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.

Riverville Murder - Chapter 24

riverville cover lg

Case of the Riverville Murder

A Short Story by Ernie Whitenack

Chapter Twenty Four


"OK, OK, calm down. So, you did your best. Now, we have to cool it for a while. Later, we'll put three or four on Wadsworth. With him gone, the whole thing might cool off and soon forgotten. Then we can start rebuilding the organization."

"Where do you expect to find the people? There is me, and the other two lieutenants. Those of any value are in jail and will be for some time to come if the Feds get ahold of them. The rest are punks and have probably scattered anyway."

"You will have to recruit locally first, and then try New York and Rhode Island. I'm not going to be able to help much. I'm sticking my neck out as it is, right now. I want to hand this job off to someone and get back in the shadows." Callan responded with finality in his voice.

Charles Street South:

The echo of Allan leaving fading away, Scott sat for some time gazing out the window, and occasionally tapping out a rhythmic beat with his pencil. While attempting to form the story of Simmons' death in his mind, he slowly began to realize he was not a news reporter and less able to compose a reporter's story. Scott sat there for some frustrating reason, unable to set down more than a few words. After a half-hour, he slammed the pencil down and called Frank Gray.

"Frank, I've been sitting here trying to write the fake death story with no success whatever. HELP!"

"OK, Scott, here's what to do, make a numbered list of the things you want the story to tell – by importance if possible. Put it in an envelope and get it to me. I can probably write a couple-of-hundred-word article in ten minutes. I'll send it back for you to check. How's that?"

"Just perfect, pal. Jake Wirth's is on me when we make it. Next week, I hope."

After a call to the Simmons home, to find out family particulars, Scott was able to compile the required list quickly. Soon a messenger was at the office and picked up the envelope for delivery to Frank Gray. Scott leaned back in his chair, happily relit his pipe, and thoroughly relaxed for the first time in weeks. He sat there for a long time, gently rocking the old office chair back and forth while relishing the familiar squeak of the heavy spring that stabilized the chair. His father used the same chair for as long as Scott can fondly remember. It had the same squeak then. When his father died, the chair and pipes were the first items Scott took from his office.

Eventually, Scott locked the office and started home. Traversing the Common slowly, Scott did not notice the two men that left their unmarked police car on Charles Street South and followed across Boylston Street to the Common.

The next morning, Scott decided to walk to work; that action usually clears his mind, and he can more clearly attack the problem of the day.

Not having heard from his Boss, Allan decided to make the car available for him on the way to work, should he need it or not. He waited on Beacon Street until he saw Scott emerge from Walnut, and discerned how Scott will cross the common. He stayed well back, but in a position to go to Scott's aid if necessary. Suddenly, a car pulled up beside Allan and then cut him off, driving him into the curb. Two men jumped out and approached Allan, one on each side, with weapons drawn.

"Keep your hands in view and step out of the car," one man said as he opened the driver's side door.

As the first man searched Allan and removed his wallet and pistol, the second man searched the car and removed the registration.

On the sidewalk, the first man said, "You're a state Cop! What are you doing following Mr. Wadsworth? You're not on this detail."

"I'm his personal driver, and it worried me that he decided to walk to Charles Street South, especially across the Common. I decided to be handy if he ran into trouble."

"Well, that is enviable, Sergeant Rockford. But that problem is being well covered. The State's Attorney has seen to that. Mister Wadsworth has sufficient protection around the clock."

The second man walked closer and said, "Aren't you the cop, along with that BPD cop Simmons, that chased the shooter off the roof across from the courthouse?"

"Yes. Unfortunately, we missed the guy. All we got were three shell casings and a Coke bottle."

"Quick positive action, though. Too bad about Simmons. How is he doing?" the second man asked.

"I really don't know. Not much coming out of the hospital – lots of security," Allan shrewdly replied.

"OK, Sargeant, your actions have taken two officers away from Mister Wadsworth's protection. We can't argue with your motives, so let's just forget this incident ever happened. You stick to your job from now on. He needs a guy like you in his car with him."

Soon after Scott arrived at his office, a messenger, sent by Frank Gray, left his bike in the lower lobby and bounded up the stairs two at a time. He burst through Scott's office door as Scott was standing at Annie's desk, looking at a contract draft.

As the door slammed into the wall, Scott said, "Careful there, boy. Nobody should be in that much of a rush."

"Sorry, Mister Wadsworth. Mister Gray gave me five-dollars to get this to you in a hurry, so I am," the boy said while handing Scott a large envelope.

"Never get over that attitude, young man. Kept promises and honest loyalty will serve you well all your life. Hang on to those virtues."

Scott could hardly finish before the boy was out the door and thumping his way down the stairs – two at a time.

Scott laid his pipe in an ashtray, sat down at his desk, and opened the envelope. Frank Gray went all the way. The article was laid out and printed as it will be in newspapers.


Two weeks ago, Detective Sergeant Mark Simmons was shot in broad daylight on Charles Street South by persons unknown.

Simmons was taken to City Hospital emergency room and treated. Several days later, he transferred to the intensive care unit due to complications following surgery.

