Searching for Edgar's Five Dancers

by Efren O'brien

  Quinn and Ethan worked on an insurance fraud case where two old warehouses had caught fire and burned to the ground. There was suspicion that they were intentionally set ablaze for the insurance money. Ethan discovered evidence where the fuse of a junction box had seemingly been tampered with to make it look like an electrical fire had taken place…but then discovered evidence of gasoline-soaked towels spread throughout both buildings. Ethan was also able to establish that the owners of both large buildings were related to one another, being distant cousins, and one of them had applied to the zoning commission to redesignate the property for commercial purposes in the hopes of building a large hotel there.

  So Quinn and Ethan discovered there was work to be had in Santa Fe for two old former police detectives. Even though the pay wasn’t great and the work wasn’t exactly the kind the two had desired or had planned on, it seemed like Santa Fe and Clark and Chase Private Investigations fit together well enough. It was a beginning.

  Chapter XIV

  J. Robert Oppenheimer had just finished writing his last theorem of the day on the large blackboard for his Theoretical Physics class at the University of California, at Berkeley, in mid-January 1942 when he noticed two men wearing overcoats and Fedoras, reminiscent of the G-Men of the 1920s. The two strangers walked into his classroom and took up positions on each side of the door. In the 1920s and 30s, America’s research into theoretical physics, including nuclear physics, was conducted at major universities. J. Robert Oppenheimer, a fairly young man at the time, was the head professor of theoretical physics at UC Berkeley.

  Disregarding his outstanding academic achievements, Oppenheimer was an interesting man in other ways. He was very liberal with his political views and had many acquaintances and friends who were considered radical at that time. He had friends who were members of the Communist Party of America. Oppenheimer himself had attended meetings and had donated money to the Communist Party and what were considered other controversial causes. He was under investigation by the FBI and several other national security agencies several times in his life for his political associations. Despite his political leanings, Oppenheimer would be chosen to lead America’s research into atomic energy in the early 1940’s. He would be the chief research scientist of The Manhattan Project. While there were several more facilities in other parts of the country (Tennessee and Washington State), the main location for research and development of America’s nuclear program was at Los Alamos, New Mexico.

  In early 1941, months prior to the US entry into World War II, President Roosevelt signed an Executive Order establishing a national nuclear development program, and placing an Army officer, General Leslie Groves, in charge of the program. General Groves, in the Army Corps of Engineers, was not a physicist or scientist. Groves was the director for the Manhattan Project, and he needed a lead scientist he could coordinate with, a scientist he could work with to manage the effort at Los Alamos and get the job done. “The job,” in this instance, was researching and creating the world’s first atomic bomb. It was Groves in the end who chose J. Robert Oppenheimer to head up the research in New Mexico. And just by coincidence, Oppenheimer was Jewish.

  “Professor, do you have the vision and drive I need to complete this job not only for America’s war effort but for the sake of humanity?” asked Groves.

  “I’m not completely sure exactly what the job is, General,” said Oppenheimer. “I know the effort will be to create atomic energy for the war effort…but I’m not exactly sure what it will entail.”

  “Professor, we must have a way to end this war with finality. We cannot allow the Axis Powers to continue their war effort and capabilities in any form. Post wartime Japan and Germany cannot have the means to wage war. One problem we will face is if either Japan or Germany refuse to surrender. If we have a super-weapon such as an atomic bomb and are forced to use it to end the war, there may be many military and civilian casualties. But it also may save millions of lives that would otherwise be lost as we attempt to conquer our fanatical enemies city by city,” Groves continued.

  “I need a leader who can manage the scientists, who will work on the project, keep them focused and moving forward towards solutions and the end result. So, here’s what I expect you to do, pure and simple. Create a bomb for us,” said Groves.

  “But we don’t even have a reactor where we can simulate an atomic reaction. We are literally starting from scratch, General. Most of this research is still theory, and I would have to be in charge of scientists far more accomplished academically and brilliant than myself,” said Oppenheimer.

