the restaurant.

All the while, the State Troopers assigned to protect Scott sat in their unmarked patrol car a hundred or so yards away. They spotted the large man approaching Scott, and suspecting trouble, the driver started the vehicle. Moving slowly toward the scene, the second trooper raised his binoculars for a closer look.

“Hold it!” He said. “That’s Pops Kline! I haven’t seen him for a long time. If Mister Wadsworth just had one friend, it would be Pops.”

The troopers waited until Allan exited the parking area and followed. They parked illegally but as close as possible to the Charles Street South office and waited for Scott and Allan to enter the building. The driver put a “Metropolitan Electric Co.” sign behind the windshield while the other trooper entered the building and waited. It wasn’t long before a tall, well-built man entered and went to the elevator. The officer followed, and when the man exited the elevator at Scott’s floor, he stopped him.

“May I asked where you are going, Sir?”

“What’s it to you?” the man asked, being somewhat disturbed at the intrusion.

“Police business,” the trooper replied, showing his badge while at high alert for trouble.

“Sorry, you should identify yourself first. My name is Micheal Mitchell. I’m going to Scott Wadsworth’s office.”

“Do you have business with Mister Wadsworth?”

“No, he’s a friend. I happened to be in the area and stopped in to say hello. Come in with me, and you’ll see.”

Mic opened the door and said, “Hi, Annie. How are you?”

“Hello, Mic. I’ll tell him you are here.”

Mic and the officer entered the inner office. Scott said, “What brings you here today, Mic, and who is your friend?”

“He’s a cop from the hallway who just gave me the third degree about being here.”

Now a little flustered, the officer said, “Mister Wadsworth, Mister Mitchell, please understand, I was doing my job.”

“Mic, due to the shootings, I have protectors these days. It wasn’t anything personal.”

At which, Mic shook the officer’s hand, saying, Good job, mate. Take good care of my friend here and yourself. Be safe.”

Scott gave Mic the news regarding his gun qualification, mentioning seeing Pops today and how impressed he is with Mic.

“A very personable and caring man, that one. After the exam, we became instant friends. Before that, I thought him a gruff old coot. What’s the next step for the license?”

“Don’t worry about that. I’ll run it through personally and pull some strings if necessary. It is an emergency, so I doubt there will be a problem.”

“Thanks, Scott. I hope I never have to use the damn thing. Although confronting Smyth, I sure would not hesitate. Smyth has put me in bad situations for much too long, even framing me for several things I had no part of. Luckily, I was able to wiggle out of them. It got so the copper’s in England caught on to what he was doing to me and didn’t bother me, other than to ask if I knew about the incident.”

“That life is all over now. Let’s hope Smyth is back in prison soon.”

“Right!” Mic responded. “Here am I, babbling on and taking up your time. I just intended to say hello, and see if Annie would like to go out tonight. See you later, Scott, Allan.”

The hand radio on Scott’s desk squealed, and he immediately picked it up.

“Boss, We followed Callan to the Italian Club. Callan went in, and soon another vehicle pulled into the lot. I could not see the other driver’s face as he exited the car or went into the club. Should we take them?”

“No, not now. Wait for fifteen-minutes; others might come. Do not approach the club in either case. If they do come and in more than one more vehicle, I want the license plate numbers recorded and brought to me after a reasonable time. Should we obtain names and address information from the plate numbers, arrests can be more safely made one by one. Keep in touch.”

“Got it, Boss,” Qualter said. Then, Scott heard Qualter’s radio switch off.

Qualter and Guatino, sitting in the car, watched the Italian Club for a while before Guatino asked, “Do you think it will be wise to move the care to another spot, Lloyd?”

“Good Idea. I’ll drive up the road a mile, make a u-turn, and come back to park on the opposite side of the street.”  A third car sat in the parking lot when they returned, and five minutes later, another arrived. Qualter drove to the back of the lot where the plates can be seen. Passing his binoculars to Guatino, Qualter says, “Read them to me, Al, and I’ll write them down. Then, we’ll radio Wadsworth and head back to his office.”