Simmons is survived by his parents, two brothers and a twin sister, along with a large number of relatives, all of Watertown, Massachusetts,

Private services will be held for the family and invited guests on Saturday at the Resurrection Congregational Church in Watertown. The family asks for donations to The Policemen's Emergency Fund in place of flowers.

On a non-specified date, a private burial will take place in Kittery, Maine, where the family maintains a cemetery dating from 1793.

Scott read the short article, and then the attached note in which Frank promised the article is to be placed prominently in all newspapers. Thinking it certainly does the job, he sets about planning the disguised transfer of Simmons from the hospital to Riverville,  and then, an empty coffin from the undertaker to the church for, as far as any spectators or snoopers are concerned, a private service. A later trip to Kittery might or might not be required. But first, to get an undertaker and the Congregational Church to agree.

Scott buzzed Annie and asked her to get the Pastor of the Resurrection Congregational Church on the phone, then set about drawing a chart with dates for all of the chicaneries he must pull off.     

Scott picked up the phone at the first buzz, saying, "Scott Wadsworth here."

"This is Reverend Carlton Mac Elroy. How can I help you, sir?"

"You may or may not know I am a friend of Mark Simmons. When he got wounded, he was on his way to my office, hopefully, to accept a position with me, in the State's Attorney's Chief Investigator's office. As such, I have taken on the job of his protection and security. Your church can play a big part in this. I would like an appointment to discuss it with you, please."

"Of course, Mister Wadsworth. Let me see -- how is tomorrow at one-thirty?"

"Thank you. I'll see you then. Goodbye."

After lunch at the Watertown Dinner, Scott and Allan arrived at the church just before one-thirty. Reverend   Mac Elroy listened intently to Scott's plan, nodding his head affirmatively at times. Scott went through the whole thing, including those actions that did not involve the church, and asked, "What do you think, Mister Mac Elroy?"

"You have certainly done a thorough job of it. I don't normally agree with such deception, but in this case, I see it is essential. Have you discussed this with the family?"

"To a point, on the phone. I intend to meet with the family and discuss it completely. I'm afraid I will have to tell what prompted the attempt on Mark's life and that these plans are necessary to keep him alive. I'll ask them to call you and let you know the decision."

"That extended family occupies about thirty-percent of the pews in this church, are very active in the church's function, and have been for several generations. I'm sure they are thankful for your connection with Mark and what you are attempting. The church will do anything they agree to."

With a call to the Simmons home, Scott was graciously invited there the next morning at ten.

As Scott walked up the path to the Simmons home, the front door opened to reveal a tall, well-dressed man with wavy gray hair. He met Scott at the top of the steps with his hand outstretched in greeting and a smile on his face.

"Welcome to our home, Mister Wadsworth. Who is that in your car?"

"That is Sargent Allan Rockford, my driver."

"Does he know Mark?"

"Yes, they became friends during the present case."

"Well, have him come in. There is no point in him waiting out there  if he is Mark's friend."

George Simmons introduced Scott and Allan to Mrs. Simmons, a brother, Peter, who appears to be a couple of years older than Mark, and a younger brother, John – about thirteen years old. No sooner than they were all seated in the comfortable living room than a young woman walked in smiling and carrying a silver tray holding a coffee service and a plate of pastries. Scott and Allan stood as Mrs. Simmons introduced her as Mark's twin sister, Sarah.

As Sarah poured coffee, Scott got right to business and explained to the family the situation of Callan and the BPD, his wish to employ Mark, Mark's safety, and the reason for the false funeral,

"I'm sure you have picked the Hendersen family as Mark's hiding place carefully," George Simmons said in a questioning way.

"The Hendersen family, having been personal friends for many years, is the primary reason. Being a large police family came second, but not of less importance. I would trust them with the safety of my own family. Mark is welcome there as long as necessary, meaning until this complicated case is over and all involved are put away or deported."

"If you agree, all I need now is a trusted undertaker of your choice."

"I have a lodge brother who is an undertaker, George Simmons replied. "I'll call him this evening and call you in the morning."

Scott handed him a card, "This is my business phone. I'll be there between eight-thirty and noon. Thanks for your hospitality. The coffee was delicious."

Back at his office, Scott found a message to call Matthew Hart, but he sent Allan out for lunch and lit a fresh pipe before calling Matt.

"I just wanted to tell you that Detectives Lloyd Qualter officially transferred to your office for an undetermined length of time – hardly any discussion over the transfer -- went right through. You should call the young man ASAP," Matt said.

"I'll do that right now. Thanks for calling me," Scott replied, relit his pipe, and made the call. As it turned out, Qualter is on duty, and Scott asks for a return call to the statehouse the next morning.

New York City - Ulster:

At the Global Mortgage and Loan Company, the ringing phone echoes through the uninhabited office. Uninhabited except for three IRS auditors.

"Global Mortgage and Loan," one auditor answers. "May I help you?"

"And why else do ya think I'd be callin'? Connect me to Mister Connors, if ya will."

"Who is calling, please?"

