Wading Into War: A Benjamin Wade Mystery

by Scott Dennis Parker

Dietrich shook his head. “Bad for him, Mr. Wade.” He glanced at his watch. “The paper doesn’t go to press until after midnight. We still have a few hours to track him down. And chances are, there are very few places he’d go. Unless you want to help us find him?”

  I said nothing. My ear was swelling and I was losing hearing in it, but the sharp pain to my kidney had subsided to a dull ache.

  “Very well. Whatever happens to him will be on your hands.” He motioned with the gun. “Imagine the police captain’s surprise when the reporter is killed with this gun, the same gun used to kill Hans...”

  “Wait,” I said, spit flying from my mouth. I rose to my knees, hands in the air. “He’s probably in one of two places, his apartment or the newsroom.” I nodded to the goons behind me. “Send them to his apartment. I’ll take you to the newsroom. I might be able to talk him out of publishing any of it.”

  Dietrich considered for a moment. Then he spoke to one of his men. “You remember where the reporter, Gardner, lives? Good. Go there and keep watch.” He extended a hand to me. “Mr. Wade and I are going to the news room.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  The offices of the Houston Post-Dispatch were located at Fannin and Texas. The twenty-two-story building was the largest in downtown when it was built in 1926. Its Neoclassicism ran counter to the Art Deco style that had emerged in the 1920s. To complete the look, molded gargoyles looked down from the top edge.

  Behind the building, the parking lot was illuminated by four arc lamps, their conical glow dimly keeping out the darkness. In this late spring night, the humidity could almost be seen wafting under the light.

  I had played the only card I possessed—splitting up that trio of devils. I knew Gardner’s work habits pretty well. When he was on a hot story, he didn’t always work in his apartment. He had a small cubby in the main newsroom with a table and a typewriter. At home, he had a slightly larger work space where he banged out all those pulp yarns he tried to get published with only moderate success. I’d also known him to write news copy at home and then take the finished piece to the typesetter.

  But on bigger stories, he liked to go to the office and spread out his work. He took his typewriter and confiscated a break room table. It was an idiosyncrasy that some of his fellow reporters looked down on, but it got Gardner’s work noticed. He was thorough. That was what both impressed me about his work and had me worried for his safety now.

  I was hoping the sensitivity of this information would compel Gardner to head to the office. If not, then I had just signed his death warrant.

  Gardner had his car, but he also liked to take the bus. It got him in touch with people, he always told me. He found stories no one cared to write about. I often wondered if he ever thought people might not want to read those types of stories. If so, it never seemed to bother him.

  With a story this big, however, Gardner was bound to drive.

  Dietrich and I had stationed ourselves across the street from the back corner of the office building. We were in a small alley that gave us a clear view of the entire parking lot. It would be easy to spot Gardner’s car and then catch him before he entered the building.

  Dietrich said, “I hope you know your friend well enough, Mr. Wade. I’d hate to think you were trying to stall me. Or worse, lead me astray and allow Mr. Gardner to publish those lies.”

  I nodded. “The thought had occurred to me. But there’s a part of me that just wants to see you behind bars, and the best way to do that is to make sure you find your way there.”

  Dietrich chuckled softly. “You may not believe me, but I’m American. And I do love the American bravado, even in the face of certain defeat.”

  I chewed my lower lip. “We’ll see.”

  Off to the east, we heard the sound of a car approaching fast. I didn’t think it was Gardner—his apartment was west of the newsroom. But as a Lincoln Zephyr turned into view, I realized it was him. He must have gone a roundabout way, thinking he might be followed. Smart man. I only hoped he had left his apartment before the goons showed up.

  “Let’s go.” I started walking to the parking lot.

  Dietrich fell in line behind me. “Remember I still have your gun.”

  I smirked even though he couldn’t see my face. “How could I forget?”

  Gardner had parked nearer to the building than I would have expected. I had to half-run to catch up with him. I slipped my hand into my pocket.

  “Gordon,” I said, loud enough to get his attention but soft enough to avoid notice. At this time of night, the traffic was steady, but not full.

