The Evil Men Do

by H. Paul Doucette

  He bent down and lifted a small box off the floor and set on the desk. Inside were the remains of the ruptured valve. He pulled out a large section and started to explain how it worked or at least how it was supposed to work.

  “So, you’re saying that it shouldn’t’ve failed like it did when the steam hit it?” I asked when he finished.

  “That’s correct,” he said.

  “Hmm. What would be your best guess why it did?”

  “If I were to make an educated guess, I’d say you would have to look at either the manufacture of the valve or the metallurgy...the forging of the metal compounds.”

  “Where would I go for that type of information?”

  “You would need to find a lab set up for metal analysis. I think there’s a man in the engineering department at the Technical College. I believe his name is Dr. Wilson.”

  “Thanks. You’ve been a help. Would you mind if I take that with me?” I asked, pointing at the box with the damaged valve inside. “If you need it back, I’ll return it after I’ve finished with it.”

  “I don’t see why not,” he said, closing the flaps and passing the box to me.

  “Thanks.”

  I made it back to the station by five-thirty and was met by the usual confusion around the duty officer’s desk. When I reached my desk, I saw that Pete was back. He sat back in his chair, turning it toward me.

  “How’d you make out?” he asked.

  “Looks like it was an unfortunate accident,” I said, putting the box on my desk. “You?”

  “I went back to the place where they found the girl an’ did a walk around.”

  “And?”

  “Nothin’ more than what we already found.”

  “Okay. Let’s call it a day an’ hit it again tomorrow. Maybe the lab people will have somethin’ for us by then.”

  “Okay,” Pete said, heading to his desk to get his jacket from the back of his chair. “You comin’?”

  “In a bit,” I said. “I got one more thing I wanna check out ‘bout the accident.”

  “If it’s an accident what’s there to check out?”

  “Somethin’s not quite right ‘bout why it happened.”

  “Uh-oh,” Pete said, shaking his head slowly.

  “What?” I said.

  “You got that look again.”

  “I got a look?” I said.

  He just smiled at me and said, “Uh-huh. You always get it when you think somethin’s not kosher.”

  “Yeah, well, I got a gut feelin’.”

  “Like I said,” Pete said.

  I shook my head and said, “Oh yeah, before you take off, call the desk an’ get a copy of the incident report from the cop that found the girl. Also, have him get in touch with the office an’ have him report to us for an interview then go home to your woman. “

  “Now there’s an order you can issue anytime ya want.”

  I left the station fifteen minutes later. I headed for the VG before going home. I wanted to check in on Stella Marchand. I knew I would have to go back and see her mother and pass on the bad news soon and wanted to have something positive to convey, to make the news easier to take and to make me feel better.

  Chapter Four

  It was just past seven in the morning and Charlie Fletcher sat on the edge of the unmade bed in his room; a glass of liquor in his hand. His head throbbed and his mouth tasted sour. He rubbed his face with his free hand and felt the dried blood on several scratches across his cheek. Memories of the previous night began to penetrate the fog clouding his mind. He squeezed his eyes shut but he couldn’t shut out the images of a young girl crying in terror. He looked at the dark liquid in the glass for a moment then raised it to his mouth and emptied the liquor in a single swallow, squeezing his eyes tight as it burned its way down his throat.

  When he opened his eyes he stared into the empty glass, the memory of the rape now clearly in his mind. He had never done anything like that before — rape someone. A chill of panic suddenly ran through him. If they found the girl and saw what he did to her, he thought, he would do hard time or, worse, swing for it. The full impact of what he’d done was coming home and he started to shake. He reached for the bottle of liquor on the night table beside the bed with a shaky hand and poured a large shot into the glass then downed it in a single swallow. As the liquor hit his empty stomach, the effects started to work through him.

  His mind seemed to clear. He started to shake again at the thought of a noose around his neck. He grabbed the bottle and poured the remainder of the liquor into the glass and tossed it back; it had the desired effect – he calmed down.

