Mainly out of courtesy to his age, Sam presided in the chair. He was a trifle bewildered. Clare sat near him, smoking and throwing worried glances at Peter who lounged in the window recess. Harry Duke paced slowly up and down in front of Sam’s desk, a dead cigar clenched in his white teeth.
‘Fairview’s waking up,’ Duke said pleasantly. ‘It’s a pity you don’t turn your paper into a daily. Something tells me that you’ll be needing a daily pretty soon.’
‘But what happened?’ Clare demanded, flicking ash on to the threadbare carpet. ‘What did the police say?’
‘Not much.’ Duke smiled over at Peter. ‘They didn’t like the set-up, but I reckon this is the first death by violence that’s happened in this burg and they were up the creek without a paddle.’
‘You mean they accepted the suicide theory?’
Duke shot her a sharp look. ‘Why not? It was suicide, wasn’t it?’
‘Now, look, Clare, don’t complicate things, will you?’ Peter broke in.
She looked from Duke to Peter and back again. ‘I can’t see Timson committing suicide,’ she said, flatly.
‘Look, the guy cut his throat with a razor. Maybe it wasn’t suicide, maybe he was just having a dry shave and his hand slipped. Whatever happened, he’s dead. That’s all you’ve got to worry about,’ Duke said, gently.
Sam scratched up his hair with both hands. ‘But why all the fuss?’ he demanded. ‘I could understand it if Timson was from Fairview, but he isn’t. He didn’t even die in Fairview, so what’s it got to do with us?’
‘He died in Peter’s bed, didn’t he?’ Clare said, quietly.
Sam scowled over at Peter. ‘Are you the young fella she’s been running around kind of regular with?’
‘Now please, Sam, that’s beside the point.’
‘No, it isn’t,’ Peter put in quickly. ‘Why shouldn’t he know? He’s been pretty decent to you, hasn’t he? I want to marry Clare, Mr. Trench, only she just won’t make up her mind.’
Old Sam gave him a searching look and then fumbled for his pipe. ‘Well, if she isn’t sure, don’t you worry her, young man. The fella who’s lucky enough to get her, has got to be worth his salt.’
Duke glanced at Clare with a hard, amused little smile in his eyes. She was looking embarrassed and angry.
‘Will you shut up, Sam?’ she said, sharply.
Sam snorted. ‘What a way to talk to an old man,’ he complained. ‘Get a few grey hairs and what happens? Anybody’s football to kick around.’
‘The point is, why did Timson buy Pinder’s End?’ Duke said, bringing some point into the conversation. ‘Can anyone tell me that?’
Clare shook her head. ‘One of our staff was out there this morning. There’s nothing on the land except a few broken down bungalows. The tenants have been ordered to quit by the end of the week.’
Peter Suddenly said, ‘It’s no good, Harry, I’m going to tell them.’
Duke’s face stiffened for a second, then he shrugged. ‘If you feel like that about it,’ he said, and sat down, pushing his hat over his eyes.
Peter looked at the other two. ‘We won’t get anywhere unless you know the truth,’ he said. ‘Timson was murdered. We made it look like a suicide.’
Clare caught her breath. ‘Oh, Peter!’ she exclaimed. ‘I knew there was something wrong. Oh, why did you. . .?’ she stopped and bit her lip angrily.
‘Go on, why don’t you say it?’ Duke said, quietly. ‘Why did he have to hook up with me? That’s what you wanted to say, wasn’t it? If he’d kept clear of me, he’d be out of this jam.’
‘Shut up, Harry,’ Peter said, quickly.
‘But, it’s true,’ Clare said, jumping to her feet. ‘I warned Peter all along to leave you alone. This is the kind of thing you like. Murder, gambling, violence! Why don’t you leave Peter alone?’
Duke pushed back his hat and looked at her. ‘I didn’t get Peter into this,’ he said, patiently. ‘Timson came to Peter’s room without anyone asking him to. Don’t you see? It was nothing to do with either of us.’
Clare turned away. She appealed to Peter. ‘Why did you lie to the police?’ she demanded. ‘Why didn’t you tell them the truth?’
‘Why, I guess the truth would have sounded a little dumb and besides, Harry wanted. . .’ he stopped.
