“Who else knew we were there, Chief?” asked Quinn.
“What do you mean?” responded Garrett.
“Well, there had to be a leak somewhere for the other side to be waiting for us like that. They had inside information…I mean, we can’t even trace the truck that hit us, right? It had to be the Germans,” Quinn said.
“I know what you’re saying,” said Chief Garrett. “And while I promise you, Quinn, that we’ll investigate this to the hilt, sometimes bad luck and ill fate plays a role in our lives. Bad things just happen sometimes despite our best efforts. What I’m trying to say, Quinn, is that I’m not sure this was anything other than a kid who by coincidence lost control while driving on Central Ave, and hit you with his truck. Then he panicked and ran away,” said Garrett.
“Captain, you’re not serious? You’re joking right?” Quinn replied.
“I’m not kidding at all,” said Garrett. “We may never know. But one thing’s for certain—Eisenbach is gone and us wondering and talking about who drove the truck won’t bring him back,” Garrett said.
Quinn simply stared at the chief of police with disbelief. “Ethan Clark and I have just spent a significant time recovering from this accident…and I’ll tell you, Captain, it has been a painful experience,” said Quinn. “We both may need canes for the rest of our lives.”
“Quinn, nobody appreciates you and your partner’s efforts more than I do …on behalf of the entire department, we are grateful for your and Clark’s sacrifice. You are two very brave and loyal men. You have served the department and your country in a selfless manner. But this brings us to another matter we must unfortunately discuss. That’s the matter of your future and tenure here at the police department.”
Quinn’s brows furrowed and the muscles in his face tightened.
“You’ve been on medical leave and limited duty, Quinn, since you were released from the hospital,” said Garrett. “Our regulations don’t allow for any officer to perform limited duty for an indefinite period of time, even for injuries sustained for valorous and exemplary duty such as you performed. Ethan Clark is facing the same unfortunate circumstance,” Garrett said.
Quinn continued to stare at the captain with a look of disbelief.
“Quinn, don’t look at me that way…I want to put you back on the street as a detective, but even though you have the judgment and experience, you can’t perform the physical requirements. It may be years before you’ll be physically fit for duty” said the captain. “I’m afraid…despite everything you’ve done for us…you’re going to have to appear before a review board and the end result might be that you’re separated from the department on medical grounds. I am aware you’re in a tough position too because you’re not eligible for retirement yet,” Garrett said.
Of course he was technically correct. Quinn had a little over 14 years with the Albuquerque Police Department to date and didn’t meet the minimum time for retirement, which was 18 years. Could this really be happening…after everything he had done and sacrificed for the Albuquerque Police Department and his country? Yes, in fact, Quinn’s future as a police detective was in jeopardy. It had been over four months since the accident, and Quinn was still hobbling around using a cane and occasionally crutches. He went to physical therapy twice a week, but it was conceivable that he would never walk without use of some kind of aid again.
During the third week of October, 1941, the medical review board met. Quinn sat by himself at a table facing the chief and five senior police officers. Garrett, as Police Chief sat in the middle. The police department’s physician sat with the group as well. Despite a letter from his treating physician at Parkside Hospital and another from his physical therapist, which stated that Quinn was making excellent progress, no timeline or even an estimate for recovery was provided.
At the end of the hearing, Quinn sat looking at the group seated before him. He was told a decision as to his continued employment with the police department would be reached within one week. He was told that he would be notified by mail of the board’s decision.
Quinn received his letter. The board concluded Quinn’s “adequate recovery to resume full duties as an officer could not be predicted with any specificity.” Although he was making progress with therapy and the statements from his doctor and therapist were encouraging, Quinn’s physical injuries—specifically to his back, neck, and leg—“may be permanent injuries.” The retention board therefore decided on a medical discharge from the police department. Quinn would receive hazardous duty compensation, some money for future medical needs, and severance pay, but he would not receive retirement pay or any other long-term benefit for his years of service.