"Tell the old blighter it's Gus Malone from Ulster."

The agent silently laughed for a second and replied, "I'm afraid that's impossible. Mister Connors is in jail, and Global Mortgage and Loan Company no longer exists. I'm an Internal Revenue Service agent. Your name appears many times in Global Mortgage and Loan's ledgers. My counterpart in North Ireland will, more than likely, be calling on you soon. Have a good day, sir."

Malone slumps down in his chair, his face turning an ashen color, and he begins to perspire heavily. His struggling mind, attempting to sort out the problem, stumbles. "Where do I go now?" he askes himself.


Captain Claud Callan roams the corridors of BPD headquarters, trying to look busy, and attending to his duties with difficulty. He is not quite sure of what's known about his connection with Goddard -if anything. He wonders if he got rid of Simmons before he talked to someone and why hasn't he heard from the "C" Street lieutenants about recruitment. Goddard is done for, and a new leader needed in a hurry. He laments the fact that his income from the gang has ended, and without a leader, it will not resume. He is relieved when he is called out to a robbery in Mattapan and stops on the way to pick up an iced coffee. Callan gulps the first half of the coffee in hopes of it cooling his hot face.

Back at Charles Street South:

Allan returned to the office with two hot pastrami, Swiss and coleslaw sandwiches, with half sours on the side.

Scott told Allan, "You have a fellow employee! Lloyd Qualter officially transferred to my office today."

"That's great. I don't think you will be disappointed. He is a smart and clever man."

"He is that, although he seems a bit timid. We have to work at giving him more confidence. He'll call in the morning, and I'll get him to the statehouse. I want to give him a brief indoctrination. Hopefully. I can get him on Callan's tail in a few days. I have a couple of contracts to review. When I'm through, we can go visit Simmons."

Before Scott could lock the office's outer door, the phone rang again. He stepped in and grabbed the phone on Annie's desk.

"There is a cablegram for you, Mister Wadsworth.  Shall I read it or messenger it to your address?"

"Please messenger it. The office will be closed, so have the messenger use the mail slot in the door, please."

As they entered the car, Scott instructed Allan, "In the morning, come to this office and pick up a cable that will be delivered. Use your key if Annie isn't in, then go directly to the statehouse. I'll walk to work."

At City Hospital, Scott and Allan must show their badges twice before entering Mark's room. "You are looking great, Mark, and I see you have plenty of security."

"That's for sure, Mark, replied while placing a book on the side table. Everyone here has been great to me."

"By the way, Mister Wadsworth, do you take that sidekick of yours everywhere? I understand they even let him in my home!" Mark said, with a smile on his face.

"Actually, my family is quite taken with you, Allan, and are happy that I have friends like you."

Scott went on to outline the plan to smuggle him to Riverville and describe the Hendersen family. When it came to the false death and funeral, Mark questioned how his family took the idea.

"Very well – much better than expected," Scott replied.

"I'm happy to hear that," Mark said while glancing at Allan as if looking for confirmation. Allan gave a slight affirmative nod.

The next morning, Scott sat at his desk in the statehouse thumbing through a stack of memos, while waiting for Qualter to show up. He suddenly remembered telling George Simmons to call him at his other office and immediately called the Simmons home to explain.

 Allan rushed through the door and handed the Cablegram to Scott. "From the Republic of Ireland -- looks like."

Scott opened the envelope and said, "It is that. It's from inspector Frank Sullivan of Interpol."

After reading the cable, Scott proceeded to read the message to Allan. "Have received an order to testify in case of United States VS Walter M. Connors and Global Mortgage and Loan Company, New York Federal Court. Will contact you when in the USA. --- Inspector Karl Von Ropp informs, Gerald Smyth breaks jail in garbage wagon. An old foe, I believe."

"Who is Gerald Smyth?" Allan asks.

"I wasn't working for the state then. Several years ago, I got dragged into that case because it was about a pipe theft – an ancient artifact from a dig in India and any collectors dream possession. It was then that I met Mic Mitchell, but that is another story. However, I have to talk to Mic about it after I see Qualter."

Lloyd Qualter knocked twice and walked into Scott's office looking like a suit advertisement in a men's magazine; sharply pressed and shoes with a brilliant shine. Must be a carry-over from his police training, Scott thought.

"Do you dress that perfectly all the time, Detective?" Scott asked.

"No, sir, just on Sundays, wakes, dates, and in this case, special interviews. Otherwise, when on duty, I dress to fit the situation.

"I'm happy to hear that. Now, your primary duty for me will be to tail Cpt. Claud Callan, BPD. It is the department's opinion, he worked for Goddard and is now, along with Goddard's lieutenants, trying to keep the gang going. This must not happen. We would like to apprehend them all together, if possible. Otherwise, to learn the identity of the lieutenants and apprehend; leaving Callan helpless. This task will require long hours and as many days a week, you can physically handle. Constant communication is essential. You will be issued a pocket transceiver with a private frequency. I will have a matching device. Call at any time necessary -- day or night. 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, henceforth, in private, it's Buck and Boss. 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 disguise genius, and could be on his way here right now."


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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