  “I know you’re the right man for the job,” said Groves. “You’ve just gotta convince yourself of that, Professor. Our nation is counting on you!”

  “We don’t even know how a weapon as powerful as this would work in real time, General. First, it may be beyond our capability to ever construct such a bomb. Second, if we did, and it actually worked, we may not be able to control it. Such an uncontrolled reaction could literally destroy the world!” said Oppenheimer.

  “Listen,” said Groves, “if the Nazis discover how to harness and use this energy inside a normal-sized bomb, they won’t hesitate to use it to achieve their aims…guaranteed! They won’t discriminate when and how they use it.”

  Groves stared at Oppenheimer. “Can you appreciate and imagine what a weapon like this would do in the wrong hands? We have to be the first to develop this weapon and technology!”

  Oppenheimer paused as he reflected upon that scenario.

  “Professor, I have been authorized to issue US Army officer commissions to all scientists you recruit for this project. They will either be captains, majors, or lieutenant colonels during the course of this project. You, as their commander, will receive the commission of lieutenant colonel. You may start to order your uniforms. Obviously, I will be your military superior and be in overall command of this research project, but since you are a scientist—”

  “Wait one minute, General,” replied Oppenheimer. “Let’s consider who these scientists are and where they come from. First of all, most of them teach at our nation’s universities and conduct research there. We will be removing them and bringing them here to New Mexico…almost by force. Throwing a uniform on them and giving them a rank won’t inspire them or get this project completed any faster. These men and women are professors and scientists, not soldiers. In my opinion, to get the most out of these scientific minds, and achieve your goals in the fastest manner possible—maintain an academic atmosphere here. Few, if any of these men and women have any desire to be in any military. It will be my chore to convince many of them to work on a project for the purpose of building a weapon. Some of them will refuse to do so on moral grounds. On the other hand, some of them know firsthand the brutality of the Nazis as their families have been harassed or sent to concentration camps, set upon and torn apart by men wearing the Nazi uniform. They want more than anything to end the reign of Nazi terror.”

  So in February 1942, Leslie Groves and J. Robert Oppenheimer together scouted out potential sites for Project Y of the new Manhattan Project. Oppenheimer liked New Mexico, and actually owned property northeast of Santa Fe in the nearby mountains. They looked at sites close to Oppenheimer’s ranch, about 40 miles northwest of Santa Fe in the Jemez Mountains. Eventually, they settled on a location in the mountain pines that was for the most part a mesa divided up by some fairly steep canyons. This mesa would in time become the site of the Los Alamos National Laboratories. There were already buildings on the 125-acre site. The area was a “Boys’ Ranch” for youth, originally built in 1913, but had been abandoned and left in disrepair. The Army could use the buildings already there and quickly construct other buildings to make the area functional. The site would be private, as it was miles away from the closest city (Santa Fe), and secure. Work began to make Los Alamos into America’s wartime atomic research center in October 1942. In reality, the community that served as the scientists’ home on the mesa resembled a hastily p
ut together enclave resembling an old Western boomtown like those that sprung up during the gold rush or cattle drive years, with mostly dirt roads, dirt sidewalks, flimsy wooden buildings, and chain-link fences that seemed to have permanent gaps and holes.

  Chapter XV

  Quinn was still exploring Santa Fe. The city was a strange combination of different cultures, architecture, art, and religion. It was a city with old traditions and architecture being propelled by necessity into the modern 20th century by World War II. Life in Santa Fe in early 1942, as in most other traditional Hispanic cities or towns, revolved around the downtown plaza. The Santa Fe Plaza was a large square in the middle of the city with a government building on the north side; a gazebo and monument to the Army in the center; and a variety of art galleries and other shops surrounding its sides. Just off the plaza at the southeast corner was the large Catholic Cathedral of St. Francis of Assisi. Along the east side of the square was The Palace of the Governors. This was the building raised in the 1600s by the Spanish when they marched into Santa Fe. Governor Pedro de Peralta was the territorial ruler for New Mexico, most of the American Southwest, and part of Mexico at the time. Now the building housed a museum and some sort of office at 109 E. Palace Ave. Joel Finebaum’s art gallery stood at the far north end of Palace Avenue at 104 ½ E. Palace Ave. It had a wooden sign above the doorway that read “Art Gallery, Joel Finebaum, Proprietor.”