  He started thinking he might not be in as much trouble as he first thought. He stood up; his legs a bit unsteady as he went to a side table with a hotplate on it and poured water into a metal pot from a porcelain ewer. He added a scoop of loose black tea leaves from a tin can beside the hotplate, turned on the element, and then sat on the wooden chair next to a small table and began to put together a plan.

  His first thought was to get the hell out of the city...and fast. But he didn’t have enough money to get anywhere safe. If he had to stay around, then he reasoned he had three problems to worry about. First, the girl. He remembered she was drunk and likely wouldn’t be able to tell the cops anything useful. His next worry was the girl’s two friends. He couldn’t do anything about them since he had no idea how to find them. The last was Lewis, the sailor who was with him when he left with the girl in his car. Lewis could be a problem, then he remembered Lewis saying his ship was heading to sea in a couple of days. No matter, he thought, Lewis would always be a threat. He’d have to get rid of him. Shit, he thought, standing up, what was a murder to him now? The sound of the pot boiling on the hotplate broke into his thoughts. He got up and turned off the element and poured the steaming hot tea into a thick clay mug.

  An hour later, he headed out. He went to his car, a beat up ‘29 Model A Ford two door and got in. He sat behind the wheel trying to piece together everything he could remember from last night. He decided to take a run back to where he had taken the girl. Maybe she’d still be there in the bushes where he dumped her. He roughed her up pretty good, he recalled, so, maybe she’d still be unconscious. He didn’t have any idea what he’d do if she was there. When he reached Chebucto Road he turned the car around as he reconsidered his plan. He had to assume she was found by now and the cops would be all over the place.

  As he drove, his mind raced with questions: What could the girl tell the police that would lead them to him, he thought. She’d be able to describe him; that was for sure, but what else? The car? Would she remember the car? Did she see the licence plate? The problem of the car was easy to fix. He’d steal some plates from another car and put them on his car. He could also just sell it. He knew just where to go to get rid of it and he could use the few bucks he’d get for it. As far as the cops getting him, he could make himself scarce; maybe ship out. The risk of a convoy was less of a worry to him than the possibility of what the law would do to him. After a few moments he shook his head, thinking that wasn’t an option he could take. He finally made a decision. He would park the car out of sight for now and knew right where he could leave it.

  * * *

  When I arrived at the station the next morning I saw that a couple of notes were left on my desk. Pete hadn’t arrived yet. He usually beats me in, although, since he is now with a woman, he tends to get in a little later. I was happy for him.

  Bill Franks and Ken Gallant were in the squad room when I arrived. They were part of the detective department, filling out our department.

  “Mornin’ fellas,” I said to them. They were senior patrolmen who’d been seconded to help us out because of the manpower shortage. So far, they had been working out.

  “Robie,” Bill Franks said, looking up from his desk. Gallant looked up as well and nodded.

  “How’s that girl got raped?”

  “Haven’t anythin’ new yet,” I answered, heading
for the coffee on the side table.

  “I hope ya nail the bastard. Let us know if we can help.”

  “Thanks.”

  I got a coffee and went to my desk and sat down. I picked up two messages from my desk. One was from the hospital, the other from Miss Kendrick at the shipyard. I reached for the phone and dialed the number for the nurse’s station at the VG.

  “Emergency room Nurse’s station,” a woman’s voice said into my ear. “This is Nurse Kelly.”

  “This is detective Robichaud at the police department. I got a message to call.”

  “Oh yes, detective. One moment please.” I heard her lay her phone down. A few moments later she was back on line. “This concerns the young girl that was admitted yesterday. We have a note from Dr. March to contact you with any updates on her condition.”

  “Yeah, and...?”

  “According to the night report, she has been released from intensive care and has been placed in a ward. She’s up on the fifth floor.”

  “So, she’s outta danger?”