‘Of course, Harry wanted it that way.’ She whirled round on Duke. ‘And you say you’ve nothing to do with it? But you’ve dragged Peter into a mess for all that!’
Duke lifted frosty eyes to hers. ‘What’s the idea?’ he asked. ‘Are you trying to make out that Pete can’t look after himself?’
Peter heaved himself away from the window and came over. He put his hand gently on Clare’s arm. ‘You’re not helping, sweetheart,’ he said, quietly. ‘What’s done is done. If we’re going to get out of this, we’ve got to use our heads.’
Clare hesitated and then lifted her shoulders wearily. ‘Well, what are you going to do? What is there to do?’ When you’ve finished with your private quarrels,’ Sam said,
in a piping voice. ‘Perhaps you’ll realize that you’ve made me an accessory to murder. What are you going to do about that?’
‘Don’t get your dickie on the boil,’ Duke said, striking a match on his shoe and relighting his cigar. ‘We ain’t done that. We don’t know who the murderer is. All we know is that it wasn’t suicide, because there was no weapon. Suspect number one is Lorelli, a dame I picked up from Schultz last night and brought round to Pete’s place. She had Pete’s room and in the morning she had gone and Timson had taken her place. So she’s number one. The next point to be considered is where Bellman comes into this. Timson was his manager. I think Timson bought Pinder’s End on Bellman’s instructions. I think, too, that Bellman didn’t want Spade to know about the transaction. He guessed that if Spade knew what he was up to, Spade would knock him off. Maybe Spade killed Timson. So let’s make him suspect number two. Then why did Timson come to see Pete?
How did he get into Pete’s bedroom and what happened to Lorelli? Did she see the murder or had she gone before Timson arrived? It was easy for anyone to slip out of Pete’s bedroom window and beat it across the fields. So you see, we’ve got a few problems to solve.’
Sam prodded his blotter with his pen. He looked at Clare who stood staring out of the window and he shook his head, ‘Well,’ he said, ‘this is certainly a new one on me. I didn’t think I’d like to be mixed up in a business like this. It ain’t like Fairview at all.’
‘Listen, dad,’ Duke said, abruptly. ‘Suppose you cut out this Rip van Winkle stuff and use your head. We want ideas, not autobiographies.’
Sam grinned at him. ‘You’re a hard nut,’ he said. ‘But I like you. You remind me of a guy who used to work with me when I was on the Tribune. A real go-getter, he was. Well, you’ll be about the same when you’ve cut your teeth and got into long pants.’
Duke laughed. ‘Well, come on, you old fox, what do you think?’
‘Who’s got the title deeds to Pinder’s End?’ Sam demanded, smacking his hand on the desk and then grinned round with obvious delight.
Duke gaped at him. ‘Well, for cryin’ out loud! We never thought of that! There’s your motive for Timson’s killing. He must have had the title deeds on him. The cops searched him and found nothing. The guy who cut Timson’s throat did it to get the deeds. That must be it! Now we are getting somewhere.’
‘I don’t see that,’ Peter said. ‘We can’t search everyone in Fairview or Bentonville.’
‘No, but we can call on Bellman and find out if he knows anything. I guess we’ll get over there right away.’
‘Wait a minute,’ Sam said, hastily. ‘Don’t be in too much of a rush. Maybe Bellman doesn’t know that the title deeds are missing. Maybe lots of people think the cops have got them. Is it a good thing to spread the news?’
Duke sat back. ‘You’re a bit of a knockout, ain’t you?’ he said. ‘Do you always let your brain work as hard as this?’
Sam grinned modestly. ‘Well, I eat an awful lot of fish,’ he said, polishing his nose vigorously with his silk handkerchief. ‘And besides, I’m a lot older than you young people.’
‘All right, so what do we do?’
‘Well, if I was running the show,’ Sam said, obviously delighting in the attention he had aroused, ‘I’d move very carefully so as not to scare anyone unnecessarily. First, I’d find out who is behind the Bentonville Land Corporation. Then I’d find out if they’ve got the deeds and if they haven’t, then the murderer must have ‘em. I’d check on Spade. I’d check on this Lorelli girl and I’d check on Bellman. I’d get as much information as I could and I’d come in here when I’ve got it and I’d lay it before the editor of the Clarion and let him put in a little brain work fitting the pieces together. That’s what I’d do, but then you must please yourself.’