  “Wade?” Gardner turned to face me. He clutched a slim leather briefcase. “What are you doing here?” He thought for a moment, then said, “No way. There is no way you’re stopping me. This is too big.” He pointed at the building. “I’m going in there and publishing this.”

  I shook my head. “That isn’t a good idea.” Dietrich had just walked into the light. “This man wants those documents. I, um, think you’d better give them to him.” With infinite slowness, the right hand that I had slipped into my pocket while running, slid out of my pocket. In it, I held my trump card.

  Gardner looked behind me and his eyes widened. Dietrich, his face shadowed by his fedora, merely smiled. “I’ve read your work, Mr. Gardner. Very passionate. I’m almost tempted to see how you would write the story. You have read the information, I take it?”

  The ire in Gardner’s face started shining through. “You’re damn right I read it. Enough to know that the Nazis are murderers. When we win this war, they’re going to pay.”

  “Mr. Gardner,” Dietrich said, “the United States isn’t even in this war. And if they join, they will lose, just like everyone else.”

  I said, “Tell that to the Soviets.”

  Dietrich laughed. “Even if they stop the Führer, they won’t be able to do anything. They’re as good as defeated.” He indicated the briefcase with my gun. “Now, the case.”

  Gardner didn’t move.

  Dietrich said, “Since you know what’s in those documents, I’m not sure I can let you live. You might still write a story. You’ll have no proof, of course, but you could rouse some anger over here.” He cocked the gun, the click a sharp sound in the night.

  Gardner, anger clearly flashing in his eyes, tensed. I saw it. From the corner of my eye, I could tell Dietrich saw it, too. We were all tense but none of us moved.

  Then things all began to happen at once.

  Chapter Sixteen

  In a move that, later, we would declare under oath was neither planned nor choreographed, Gardner tossed the briefcase in Dietrich’s direction. At almost the same time, I brought my right hand up and across my body, clicking the button of the collapsible steel baton as I did so. It was the one weapon I carried at all times even when I didn’t carry my gun. Bad guys don’t usually expect something so blunt to be used as a weapon of first resort.

  The baton snicked out to nearly its full length as I brought it down on Dietrich’s extended gun hand. The gun went off. Gardner yelled and spun backwards. Dietrich grunted, a mixture of surprise and pain. He dropped the gun to the pavement. I lunged for it, but a vicious kick by the Nazi swept my legs out from under me. I crumpled to the ground, afraid Dietrich would get my gun, shooting both Gardner and me. Instead, Dietrich lurched forward and grabbed the briefcase with his uninjured hand and started running.

  I quickly got to my feet and grabbed the gun. For a second, I considered taking aim and firing, but his figure was already at the edge of the light. I wasn’t going to take the chance of hitting something or someone.

  I took off after him, the hard leather of my shoes crunching the cement. Dietrich was fast. All he had to do was get to his car parked in the alley. He had at least fifty feet on me, so I dug in and found some additional speed.

  At that moment, a car turned into the side street next to the lot. Dietrich abruptly changed his direction and headed for the car. It was closer than his own, and he would reach it
before I could catch up to him.

  The window of the passenger side rolled down and a man stuck out his head. Even though I had only seen them once, I knew it was one of the goons. He reached around and opened the rear door, giving Dietrich a clear shot at escape.

  Having no other choice, I changed my trajectory. Clearly I couldn’t catch Dietrich before he got into the car, but I could overtake the car while it was trying to get away. I wasn’t a good enough shot to take out a fleeing man, but I was pretty sure I could hit the broad side of a moving car.

  Dietrich dove into the back seat and the goon behind the wheel threw the car into gear. With screeching tires, the sedan peeled out. I was close enough to fire so I raised my gun and pulled the trigger. Despite my running, I hit the front side, the bullet pinging off the sturdy frame. I fired two more times, missing once, but shattering the glass of the still-open rear door.

  That must have been enough of a surprise for the driver because the car caromed, crashing into some trash cans, scattering the contents across the street. I fired again and heard the bullet thunk somewhere inside the car.