Chapter XII
In the late fall of 1941, both Quinn and Ethan Clark faced the sad reality that their careers as police officers as part of the Albuquerque PD were over. They met up with one another on a Wednesday evening at The 9:15. It was a strange reunion. Both men had lost their livelihood and career after nearly 15 years on the force. They were the only ones who might empathize and relate to one another’s plight after losing their badges. Maybe they had to meet to mark this moment in their lives.
Quinn was sitting at the bar in his usual chair, at the south end. The chair next to his was empty. The normal group of train travelers and a few soldiers had all the booths occupied. Ethan Clark hobbled in with his cane. “There you are, dammit! Good to see ya’, buddy. What the hell you been doin’ these days?” Clark asked as he extended his hand to Quinn and sat down.
“Same as you…tryin’ to recover from the shock of all this. Tryin’ to make some sense of it all,” replied Quinn as they shook hands. “What’ll ya’ have, Ethan? I get credit for booze here, ’cause this is basically my second home these days,” said Quinn.
“I like my vodka martinis,” said Clark.
“Vodka martini, please!” Quinn said to the bartender.
“One minute I’m a valued detective on the force,” Ethan said, shaking his head, “and the next thing I know my legs are strung up in a sling and I’m pissin’ into a plastic bag in a hospital bed. Now I’m off the force and hobbling around with a cane!”
“I’m just like you, Ethan. I’ll be usin’ this cane for a while. I wonder constantly what the hell happened that day. Everything seemed to be going fine, and then out of the corner of my eye there’s this huge thing comin’ at us from the side,” said Quinn.
“I don’t know,” replied Ethan. “Chief Garrett seems to think it was just a random accident, and the kid who was driving panicked and ran away.”
Both Quinn and Ethan looked at one another and then laughed.
“Like hell it was just a random accident!” said Quinn. “You know I went back and spoke to a few of the residents in those apartments on the top two floors. Nobody I talked to actually saw the accident. And nobody seems to know exactly what happened, but all three people came down to the street afterwards. Apparently we were unconscious,” said Quinn. “And it appears that Professor Eisenbach was still alive then when they came down to check on us. Apparently some man and woman showed up and moved him from my car to the sidewalk across the street! I need to follow up on that. Moving an injured man like that could have killed him right then and there,” said Quinn.
“That’s right,” replied Ethan.
“I don’t know about you, but I’m not gonna rest easy till I find out what happened that day,” said Quinn.
“We put our lives on the line for the police department and the Army…and this is our reward?” asked Ethan with a sarcastic tone. “I had a lot of time in. Don’t know what I’m gonna do next,” Ethan said.
“I have no clue as to what I’ll do,” said Quinn.
“My cousin owns a garage in town. I used to repair cars in my early 20s before I became a cop,” Ethan said.
“Yeah, there’ll always be a need for mechanics. Hell, what need is there for two broken-down detectives who drink too much? I’m guessing not much need!” said Quinn.
&n
bsp; With that pronouncement, both men took liberal drinks from their glasses and ordered two more. A Tommy Dorsey big band song played on the jukebox in the stark and simple bar of the early 1940s. The sound of clinking glass was heard as the bartender quickly cleaned up behind the bar.
“You ever thought about doing some investigative work, Quinn? Asked Ethan.
“Being a PI?” responded Quinn.
“We could partner up. Hell, we might do alright with our experience,” said Ethan.
“No, I’ve never thought of becoming a PI,” said Quinn. “To do anything like that, we’d need some serious cash. And that’s one thing in my life that’s in short supply at the moment.”
“Well, I’ve been poor my whole life,” said Ethan. “I’ve never been able to hold onto it even when I had it. Any money I ever made went to one of my family members sooner or later. Even when I ranked lieutenant on the force, most of the time I never had two nickels to rub together.…It took me my whole life to save up a little money,” he said.
The two men paused for a long drink.