Late afternoon traffic made it difficult for Qualter to get to Scott quickly. When they walked into his office, Scot said jokingly, “Did you stop for dinner or come here via Brockton?”

“Come on, Boss. The traffic was terrible -- we did our best. Here are the plate numbers. Interesting that one is a Rhode Island plate.”

“That it is! Could Callan be recruiting talent from Rhode Island? Or, working on a deal with a gang there?”

Guatino said, “I have relatives in Rhode Island. One is a cop down there and hears a lot of stuff. I’ll make some inquiries.”

“OK, but don’t be specific or use names, please, ”Scott replied. “I’ll get these numbers to the records clerk in the morning and try to rush them for an answer by the end of the day.”

“This meeting at the Italian Club could announce the end for the C Street gang, don’t you think, Boss,” Allan asked.

“Hopefully. But, there is a problem surrounding Callan that I haven’t mentioned. Historically, when a high-ranking cop goes wrong, it doesn’t end there. Other officers are carefully recruited to do his bidding. To date, I have no evidence of that being the case here. Let’s hope none comes to light.”

“You two stay on Callan and keep me informed if anything out of the ordinary occurs. Get back to the Italian Club. He might still be there. Should you recognize anyone else as they leave, let me know.”

“OK, Boss. We’d like to know who owns those cars at the club,” Qualter hinted.

Scott looked skeptically at the two detectives and said, “All right, I’ll radio you when I find out, so don’t let your curiosity get the better of you, and barge into the club.”

Gray clouds started blowing in on an increasing wind as Qualter turned the vehicle towards South Boston. Just before the two detectives reached the Italian Club, rain burst forth and came down in thick sheets.

“Jeez, Lloyd, how are we going to see any faces leaving the club? I can’t see five feet ahead!”

Qualter, having slowed to fifteen miles per hour, replied, “We’re not going to unless it lets up some.” and drove around to locate a strategic spot for observing, head-on, those leaving. However, by the time the rain slacked off, it became too dark to see from an unobserved position.

Callan didn’t leave the club for a half-hour after the others. Lloyd Qualter eased their car into traffic three or four vehicles behind Callan and followed him home. As the rain increased, they waited for him to leave for his nightly to visit the pub. He never did leave. 

“That’s it, my friend, let’s call it a day,” Lloyd said while he eased the car away from the curb.

“Yes, Sir, sounds good to me – want me to drive tomorrow?” Al asked.

In the Morning, Scott opens the front gate to Walnut Street and finds Allan waiting for him. Collapsing his umbrella, he slides in next to Allan.

“I told you I wanted to walk this morning. Thought I’d give you some time for yourself.”

“Boss, I appreciate that, but the rain is so heavy, I thought you might like to get to the statehouse dry.”

Allan made his morning run to the coffee room while Scott called the RMV’s I.D. department, asking for data surrounding the license plate numbers, saying, “The information is vital to an on-going murder case, so I hope you can speed it up for me.”

“Yes, Sir, Mister Wadsworth. I’ll run these through personally and get right back to you.”

While Scott and Allan, enjoying their coffee and waited for the RMV’s call. Qualter and Guatino came into the office, looking like wet cats.

“What’s going on, you two? You look as if you fell in the Charles  River.”

Guatino, taking off his soaked jacket, replied, “For some stupid reason, Callan went for a walk this morning all decked out as a Glouster fisherman – we followed.”

“Then,” Qualter interjected, “When he came home, took his car and headed west through Watertown and Waltham on route twenty. Between the heavy traffic and the rain limiting vision, I lost him somewhere in Weston. Sorry, Boss, losing him was inevitable in this rain.”

“Not a very good start to the day, is it? Get some coffee and dry out a bit. It’s always warm in the coffee room. When you are ready, go on home. Should it clear later, you can try to latch on to Callan, but don’t worry about losing him. He isn’t going away – too much at stake.