  The goon in the passenger seat decided to get into the game. As he extended his hand, I saw the handgun in his grip. Without thinking, I dove to the ground, rolling behind a parked car. Two bullets pinged off the street where I had been.

  My heart pounded at the realization I had just escaped death. I paused a second to catch my breath.

  It was then that I became aware of other things. Sirens filled the air and the red-and-blue lights bounced off the sides of the buildings. From all sides, police cars converged, some marked, others not. All avenues of escape were blocked. That didn’t deter the driver. He plowed into one of the unmarked cars, trying in vain to get back to the street. The steel of the cars and the bricks of the buildings wedged him tight. He was going nowhere.

  I got on my feet and moved forward. A commanding voice told me to freeze. That was when I realized I still held my gun. I raised my hands and dropped the gun to the ground. Three policemen charged forward and cuffed my hands behind me. Not surprisingly, they didn’t listen to my protests of innocence.

  Across the parking lot, a ring of police officers surrounded Dietrich’s car. Every officer had their gun in hand, arms extended, ready for anything. The two goons threw out their pistols and were clambering out of the car, their hands raised in surrender. Dietrich hadn’t emerged yet. The officers who had nabbed me roughly shoved and pushed me toward the action. I had a front row seat.

  Another small group of policemen made their way around the back of the car. They crouched and moved forward. As the far rear door opened, I saw a pair of hands go up. One of those hands held Gardner’s briefcase.

  Suddenly I remembered my friend. I searched for him where he had fallen. He wasn’t there. Instead, Gardner, flanked by two officers, walked to my location. He held a bloody towel on one arm.

  From across the parking lot, three other men strode forward. They held no weapons, but I recognized them. It was Donnelly, Gregson the driver, and the third man who had ridden shotgun earlier this evening. Not for the first time today, I marveled at my innately poor ability to lose any pursuer. If I was going to give this P.I. thing the old college try, I was simply going to have to get better.

  Gardner shuffled up beside me. I said, “You okay?”

  “Yeah,” he said, his teeth gritted together. “I’ll live. I’m more steamed at not having those documents.” He looked down at my hands. “Why the cuffs?”

  I gave him my lopsided grin. “Despite my honest entreaties, these gentlemen think I’m a criminal.”

  “Well, you’re certainly guilty of bad timing. Couldn’t you have slugged that guy before he pulled the trigger? I mean, really, what were you waiting for?”

  I shrugged my shoulders. “The perfect time.”

  More and more police cars and bystanders gathered around the area. The night staff from the Post-Dispatch building had also gathered on the stairs, watching the news come to them rather than the other way around. The two henchmen were being shuffled to waiting police cars. I could hear them shouting and, in a surprising twist, they spoke English. And not just accented English but honest-to-goodness East Texas English. I heard only a snippet of something the driver said. “We were just hired. It was only for the money, I didn’t know he was a ...”

  “A Nazi,” Gardner grunted. “The son of a bitch is a Nazi.”

  “Yup,” I said in agreement.

  Donnelly emerged from behind the car. He carried the briefcase. Behind him, two of his soldiers flanked a handcuffed Dietrich. Captain Burman walked with them. Donnelly indicated me. “Uncuff him.”

  The two policemen next to me didn’t take orders from a man who wasn’t their commanding officer. They looked to Burman who, with gritted teeth and flexing jaw muscles, nodded once. The guy on my left unlocked the cuffs but not before making them just a little bit tighter. I winced, further shattering my cool P.I. demeanor. I turned and glanced at his name: Potter. That’s a name I wouldn’t soon forget. Potter just smirked at me as he walked away.

  Donnelly said, “So, Wade, you found the documents. Good for you. Did better than any of us. What tipped you off to the location?”

  I nodded to my friend. “I remembered when Mr. Gardner here, reporter extraordinaire, was working on a story exposing the malfeasance of one of the big fisheries down in Galveston. He had some toughs after him, so he mailed books stolen from their offices to his desk at the newsroom. That made sure the evidence was taken care of, and, if the bad guys stole anything, they would be committing a felony.”