  “Not quite, no. However, she no longer needs to be here. She can be treated upstairs where there are more resources.”

  “Is she awake yet?”

  I heard paper being flipped.

  “Unfortunately, not yet,” Nurse Kelly said.

  “That it?” I asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Can we come up an’ see her?”

  “I think that would be okay. I can have Dr. March meet you if you wish.”

  “Is he still taking care of her?”

  “No. She now under the care of Dr. Phillips. He’s actually on duty today.”

  “Maybe you can let him know we’ll comin’ up. What’s a good time to come up?”

  “He should be finished his rounds by eleven, so any time after then.”

  “Okay. We’ll be up ‘round noon.”

  “I’ll pass that along to the Nurse’s station.”

  “Thanks for callin’,” I said.

  “Please do everything you can to get this animal,” she said, her voice held a touch of anger..

  “Count on it.” I hung up the phone and checked my watch. It was still too early to call Miss Kendrick.

  Pete arrived ten minutes later. He went and poured a coffee before going to his desk.

  “I jus’ got off the phone with the hospital,” I said to him.

  “Yeah? And?” he said, changing direction and coming over to my desk.

  “The girl’s been taken outta intensive care an’ sent upstairs to a ward. She’s not awake or outta danger yet. We got a meetin’ with the doctor takin’ over her care at noon.”

  Pete nodded. “You got any ideas what to do next?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “We’re gonna take a run up to where the girl was last seen an’ start talkin’ to people. Maybe someone will remember somethin’. Maybe even know who these men are.”

  Pete looked at his watch. “Kinda early yet,” he said when he looked up.

  “We’ll head up there later, after eight. Not much point goin’ before.”

  “Okay. By the way, you still workin’ that accident up at the shipyard?”

  “Yeah, I think it’s worth a look see.”

  “So, you think it’s sabotage then?”

  “No, not sabotage, but somethin’ definitely smells ‘bout it. I’m gonna up to the Technical College an’ have a chat with a metal expert. Maybe he’ll shed some light on this.”

  “Want me to come along?’

  “No, I can handle this. You get on to the lab an’ see if they got anythin’ for us, then check an’ see if that hospital report is ready, an’ find out when we can talk to the patrolman that found the girl. Try an’ get him to be here say ‘round three. I’m gonna head up to the hospital for ‘round eleven. When you’re done, meet me there. I’ll wait for you at the entrance.”

  “Okay,” Pete said then went back to his desk.

  I headed for my desk, picked up the phone and dialed.

  I had a brief conversation with Mrs. Kendrick at the shipyard. She said she had found a few more documents that might help. I asked her to send them on to me by bike messenger. She said she would see to it and hung up.

  I grabbed my hat and put on my jacket then picked up the box with the fragments of the valve in it. I stopped at the key board on the wall and picked off a key with an ID tag on it indicating the car number then headed for the parking lot upstairs. I found the marked unit parked in front of City Hall.

  The weather had finally turned nice and comfortable. The sun was out, and it looked like it was going to be a warm one. I was held up at the entrance to Barrington Street from the parade grounds that served as our parking area. A convoy of fifteen army trucks was on its way south to the docks. I pulled in behind the last truck as it passed, cutting off a taxi. I saw the driver cussing me in my rear-view mirror. When I reached the corner of Prince Street, I turned right and drove up to Brunswick Street then turned left and headed for the technical school on Spring Garden Road.

  The young woman sitting behind the information desk in the lobby directed me to Professor Frank Wilson’s office on the second floor, after confirming he was in and not in class.

  Frank Wilson had a small office with a desk, two chairs and piles of books and rolls of blueprints and technical drawings filling the shelves and empty spaces around the room.

  “Detective Robichaud,” he said, standing up and offering me his hand. He was in his sixties and had a full head of white hair, clear blue eyes and a slightly bulging midriff. He wore a dated three-piece worsted suit.

  “Yes,” I said, shaking his hand. “Thanks for seein’ me.”