Ethan started again. “Several years ago, I loaned my entire savings to my sister for her house. Her husband now owns a rubber factory that makes belts and tires for cars in town. He’s starting to do well. In fact, he just got a contract with the Army. She owes me, and I can use the severance pay I received from the department,” said Ethan. “I think I could put the money up,” he said.
“So you’re not just dreamin’? You’re serious about this?” asked Quinn.
“When it comes to my money, Quinn, or what little I normally have, I’m always serious,” Ethan said. “It would take us some time to get started and make a reputation for ourselves…but we’ve been doin’ this now for over a decade or so. It’s what we know and we’re good at. Or at least we’ll know in a short time whether we’re any good at it. We’ll be paid directly for our efforts,” Ethan said. “I’m not sure I even want to be here in Albuquerque. We might do better in Santa Fe.”
“What would we name the business?” asked Quinn.
We’ll come up with something…maybe Clark and Chase Private Investigations,” said Ethan. “I think my name should go first since I’ll be puttin’ up most of the cash…I hope that’s not a big deal to you, Quinn. Well, how ’bout it?” Ethan said.
“It’s a lot to think about, but I don’t know what else I’m gonna do with myself. Maybe we can even help the police solve a few crimes up there,” he said. “As PIs, what would we be investigating?” asked Quinn.
“We’d probably be running around snoopin’ on cheating husbands or their wives most of the time. It might be dangerous, but it might also be fun and better yet, we can make some good money. And let’s be honest here…that’s something we both need. Right, buddy?”
Chapter XIII
The devastating attack on Pearl Harbor occurred on December 7, 1941. The United States declared war immediately and was now officially at war with both Japan and Germany. Things were changing quickly in America, and world events were transpiring to draw the United States fully into the Second World War at a sprinter’s pace. But for Quinn and Ethan, despite the new national state of affairs, the winter of ’41 and early ’42 was when they were busy opening their office in a small adobe building on the outskirts of Santa Fe, New Mexico.
At one point in time the building had been a tortilla factory at the south end of town. There was a sizeable window in the front of the building, which was rare for the time, and it gave their office a look of importance. Other than that, it was a simple building on Cerillos Road.
In March of 1942, Clark and Chase Private Investigation Agency was born in Santa Fe, New Mexico. The name Cerillos was taken from an actual village located about 20 miles south of the Santa Fe Plaza, where in the late 1800s there were several gold and silver mines. Now Cerillos Road extended south from the Plaza, but after about one mile, it became a gravel and dirt road.
There were many dirt roads in the city and surrounding communities. The main mode of transportation in New Mexico at the time was by train, but the surrounding Sangre de Cristo mountains prevented a direct rail line into the city. The AT&SF line ran from Denver, Colorado, through Lamy (18 miles east of Santa Fe) to Albuquerque…and onto California. If one wanted to travel from Lamy into Santa Fe, as most train travelers did, it was necessary to hop aboard a short commuter train (called the “spur”), and enjoy a 40-minute ride over uneven ground, around many curves, and over arroyos before getting to the city itself.
In late March, one day Quinn decided to take a self-guided tour through his newly adopted town. He started walking north to explore. But soon he got tired and hailed a cab to continue his journey. He got a good view of the effects of the war on the people of New Mexico. Many family and small businesses were closed. The car lots (those few still in operation) had fewer cars displayed. Quinn noticed long lines extending out onto the street at the Goodwill and Salvation Army stores, both of which he passed as he rode in the cab. He also noticed more homeless people (commonly referred to as hobos at that time) scavenging through the junk yards on the south side of town. Many substances and food items were already being rationed, including steel and other metals, gasoline, butter, canned milk, and lard. Shortages and rationing of many necessities would be commonplace among the population during the war years of the early 40s.