The RMV called three hours later, gave the names to Scott, and said, “This afternoon, I’ll mail an official form containing the information I just provided.”

“Thank you for the speedy service.”

“Not a problem, Mister Wadsworth. Call anytime.”

The office was silent in anticipation as Scott, again, read the names and addresses.

Scott tossed the paper on his desk, looked at the three officers sitting across from him, and verbally observed, “Gentlemen, sorry to tell you, but we’ve been had. Alice Nadeau is on this list.”

“How can that be, Boss?” Allan asked. “She gave you the names of the lieutenants and the area where they might live. I don’t get it!”

Qualter added, “We don’t know if the names are actual. We have no proof.”

“Those lieutenants’ names are on the list I just received. There is only one reason Alice Nadeau revealed their names,” Scott said. “She wants to get them out of the way along with Callan. That leaves the way open for her to take command of -- and rebuild the gang.”

“Wow, what a twist,” Guatino said, almost in a whisper.

“On second thought, and the chance of this is highly remote, but must be considered,” said Scott, “She works for an unknown employer with as much interest in wiping out the C Street gang as we have. Don’t ask me who. I can’t even guess.”

“Do you want her picked up, Boss,” Qualter asked.”

“No, I want to do that myself. You’ll be back-up if there is more there than we are bargaining for,” Scott said as he copied  Nadeau’s address to another sheet of paper for Qualter.”I want to knock on that door, the “John Doe” warrant in hand, at eight AM. Lloyd, you be in sight of the house, but move in front as Alan and I enter. Understood?”

“Yes, Sir,” Qualter said, standing almost at attention at Scott’s desk, the address paper held tightly to his side.

“OK, Go home before you catch your death, and hope tomorrow brings better weather. I have to talk with Matt Hart about this new turn.”

On hearing about Alice Nadeau, Matt Hart thought for several minutes, drumming his fingers on his desk.

“I agree totally. Before you can move against the three lieutenants, we must know what her game is. If a new agency is involved, why don’t we know about them? Follow through with tomorrow’s action. It’s the only thing we can do right now.”

Luckily the next day dawned without a cloud in the sky. In a neighborhood with opulent homes and lawns like golf courses, Allan sighted Qualter and Guatino parked a half-block from Nadeau’s house as they approached it.

“Oh, my,” Alice Nadeau said as she opened the door. “Two handsome gentlemen, and so early in the morning. What can I do for you?”

“ Scott waved the warrant at her while Alan stepped in behind her. Scott proclaimed, “Alice Nadeau, under this John Doe warrant, you are under arrest on suspicion of racketeering. Please turn around and place your hands behind your back.”

Nadeau objected vehemently as Scott applied handcuffs to her wrists and walked her toward the car. Qualter and Guatino, behind bushes on both sides of the door, moved in and flanked Nadeau.

At Scott’s car, Alice asked, “Aren’t you even going to let me take my purse? It’s on the hall table.”

“Lloyd, get her handbag and make sure the door locks when you close it.”

Alice looked at Scott as he checked her bag for a weapon and said sarcastically, “Well, now, aren’t you the generous one?”

Matt, Scott, and Alice Nadeau sit around a conference table in Matt’s office at the statehouse, while Qualter and Guatino stand, one on each side of the door.

“I suppose you are wondering why you are not at a police station being booked, ”Matt said to Alice.

She, in return, just shrugged her shoulders and looked bored.

“It is a quandary to us why you met with Captain Callan, Jason Atkins, Cressey, and Zebrine, along with someone from Rhode Island at the Italian Club,” Scott said. “Rather than booking you, we thought we might hopefully clear this up with a conversation, apologize and take you home.”

“Not that simple, boys, Alice replied.”

A bit exasperated, Matt asked, “Can you then explain exactly why it is not simple. We are trying to give you a break here, lady.”