  Mr. Finebaum was there that day as Quinn walked by. Finebaum had on display mostly nature scenes with an Impressionist bent, but he loved the territorial-style architecture of Santa Fe, which also often appeared in one form or another in his paintings. Also, Finebaum loved to paint women. In the corner of the front window was a painting on an easel that stopped Quinn cold in his tracks. He stared through the gallery window at the portrait and face that had haunted him for the last eighteen months. It was Katrina, the blonde girl with the incredible pale blue eyes, from Albuquerque. It was unmistakenly her. Quinn just stared, his feet seemingly implanted in the sidewalk cement before he broke out of his trance and entered the gallery. As he entered, he saw scenes of Santa Fe and nature painted in a style he had never before experienced. The mix of colors—light yellows and earthtones—were amazing. Finebaum’s paintings and scenes at 104 1/2 E. Palace Ave. were mostly of the surrounding mountains and woods, yet they were unique, unlike other similar scenes in color, shape, and form. Some were hazy in appearance with the main subject hidden within the haze. Others were a collage of colors; like that of the painting of the field filled with natural flowers in springtime. Every painting on display was worthy of attention, but to Quinn the most stunning of all was Katrina’s portrait. Finebaum had created an Impressionist-type background to the portrait of his niece. With her blond silky hair and blue eyes peering through the haze, she resembled an angel emerging from the clouds.

  “Can I help you?” said the man’s voice from behind Quinn. Quinn was startled and nearly jumped as he was transfixed on the girl’s portait. He quickly turned around and saw Joel Finebaum, a slightly built man of about 5’8” with grey hair and a noticeable grey and black goatee.

  “Hello, I was just admiring the work and the young lady’s portrait in the corner. My compliments to the artist,” replied Quinn.

  “Thank you. That would be me,” said the man. “She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” said the artist, pointing at the young woman’s picture.

  “Yes, beautiful on her own in real life, but the artist brings it out more!” said Quinn.

  “She’s my niece,” said the man. “My name is Joel Finebaum and I own this gallery.”

  Quinn’s jaw nearly dropped when the man said this. “I know her,” said Quinn. “Well, what I mean is, I’ve met her before.”

  “Really, where did you meet her?” asked Joel.

  “Oh it was in Albuquerque some time ago. I talked with her a little…but I’ve never forgotten how pretty she is…her pretty eyes,” said Quinn.

  “Well, she’s still pretty. You should come back then, Mr.….eeh…,” said the bearded man.

  “Chase,” said Quinn. “My name is Quinn Chase. How do you do?” Quinn outstretched his hand. The two men shook hands.

  “My niece Katrina works here on Sunday and Monday afternoons,” said the artist. “You’ll have to stop by sometime and renew acquaintances,” he said.

  “Well, I’ll do that,” said Quinn. “You have some other stunning paintings,” said Quinn.

  “Thank you,” said the man. “I can’t take credit for all of them. Some of these are European artists.”

  Quinn took his time gazing at the pieces nearby.

  “What brings you to Santa Fe, Mr. Chase? What is it that you do?” asked the man.

  “I’m a private detective now,” replied Quinn. “I used to work for the Albuquerque Police Department.” Finebaum’s facial expression changed almost instantaneously.

  “Really, and what do you investigate now?” he asked.

  “Oh, I’ve just started here in Santa Fe. So far my partner and I have been hired on small cases…mostly disputes between neighbors, lost pets, or an occasional domestic dispute or insurance investigation.”