  “Please pardon the mess but we’re having space problems with the war and all. Please, take a pew.” He sat back down as I took the chair in front of his desk.

  “Now. How can I help the police?” He sat back in his swivel chair and interlaced his fingers over his paunch.

  “I’ve been asked to look into an accident that happened yesterday on board a ship in for repairs at the shipyards. Seems a new valve was replaced for one damaged on the return trip from England. Anyway, when they opened a steam line to test this valve it ruptured.”

  “Hmm. I hope no one was injured?”

  “Unfortunately, one man was burned an’ one killed. Seems that when it ruptured it sent fragments flying.”

  “Horrible,” Professor Wilson said, shaking his head. “I am sorry to hear that, but I don’t see...”

  “Accordin’ to one of the engineers at the yard, he figures the unit might’ve failed because of the metallurgy.”

  “Yes, it’s a possibility. But these valves are usually manufactured to a set of standards these days which is fairly well monitored.”

  “But it is still possible for someone to make changes?”

  “It is always a possibility, of course, but this would involve several accomplices. But, yes, it is a possibility.”

  “This engineer suggested that it might be possible to determine if this particular valve was made below the standards you mentioned.”

  “Yes, an analysis of the metal would prove if that were the case.”

  I picked up the box, which I had put on the floor, and placed it on his desk. He sat forward and reached across, pulling it to him. Lifting the flaps, he looked inside.

  “This is a very common valve used in most power plants and ship’s engine rooms. I’m surprised it failed so badly,” he said as he poked around the shards of metal, his face taking on the look of consternation. “I would say at a glance that there is something definitely amiss here. Your engineer at the shipyard may be onto something.”

  “Does that mean you’ll do that analysis you mentioned?” I asked.

  “Yes, of course. If this was due to a deliberate effort to produce substandard equipment, then there could be other people at potential risk. I will start the testing today.”

  “Thanks. How long will it take?”

  “I think I can have some info
rmation for you within two days.”

  “That’d be great. Thanks again for your help,” I said, standing up and offering him my hand. He stood as well.

  “If there is any wrongdoing going on here then I want to see it exposed and severely dealt with,” he said, sounding angry. “I have a grandson serving on a frigate.”

  I left with his assurance that he would send a full report to me within a couple of days, three at the most.

  Once back in the car, I headed for the hospital and parked the car near the main entrance. I checked my watch and saw I had plenty of time before Pete was due. I got out and took a stroll over to the Public Gardens.

  The place was filled with servicemen and young women sitting on the grass or benches. I got lucky and found an empty bench near the main gate under a large oak tree. I sat down and went over everything I had so far on the accident and the rape, which wasn’t that much in either case. The business with the valve would be simple enough to deal with once I got Professor Wilson’s findings. If it was some businessman trying to pull a fast one to make more money, then I’d nail him to a cross for it.

  The rape was another matter. I had not much to go on except for what the girlfriends told me. Their descriptions of the two men could fit most of the men in the city except for the civilian.

  I knew about Fort Needham being a popular hangout used as a place to go after dark with a woman: plenty of bushes and other secluded places to have sex. It was also a popular spot for the doxies to ply their trade and hustlers to push their rotgut. Pete and I would head up there later after we checked on the Marchand girl.

  I checked my watch; it read quarter to twelve. I stood up and headed for the hospital. Pete finally arrived ten minutes later, and we went up to the fifth floor where Stella Marchand was being treated. We stopped at the nurse’s station and, after showing our IDs, a young nurse led us to a small office where we found Dr. Winston Phillips. He was sitting behind a desk poring over several files.

  Dr. Phillips was a young man, maybe in his early thirties. He had a thick head of dark brown hair and sported a neatly trimmed moustache similar to the one worn by actors like David Niven and Errol Flynn; I imagine it tweaked the interest of some of the younger nurses. He looked like he was an athletic sort of fellow and carried his lean body easily.