“I can not -- not at this place in time. Doing so might just botch things up for you and allow “C” street to build again quickly. So go ahead and book me because that is all I have to say. I can get in trouble saying the small amount I did say.”

“Can I then assume you are working, in some strange way, to benefit our governments?” Matt asked.

“Yes,” Alice answered. “And that is as far as I can take it. If you believe me, let me go. If not, book me and take your chances with the remainder of the “C” gang. I will make bail immediately and try to continue my work.”

“I tend to believe you, Alice,” Scott said. If you can only give us an understandable hint regarding the person, agency, or department for whom you are working, I will vote for your release.”

“I concur with that statement, Alice, Matt said.

“All right, and this is as much as I can say. The agency is federal. I have worked underground many times for them successfully. The Orders for this assignment comes from the Boston U.S. Attorney and goes higher than you might think. If you should question the U.S. attorney, you will be disappointed. I’m that secret.”

“OK, Alice,” Matt said. “If Mister Wadsworth agrees, you are free to go. Allan will take you home.”

“That’s fine with me, Matt.”

Matthew Hart stood, hands on the table, and leaning close to Nadeau,” Remember, Miss Nadeau, we are keeping an eye on you and looking to discredit your statement. Considering you could be truthful, your protection is also a consideration of our surveillance.

“Thank you. I assure you, it’s a correct decision and you will not regret it. When this is all over, we’ll sit down, and I’ll tell you everything. Please inform me if you are going to pick-up Callan and or his lieutenants. I’ll need to complete business with them. That business will cement my case, as well as yous.

“Agreed, Allan, take the lady home.”

Matt returned to his chair and thumped his fingers on the table. Looking pensive, he said, “ Scott, what in the world is going on in this state. How can she be working under a U.S. Attorney and us not know about it?”

“The only way I can think of is through a top-secret security rating, and more than likely, emanating from D.C. Otherwise, I feel certain Judge Millstone would ask me about Nadeau, or, at least, mention her name.”

“Guess we’ll have to wait and see. Well, I have other things to attend today,” Matt said as he rose and headed for the door. “Despite Miss Nadeau and whatever she is up to, you keep up with Callan and his boys. “She might just fall on her face and leave us hanging.”

“I’m way ahead of you, Matt. I made that same decision from the minute she started giving us threads of information with no substance.” Matt nodded knowingly and closed the door behind him.

Scott strolled across the Boston Common, enjoying the early October that favors New England. It was early, and Annie was not at the Charles Street South office as yet. Scott opened the office door, noticing an envelope on the floor. Picking up the envelope and placing it in his suit jacket pocket before he entered the inner office. He started going through his messages, sorting the to-do from the ignore, and then going over contracts that had been sorely ignored in deference to the South Bostom problem.

The sun was creeping around to the office windows, and it was getting warm. Scott stood to remove his jacket as Annie entered.

“What’s that colored envelope in your pocket, anything important?” Annie asked.

“I really haven’t looked?” Scott said as he handed the envelope to Annie. “It was on the floor when I came in – shoved underneath, I suppose.”

Annie handed the contents to Scott, saying, “It’s a Cablegram -- glad I noticed it in your pocket.”

“It’s from Karl von Ropp at Interpol.  He says that Gerald Smyth has been recaptured in Nice, France. He was masquerading as a seaman and trying to get a job on a ship heading for the U.S.A. It seems he had poorly forged papers. A port official alerted the police, who, in turn, called Interpol.”

“Isn’t that good news! Mic will be so happy to know, Annie exclaimed. “He has been really uptight about it, thinking he might have to use his new gun if Smyth isn’t caught.”


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 25

riverville cover lg

Case of the Riverville Murder

A Short Story by Ernie Whitenack

Chapter Twenty Five


"Should you get into trouble, I'll have officers at your side very quickly. I have a squad in waiting just for that purpose, and to help with any arrests," Scott told Qualter.