  Right then some people walked into the gallery and diverted Joel’s attention. But before walking away from Quinn, he said, “Well, I hope you find success and enjoy your time here in Santa Fe. If you are at all interested in art, you’re in the right place. Take a walk up Canyon Street and you’ll see all sorts of art. I hope you come back and see my niece Katrina,” he said.

  “I will,” said Quinn.

  “Excuse me now while I tend to my other guests,” said Finebaum.

  “Thank you again,” replied Quinn.

  Chapter XVi

  Quinn was slowly getting used to his new city. Now it was time he felt to familiarize himself with the recreational opportunities of Santa Fe. What he most wanted to do was find a good bar in town and indulge himself in his favorite pastime…drinking. Deep inside he knew he could never stay away from the libations for very long. From experience, Quinn knew the best way to discover the best bars in any new place was to ask a cabby. It has been accepted as fact the world over that cabdrivers generally know the best points of interest, locations and adventures any city has to offer. He just had to find the right cabby with whom he could bond a little. He checked the phone book out and saw a listing for “Manny’s Taxi Service.”

  This has a nice ring to it. Let’s give this one a try, Quinn thought to himself. About one hour later, a Hispanic man in his 50s picked Quinn up in front of his hotel.

  “How are you today, sir? I’m Manny, and where can I take you?”

  “So you’re the infamous Manny,” Quinn said. “Where can I go to get a good drink around here?”

  “Well, sir, there are several places I would recommend,” Manny said. “The La Fonda is very popular on the weekends…and then there’s Okies, and there are a few others, but my favorite is Alex’s.”

  “Oh,” said Quinn. “What is Alex’s like?”

  “Well, sir, I don’t think you’ve been to a bar like Alex’s before. It’s a fixture in Santa Fe, but it is different. There’s all sorts of different people there. Alex’s is never dull. Artists, the local crowd, the music…keep it lively, sir. Alex the owner is normally there. There’s a piano that anybody can play. Normally an old guy named Clyde is there playing. And sometimes there is entertainment like Flamenco dancing or a combo playing. It’s…how do you say…avant-garde,” said Manny.

  “Let’s go check Alex’s out,” said Quinn.

  “Yes, sir, it’ll take about ten minutes. It’s on the street with all the artists, Canyon Street. There’s just one thing you should know ahead of time. Alex is a woman.”

  “A woman?” said Quinn in a startled manner. “And she’s the owner?”

  “Yes, I can take you somewhere else?” said Manny.

  “No-no,” replied Quinn. “I haven’t had any real fun for a while. Let’s go there…this sounds like something different an
d interesting,” replied Quinn.

  Alexandra Farmendale, or Alex as she was known, had bought a large old adobe home at the top of Canyon Street in Santa Fe and converted the entire building into her bar. The bar attracted a mixture of eclectic people, including many of the artists living on Canyon Street, people of various ethnic backgrounds, and visitors to Santa Fe as well. While Alex’s wasn’t a gay bar, per se (and the term wasn’t widely used at that time), gay people frequented Alex’s bar. It was a place where social stigmas, norms, and conventions did not apply. You could be yourself at Alex’s no matter who you were. If fights broke out or if other disruptive behavior was exhibited from anyone there, one of the bouncers or Alex herself would handle the situation. She stood 5’10” and was imposing in appearance—a tall woman for the 1940s.

  Several local artists had donated their time and skill and painted murals of patrons on the inside adobe walls there, of typical scenes and of the clientele of Alex’s. The bar itself was a work of art.

  The large four-door Buick Manny used for his cab stopped in front of an old adobe building along the heavily sloped Canyon Street, in Santa Fe. It’s a good thing Quinn took a cab because walking up the steep hill to Alex’s would have been exhausting.

  Manny dropped him off, and Quinn asked him to come back in 2 ½ hours. “I normally don’t stay anywhere longer than a couple hours if I’m not familiar with the place,” said Quinn.