Harry Duke nodded. ‘Well, I don’t think that’s bad,’ he returned. ‘I think I’ll make a start.’ He looked over at Peter. ‘You’ve got a job to do, Pete, I can’t expect you to worry with this. I can manage on my own.’
Peter looked uncomfortable. ‘I’m in this with you, Harry,’ he said, ‘You know that. But, it’s not easy to get away from the job until the evenings. I can give you a hand after work.’
Harry Duke looked at him searchingly. He thought what a hell of a difference a woman could make to a man. A couple of years back, Pete would have thrown his job aside to get into a mess like this. Now, he was playing for safety. Not that Duke blamed him, but all the same he felt a pang of disappointment.
‘That’s swell,’ he said, casually. ‘I don’t suppose I’ll need any help. I can take care of this kind of thing in my sleep.’
Sam shot a quick look at Peter and then at Harry Duke. His bright blue eyes softened a little when he regarded Duke. This was the kind of guy that he’d have been proud to have as a son, A hard, tough, go-getter without any women’s apron strings hanging to him. He waved them to the door.
‘Go and argue outside,’ he said, ‘I’ve got a newspaper to print.’
As they moved away, he swung round in his swivelled chair, ‘And don’t you keep me out of this, Mr. Harry Duke,’ he shrilled. ‘I want all the credit. . . and don’t you forget it.’
Outside, Duke said, ‘That’s a spunky little cuss. I believe he’s looking for a fight.’
There was a short, awkward pause, then Peter said, ‘Well, I’d better get back. Can I give you a lift, Harry?’
Duke shook his head. ‘I’m going out to Pinder’s End,’ he returned. ‘Might as well take a look at it.’
‘Okay,’ Peter said, ‘I’ll be seeing you.’ He took Clare’s hand. ‘Don’t worry, sweetheart,’ he said. ‘We’ll get out of this okay. I’ll come in tonight and take you out some place,’
He glanced at Duke, saw that he wasn’t going, hesitated, and then drew Clare aside.
‘Goodbye, darling, you won’t worry, will you?’ He lifted her chin and kissed her.
Clare said, ‘Do be careful, Peter,’ and watched him run down the stone stairs that led to the street.
Duke said, ‘I’m sorry you’re sore with me, Clare. I was hoping we’d be friends.’
She stood very still, holding on to the banister rail and not looking at him. She felt weak and her heart hammered against her ribs. ‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ she said, stubbornly.
‘That won’t get us anywhere,’ he returned, watching her and feeling the thickness in his throat again. ‘I’d do anything for Pete. He’s about the one friend I’ve got in the world.’
She spun round. ‘Then why don’t you let him alone?’ she said, bitterly. ‘Oh, I know what you’re thinking. But he’s not like you. And he’s not a coward nor is he hiding behind me. He’s got his job to think about.’
Duke tossed his cigar butt away. ‘He isn’t a coward,’ he said, quietly. ‘You’re wrong to think I’d call him that. But you’re making a great mistake if you think he can’t look after himself. I’ve known him much longer than you, Clare. Pete’s nobody’s fool and you’re not getting anywhere taking this attitude.’
Colour came into her face. ‘It suits you to talk like that. doesn’t it?’ she said, fiercely. ‘Why don’t you let him alone? You’ll get him into more trouble. I’ve seen this coming from the start. He doesn’t belong to your world. None of us do. You’re hard and reckless and you don’t care what happens. Oh, I hate you for getting him into this!’
He stepped up to her and took her arms in his hands. ‘You’re a stupid, stubborn little fool,’ he said, curtly. ‘You won’t see that this has nothing to do with me. Timson came to see Pete. He didn’t come to see me. But you won’t see it that way because it doesn’t suit you.’
She struggled away, her face on fire. ‘Don’t speak to me!’ she said, and turning, she ran into her room. The door slammed violently behind her.
TWELVE
Pinder’s End lay on the outskirts of the town. It was famished, and desolate.
Harry Duke had never seen the place. He drove the odd miles through Fairview without paying a great deal of attention to the surroundings. His mind was occupied with Clare. A hard little smile came to his lips. He was bored with the easy type of woman. In Bentonville, the girls were spoilt or without character. They ran to type. Every girl he took out was just like the last one. He knew every move of the game, what she was going to say, how long she would hold off and just when she’d give in. It was like a monotonous game of checkers with every move prearranged.