"As transportation goes, you are to change unmarked vehicles each day, or more often at your discretion, from the pool at headquarters. I have issued a standing order to that effect. Start next Monday. That will give you three days to get ready and to pick out a car. Any questions?"

"No sir, none at this time other than, when will I get the pocket radio."

"It will be delivered to your home before Monday. Good luck, Lloyd. By the way, do you have a nickname?"

"Buck, sir."

"OK,  It's Buck and Boss in private. Allan tagged me with "Boss."

Shortly after Qualter left, Scott is heading toward South Boston and Swenson's Plumbing Service. "I have to warn Mic about Smyth, Allan. Mic was very helpful in Smyth's arrest. Smyth promised Mic "a very painful death" if he ever got out of prison. He is a genius at disguises and could be on his way here right now."

At Swenson's, Scott and Allan are asked to wait, that Mr. Mitchell is with a vendor. However, Mick stood in front of them after a very short wait.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of a visit from two of Boston's – nay, Massachusetts' finest?"

"Very generous of you, Mic. Can we go to your office, please?"

Mic, sensing the solemnness of Scott, said, "Certainly. Come this way."

At his office, Mic closed the door, turned, and said, "What in the hell is going on to make you so glum, Scott? I've never seen you this way, even in the most stressful of situations."

"It's simple, but potentially very dangerous for you. Smyth broke out of jail in a garbage wagon. I'm afraid he will be coming to get you."

"Let him come. I don't think he dares do anything. He certainly left prison in a fashion befitting his station in life. He generally hires dangerous things done for him and just watches; although, I do believe he personally murdered Baron Albert Kunz in Austria and stole that crazy pipe a second time."

"I really don't care. I want you armed with and trained on a Colt 1911. I can speed up the licensing and arrange training at the state police range. Once you pass that training, I'll fix it for you to practice at the BPD range, and no arguments from you."

"OK, if you feel that strongly about it. You haven't steered me wrong yet. Actually, I have qualified on a similar weapon, the Browning Hi-Power; it carries thirteen rounds, though. That was during a short stint in the British Military. They threw me out when they learned I lied about my age at enlistment. I was fifteen."

"Qualifying should be a breeze for you, I should imagine."

"Hopefully," Mic replied. "In the meantime, I'll be very cautious. The thing with Smyth is; he will want me to know he is after me. He gets pleasure out of things like that. I'm sorry, but he doesn't know how much I have changed. Should he show up, I intend to disappoint him."

Scott smiled and said, "He certainly doesn't know what you have become. Way back, after the pipe case, you told me that you were going to change your life and make something of yourself, and you did not disappoint me. Or, yourself, for that matter."

"How is the Riverville thing going?" Mic asked. "From what I read in the paper, it has expanded a little. Even to trying to kill you a couple of times. The thing I can't figure is how the Boston copper, excuse me – officer, got gunned on your street. Where does he fit in?" Mic asked, looking quizzingly at Scott and Allan in turn.

Scott nodded to Allan, who stood, walked to the window, glanced out, then turned to Mic. "Mic, I hope the three of us can sit down someday, with a beer, when the boss and I can tell this very complicated story. As for right now, and I'm sure the boss will agree. We just do not have the time to get into it. When it's all over, you'll find it well worth the wait."

Scott shakes Mic's hand on the way to the door, slaps him on the shoulder, and says, "That being well said, we must leave – lots to do, including a call to Karl Von Ropp about Smyth."

As they leave Mic's office, Mic shouts after them, "The beer will be on me. Don't forget now."

Charles Street South:

"Good to talk to you again, Scott," Vom Ropp exclaimed. "You are calling about Smyth?"

"Yes, and wondering if you have located him as yet," Scott answered. "I'm worried that he might try to get even with Mitchell for his part in his apprehension."

"Interpol has feelers out, and we think we know the direction he is heading. It looks like France, so we are enhancing border crossings with added agents, and being doubly observant for disguises."