It took nearly 20 minutes from office on foot to reach the heart of the city. Quinn marveled at the adobe churches and structures mixed in the new Western-styled architecture aptly referred to as “territorial style architecture” of Santa Fe. The experience of walking through town was like taking a step back in time, but viewing through a decidedly modern lens. After all, there were automobiles on dirt and old cobblestone streets. There were hitching posts for horses outside of buildings—some still being used. The main Catholic Cathedral, the Cathedral of St. Francis of Assisi, was built and finished in 1885, and there was a statue of Santa Fe’s first Archbishop originally from France—Jean Baptiste Lamy—in the front courtyard of the cathedral. Santa Fe had a completely different feel to it than Albuquerque…in Santa Fe, the generations of time intertwined and blended together. The past was given a space of reverence—a place at the head of the table. It could be seen in the architecture of the city’s buildings and ancient roadways. That is why Santa Fe is where they decided to set up shop. They would soon find either success or failure here.
In 1942 Santa Fe still had a small-town atmosphere with many Hispanic families that had lived there for generations. Native American pueblos that had been there for hundreds of years surrounded Santa Fe and blended in as part of the culture. The city was developing its art society in the late 1930s and was becoming a destination for creatives due to its diverse population and the beauty of its mountains. Ever since the railroad came to town, Santa Fe had become a tourist destination, and a place of rehabilitation for tuberculosis patients. An influx of newcomers trickled into the old town and settled into its rhythms, or they moved on. Clark and Chase Private Investigations was one such newcomer, and they occupied the last building accessible by paved road on Cerillos. Traveling south from their building on Cerillos Road was all dirt, a path marked for centuries by locals coming into Santa Fe from the south with cart and oxen from the town of Cerillos and running parallel to the old Camino de Real Spanish highway. It was a start, and they had to start somewhere.
Ethan’s brother-in-law bought them a metal sign to place above the entrance to the building. It all looked simple and plain…but it was a beginning, and it was their beginning. Would they be able to make a living here during wartime? Only time would tell.
The first few cases Quinn took on as a private detective were laughable. A local family who had chickens and sold eggs as a side business accused their neighbor of purposefully sending two dogs onto their land every night to attack and kill the chickens. The woman and owner of the henhouse had suffered the loss of eight chickens that had been killed over the last six weeks. Quinn ended up su
rveilling both homes over a two-week time period. He solved the mystery, but he had to spend the entire night one evening surveilling the henhouse. What he discovered was that it wasn’t the neighbor’s dogs, but a coyote that was sneaking onto the property through a break in the outer wire-mesh fence that gave access to the chickens. Quinn made hardly any money on that one, but was proud of himself that he had solved the case. He considered it a bonus that he was a factor in restoring neighborly relations.
The subject for Quinn’s second case was the nearly ancient water distribution process of the Spanish canals in Santa Fe, known as acequias. These canals were built in the late 1700s or early 1800s and carried runoff snow water down to Santa Fe from the surrounding hills and mountains, but were in use all year long. There were four actively used acequias in 1942; and these canals serviced the water needs of many local farmers in the community and out into the adjacent towns for up to 20 miles.
There was a public water board and a Mayordomo that regulated the water flow and usage by farmers from the canals. Farmers could only draw from the water canals at set times, and they were limited in the amount of water they could use. The nickname given to the Mayordomo in Santa Fe was “Ditch Rider,” but that didn’t mean he wasn’t a very powerful man.
One farmer in town accused his neighbor of diverting water away from his land and siphoning it off. So Quinn had to first inspect the canal to see if the acequia had been tampered with in some manner, and then find a vantage point where he could watch and see if any mischief took place with the water distribution and flow of water from the canal. What he discovered was that the offending farmer rigged his own sort of dam in the canal that would block water on occasion when it was his neighbor’s time to irrigate with water from the acequia. The offending neighbor then pumped the water from the canal with a motorized siphon and hose he had built. It was a lot of work for a little water, but then again water was the lifeblood of the farming community. The farmer who was being shortchanged was losing produce and money, and his land was being harmed by the lack of water. Quinn was paid well for his work on this case, and the offending farmer was turned in and received a hefty fine for his malfeasance.
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