  Donnelly raised an eyebrow. “Nice.” He chin-nodded at Gardner. “How’s the arm?”

  “It’ll heal,” Gardner said. “What about the evidence in my briefcase?”

  Donnelly held the bag aloft. “This yours? Nice case.” He patted it with a hand. “You can have the case back, but we’re confiscating the evidence.”

  “What? You can’t do that. Do you know what’s in there?”

  “Yes I do, and yes we can,” Donnelly said. “National security.”

  At that reference, Burman glanced at the Army major. “Really?”

  Donnelly inclined his head. “Yes, sir. And the U.S. government is very appreciative of all the help you offered on this case.” He turned and faced the police captain. “But we’re also going to ask you to forget what you’ve seen here tonight.”

  “I’m not sure what I’ve seen tonight,” Burman said. “All I know is I have two dead bodies and no suspect.” He shot an accusing finger at me. “I had one, but because of your testimony, I no longer have him.”

  I frowned. “Testimony?”

  Donnelly said, “Yes. It seems someone else fired the gun that killed those two people.” He indicated Dietrich. “This man right here.”

  Again, my cool demeanor faded as I gaped at Donnelly. “What?”

  Gardner figured it out faster than I did.”Close your mouth, Wade. You’ll catch flies.” He turned his attention to Donnelly. “It’s all part of the plan. The Army is covering up what’s in those files. I read most of it. I saw the photos. I know what’s in there. I can still publish something. I read enough to make a damn fine story, get the facts out there.”

  Dietrich merely fumed.

  Donnelly considered Gardner’s words for a moment. Then, he whispered something in the ear of one of his men, who quickly sliced through the crowd and went inside the news building.

  Remembering I had a case to clear, I said, “Can I at least ask you something, Gordon? Or you, Donnelly?”

  I took their silence as consent. “In your reading of that material, is there any mention of Miss Saxton’s brother? She hired me to find out information about his whereabouts. That’s what got me into this mess.”

  Donnelly merely pursed his lips, raising his eyebrows at Gardner. “Well?”

  Gardner looked to Donnelly, then to me, and then back to Donnelly. “Is his name ‘Samuel Saxton’?”

  “Ye
ah.”

  Gardner shook his head. “The notes in the files indicate he was arrested earlier this year. There are subsequent notes that say he was killed trying to escape from one of those camps.” He looked at me. “Samuel Saxton is dead.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  I nodded. “Thanks.” I started thinking about where Lillian might be, so I could give her the news. I wondered how she’d take the news or, perhaps, if she already knew.

  Donnelly’s man returned along with an older gentleman. The way he was dressed just screamed newspaperman.

  Gardner knew him instantly. “Mr. Levitz, sir. What are you doing here?”

  Levitz scowled at the ordered chaos around the news building. “Trying to figure out how long I have to hold the presses so I can get this damn story. Who wanted to see me?”

  “That would be me, Mr. Levitz,” Donnelly said. “You’re one of the editors?”

  “I am.”

  “Good. I have something to say to you.” The two of them moved off by themselves. They talked.

  Dietrich scuffed pebbles my way. “You have guts, Mr. Wade. I’ll give you that. It seems Miss Saxton chose well when she selected you as her fall guy.”

  I walked up and slugged him in the jaw. He staggered backward but didn’t fall. Numerous hands grabbed my arms and pulled me back. Even Donnelly looked over at me.

  “That’s for threatening me and my friend,” I yelled. I shrugged off the restraints. I adjusted my suit and straightened my tie. I sniffed at him. “At least we got you off the streets. Might have to tell some of the guests at the county jail that they got a Nazi in their midst, see what goes down.” I sneered at him. “And we put a stop to all your spying in our town.”

  Dietrich spit blood at my shoe and laughed. All of us just gaped at him, wondering where the humor was coming from. Seeing my befuddlement, Dietrich said, “Mr. Wade, you may have arrested me, but I assure you: there are many, many more who share my passions. You can’t stop us because you don’t even know who we are.”