Scott wants to encourage Karl Von Ropp, but not insult him in the process. "That is another of the famous fast start Interpol is noted for. I imagine you will also enlist local police. It worked perfectly when we captured him the last time."

"It's too early to say how we will proceed," Von Ropp replied. "Naturally, we will do all that is necessary and enlist any organization to capture Smyth."

"I trust you will keep me, and US agencies, informed of your progress considering his primary goal is to murder Michael Mitchell," Scott said emphatically.

"Yes, of course, Mister Wadsworth. I must go now. I have another call waiting. Please give my best to all in Boston."

"I think he got a little miffed at me," Scott said, turning to Allan. "It's been a busy day. What do you say I call Mic and we meet at the Parker's Bar? It doesn't get busy until about five o'clock.

Parking near the Parker House being at a premium, Allan placed the "State Police Business" sign against the windshield and parked right in front.  "We will have to talk some business with Mic," he said.

Sitting at a wall table and waving, Mic quickly caught Scott's attention.

"How did you get here so quickly?" Allan asked.

"Took a cab," Mic replied. "It's the only way to get around downtown, and not be late meeting such esteemed gentlemen," Mic added with a big smile.

The conversation is light, other than touching on the use of a Colt 1911. As the three men enjoy their drinks and snack on mushrooms stuffed with seafood, Scott notices the scent of heavy perfume behind him, and Allan and Mic looking above and beyond him. Scott turns quickly and is surprised to see Alice Nadeau, Goddard's one-time lover, standing behind, and slightly to his right.

"Miss Nadeau, this is quite a surprise,"  Scott says as he stands. "Is there something I can do for you?"

"More like what I can do for you," she replies. "It is in your interest that I speak to you privately. I insist on it. Not here, though. It took all my courage to approach you in here."

"All right, if you wish. It's possible I'm being watched. Mic, trade suit jackets, and take my hat. You and Allan go to the car and work your way around to the hotel's service entrance. We'll meet you there. We're going to Mic's office."

Once in Mic's office, Alice Nadeau loudly asked, "Is this what you call privately," as she began wringing her hands.

"Miss Nadeau, Allan, my driver, is a sergeant in the state police. Mister Mitchell is a very close confidant, who has helped with both this and other cases. My trust in these men is unequivocal. You can speak freely."

"Very well. In any case, it's too late to back down now. May I have a glass of water, please?" 

Scott nodded to Mic, who immediately left the office.

All is quiet as Scott awaits Mic's returns with water and for Alice to consumes it. "Now, what is it you wish to say, Miss Nadeau – if you are ready?"

"Last week, I had a business appointment in Northborough. After the meeting was over, it ending in signing a very fruitful contract, I invited the owner to lunch. We went to a very old, and restored, colonial period inn on Route Twenty. It boasts of having a famous chef."

"I noticed two men in the restaurant that I should know, but could not recall names or the circumstances of a meeting. Shortly, a third man joined them, and it all came together. He was, or is, one of Goddard's top men, named Jason Atkins. The other two are Cressey and Zebrine. I never knew their first names, but they are right up there in rank with Atkins. I met them briefly at a cocktail party Goddard threw for some politicians."

She continued, "I've been following newspaper accounts of the case since you questioned me and wondered why these names never came up. Then, I read of the attempts on your life and decided we should have this talk. It was a difficult decision due to my spotty relationship with Goddard. You were gracious enough to believe me and let me go, so I felt it my duty. I just hope this doesn't bring me back into the whole dirty thing. It would ruin me."

"It will never involve you again. I'll use this vital information, and your name will never come up. Speaking for the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, and myself, you have my deepest thanks. Should you need my services one day, please call me. Now, to get you home. How do you normally travel between Boston and Wellesley?" Scott asked.

"I usually use the train, and sometimes the bus. I don't like driving in Boston."

"I don't think public transportation is wise today. We will take you to Wellesley. OK with you, Allan?"

Smiling, Allan replied, "It will be my pleasure, Boss."