Clare was different. He pulled his long nose irritably. What was the good? She wasn’t for him, so he’d better forget her.
Pinder’s End lay off the concrete highway and he saw the turning ahead of him. He slowed down and turned the car on to the dirt road.
On each side of the road was a mat of tangled, broken grass, burnt yellow by the hot sun. Flour-like dust spurted up under the wheels of the car, leaving a kind of smoke screen behind him, blotting out the highway.
He drove slowly, feeling the dust settling on him, drying his throat and filling his nostrils with fine powder. He thought it was extraordinary that in a few miles he should leave a clean, fresh town and find himself in a desert.
The dirt road climbed steeply. It was broken by old wheel tracks and his car began to lurch and’ jolt. Once, hitting a bad pothole, he felt the chassis bang down on the springs and he wondered if the springs had gone.
At the top of the hill, he stopped and stood up in the car.
Away over to his right, he could see Fairview lying in the valley. He could see the tall factory chimneys, the main road running through the orderly building like a dividing river and the squat, ugly Clarion building. Somewhere in that building Clare was working. He wondered if she was thinking about him or whether she had already dismissed him from her mind.
In front of him, off the road, was a line of wire fence strung out across the dusty, barren fields. On the far side of the field, he could see a little cluster of buildings.
He climbed out of the car and leaving it by the side of the road, he jumped the wire fence and set out across the field.
The sun was hot and although he didn’t hurry, he was soon sweating. The dust bothered him too, spurting up over his shoes and filling the cuffs of his trousers.
Three-quarters of the way across the field, he could see the line of wooden shacks quite plainly. There were six of them. Five bungalows and a two-storied house. All the buildings were bleached white by the sun and rain and they seemed to sag like weary old men too tired to stand straight and too indifferent to lie down.
He was aware that there were people standing in the various doorways, watching him uneasily. He could feel their hostile, nervous looks even before he reached the shacks.
In the open doors, the women stood watching him. Behind them, children, who peered round their mothers’ skirts, stared at him with black intent eyes.
The men lounged by the broken gates of the shacks, like advance guards, prepared t
o take the first shock before an attack could reach their doors. They were a motley crew, dirty, bad and suspicious.
The one man who paid him no attention sat on the porch of the two-storied house. He was dressed in a dirty, torn overall and a dark shirt, an old battered hat rested on the back of his head. It was difficult to guess his age. Duke thought maybe he was forty or maybe he was sixty. He couldn’t tell. But, he was big and powerful, with tremendous shoulders and a big chestnut coloured beard.
He sat in the shade, whittling a piece of wood with a long thin knife.
Duke looked at the other men and decided that this fella would be the boss, if they had such a person in a dump like this. He walked up to the rotten gate, lifted the latch and eased it tenderly back. One of the hinges had broken and the other was hanging by a screw.
He walked up the flat mud path, feeling the eyes of the others on him, making him a little uncomfortable.
The big bearded man didn’t look up. He went on whittling at the wood.
‘Mornin,’ Duke said. ‘Are you the headman of this outfit?’
‘Suppose I am?’ the big fellow returned, without looking up. ‘Would that be any of your business, mister?’
‘Depends what sort of headman you are,’ Duke returned, resting his foot on the porch and pushing his hat to the back of his head. ‘Maybe you and I can do a little business.’
The big man looked up sharply. ‘Listen, mister,’ he said, coldly. ‘You’re wasting your time. I’ve had a dozen guys out here in the last two weeks talking business. I ain’t interested in business. All I’m interested in is keeping Pinder’s End for these folks here.’ He jerked his thumb to the tenants who stayed just out of hearing, watching with dumb, cold attention.
‘I’m Harry Duke,’ Duke said. ‘Maybe you’ve heard of me.’
The big man showed interest. ‘From Bentonville, huh?’ he said. ‘What do you want out here?’
Duke lowered himself carefully on to the dusty porch. ‘I’m interested in Pinder’s End,’ he said, slowly. ‘Like a lot of people, but not in the same way. I heard the place’s been sold and you’ve all got notice to quit.’
1944 - Just the Way It Is Page 9