The conversation on the drive to Wellesley was sparse, and Alice Nadeau suddenly asked to be let out at the Wellesley train station. She hurriedly entered one of the waiting cabs lined up in front of the depot.

On the way back to Boston, Scott used Allan's bag phone to let Nancy know he would be late for dinner. He added, "and Allan will be dining with us."

"Thanks, but that isn't necessary, Boss, just because we're doing a little overtime today."

"I know it's not, Allan. We like having you, the boys, especially. They say you are fun and like the way you kid them."

Allan left the Wadsworth home about ten P.M., with Scott telling him to meet him at the statehouse in the morning.

At the statehouse, Scott approached Matthew Hart's office. Seeing the door partially open, he knocked once on the door frame and walked in.

"I have some good news for you, Matt," and proceeded to relate the story of Alice Nadeau, revealing the names of Goddard's three lieutenants.  "I think Jason Atkins is in town, and in contact with Claud Callan. Cressey and Zebrine could be anywhere, but she saw them near Northborough, so they are probably held up in Worcester, or as a long-shot, Springfield. However, I think Springfield is probably too far away should Callan want them in a hurry."

Matt,  thinking for a couple of minutes, said, "It's anyone's guess, but it's a start. I have been thinking Rhode Island would be the safest place for them. But then, why would they travel to Northborough for a meeting?"

"Wherever they are, we need to find them and get a tail on them," Scott came back. "We need first names and photographs. Both of them must have police records to be so high in Goddard's organization. Can you get someone on obtaining that information, Matt? I have to talk to Qualter about this new twist and figure a way to keep an eye on Jason Atkins. If Qualter finds Callan and Atkins together, he will have to decide who to tail when they separate. I'd say Atkins – we know how to find Callan. If the decision is to arrest the three separately, rather than together, we will need to know where they are all hiding."

"Absolutely right, Scott, Matt replied. "I'll get the info on Cressey and Zebrine and send it to the Worcester Barracks as well. I think you should call the commander and brief him on the latest. He has been following the case, I'm sure."

Allan, passing Hart's officer, notices the two men talking and quietly enters to listens.

Later, in Scott's office, Allan says, "We could be close to closing this case up, don't you think, Boss?"

"Hopefully," Scott answers, as he checks his Rolodex for Qualter's home phone number, "the investigating stage, at least. There is still the judicial part that must be decided. We won't play much of a role in that. Frankly, I believe most of the prosecution will be by the federal government – the punks, bottom echelon, of the gang will be taken care of by the state – could be, that has already started."

"Qualter here," the voice on the phone said.

"Lloyd, Scott Wadsworth. There is a break in the case I need to discuss with you, and some new information you need to have. Are you able to stop by the statehouse office later today?"

"Yes, sir. In light of my transfer, they have relieved me of my regular duties. I'm all yours. What time?"

"Make it between four and five this afternoon. We might have a slight wait for some photographs, but you must have them."

"Yes, sir. See you then."

The commander of the Worcester barracks, being acquainted with Scott's investigative achievements, feels he knows him well and greets Scott in that manner on the telephone.

Scott finally breaks through the commander's jabber, to tell him of the two men possibly hiding in Worcester. "You will receive photographs and arrest records, if any, on three men. One of them, Jason Atkins, probably is not in Worcester. However, he might visit the other two on occasion. Be very active in looking for these men. It is the final stage of the Goddard case, of which I'm sure you are familiar. Contact the State's Attorney when you have anything regarding these two."

Scott took a deep breath and leaned back in his chair. As he starts to light his pipe, there are a couple of gentle taps on his door. Allan moves quickly to open the door and finds an older man, about sixty, with a fringe of gray hair, nattily dressed in a perfectly pressed black suit, white, spread collar shirt, and black tie.

 With a friendly smile, as states, "I am Arthur Gregg, of Gregg and Son, Funeral Service. I'm here to talk to Mister Wadsworth, please.”

"Yes, sir. Come right in," Allan said.

Scott greeted Gregg with an outstretched hand and motioned to a chair. "I'm happy to meet you, Mister Gregg. More pressing events have kept me busy, or I would have called you. I hope your trip here hasn't been an inconvenience."

"Not at all, Mister Wadsworth. We are used to going to the homes, etcetera, of those who require our service. I understand your needs are a bit unique – to say nothing of bordering on immoral. But then, as I understand, the situation requires deception of the type we can provide. The Simmons family and mine are very close friends, and you are attempting to save Mark's life. I am prepared to be as deceptive as you require to get the boy to safety."

Scott went through his plan of getting Mark from the hospital and then to Riverville with a short stop-over at Gregg and Son Funeral home.

“How long will I have to harbor the young man, and do you think you can pull off a make-believe funeral?" Gregg asked.

“With the cooperation of Reverend Carlton Mac Elroy and yourself, I think it will go like clock-work. Reverend Mac Elroy feels as you do, but is willing to step around ethics to save Mark’s life. To answer your other question, Mark Simmons will only be at your place for a matter of hours. Allan and I will come to the funeral home, as towel and lab coat delivery people, in a panel truck with proper signage on its sides. We will take him out in a large hamper. After he is safely in Riverville, I can discuss the funeral with you and Reverend Mac Elroy. Keep in mind that the funeral is only for the family. Normally, there would be a large contingent of police at the funeral. That is OK, but they cannot enter the church. I will talk to the Chief about that problem.”



Talk to funeral home – in person.
Tues day – Simmons to funeral home – Scott all I black sneakes in F- home from an ambulance – goes to hospital, and out with simmons

That night Scott and Allan in an old dodge pannel truck deliver linnens to the home and leaves for Riverville with Simmons in the hamper.


Ellensburg replace Sommerville all chapters.

Reverend Carlton Mac Elroy
Gregg & Son, Funeral Service Arthur
State’s Attorney ------ Matthew Hart
Detective Lloyd Qualter
Scott’s office -- Charles Street South.
Carl Hendersen, Sgt Riverville police
Michael J. Hendersen, Chief of Police, Carl’s father
Frances J. Hendersen, Patrolman and son of Carl
Kathleen Hendersen, Carl’s wife – sister of Agnes (Murphey) Adams
Agnes Adams, Kelley’s Mother
Aunt Helen – Carl’s Sister
Corporal Anthony Michael Marzano, Sharp officer in Frances’ squad.
Stanley Adams, Kelly’s father
Frank Sullivan, Mobster, gun-runner
James Hurley, 
Gus Malone, Provo contact – Ulster
Mr. Connors, Global Mortgage and Loan Company, N.Y.
Clarence Anderson, ATF Agent – murdered by Southie mob.
John Guilford, District supervisor , ATF
Henry Reichmann, ATF assigned to police.
Sean Keogh, ATF undercover – Real name, Martin Wolfe
Nancy, Scott’s wife
Annie, Scotts secretary
Albert Nunsay – plumber with a record. Illegal entry in US
Jerry Mc Dougal and John Byrne – Two of southy mob reporting to C Street boss.
Detective Cpl. Mark Simmons.
Cpt. Claud Callan --   “            “            Captain

Swenson’s Plumbing Service
Nathan Goddard—under araingment for assalt – Boss of Southie gang.

Alice Nadeau --- Goddard’s lover.
Chief Winston Grant, Somerville Municipal Police
Detectives Lloyd Qualter and Al Guatino at the bar with prisoners.
Jason Atkins,____________ Cressey and___________ Zebrine. Goddard’s Lieutenants.Webley Mark VI
Sgt. Allan Rockford --- Scott’s driver.
Judge Millstone – Fed. Judge
Cosmo Natali – chief BPD
Dick Taranto Asst. Commissioner BPD
Norman Riley     murdered body guard
Karl von Ropp – Interpole

The car headed out and traveled to Hanover Street, turned left onto Prince and stopped at Angelo’s


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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