A Taste for Violence ms-17

by Brett Halliday

  “Those deputies of his have got strict orders not to pull anything inside the city limits.”

  “Are they Persona’s deputies?”

  “Sworn in by the sheriff,” Elwood said indifferently. “I guess it’s no secret that AMOK pays their wages.”

  “Who ordered them to stay outside the city limits?”

  “Me, by God. Who else do you think gives orders here?”

  “That,” said Shayne, “is something you might start worrying about.” He leaned back comfortably to give the chief time to figure things out for himself. He still didn’t understand the seeming rift between Seth Gerald and the head of AMOK, but if he could do anything to widen it he wasn’t going to neglect the opportunity. It was evident that Chief Henry Elwood was a self-centered dictator, childishly envious of his position of power in the community and ready to challenge anyone who questioned it. Right now, Shayne was satisfied with the progress he had made and was content to sit back and watch things develop.

  They were at the outskirts of the village before Elwood said, “Drop us by my place,” to the driver, “and take Gar on down to the station to relieve Gantry on the desk. Bring Gantry to my place, and if he knows what I want when he gets there, I’ll know who else has been talkin’ out of turn.”

  “Jeez, Chief, you know I don’t never say nothin’.” The driver spoke for the first time since Shayne had gotten in the car. His voice sounded frightened or angry, or both.

  “Right now I’m not so sure of anything,” Elwood told him. “Been a lot of things goin’ on lately I’ve overlooked. But I’m crackin’ down from now on.”

  Neither of the men replied. The car turned to the left on a side street three blocks east of the business section and stopped in front of a rambling old two-story house surrounded by huge oaks.

  “This is it,” Elwood grunted, and pulled his bulk up from the seat. Shayne opened the door on his side and got out. The chief led the way up the walk, and the car drove away.

  He unlocked the door and ushered Shayne into a lighted hallway and on down to a door opening into a large study on the left. He pulled the cord of a floor lamp, gestured to a comfortable chair and asked amiably, “Bourbon or corn?”

  Shayne said regretfully, “You’ll hate me for this, but I’m going to say Bourbon.”

  “I don’t go for this home-grown corn so much m’self,” the chief admitted. He rummaged in the pigeonholes of a rolltop desk and pulled out a bottle of Old Dad’s Finest. From a drawer he took two stained and dusty water glasses, blew some of the dust off, and poured liquor into them, set the bottle on the floor between them and settled his heavy body in a chair near Shayne’s.

  “Now then. What was it you thought I’d better hear in private?”

  Shayne took a sip of whiskey and found it surprisingly good. Some of it got in his cracked lip and burned like fire. “I’ve got five thousand bucks riding on George Brand’s conviction,” he told the chief candidly. “I don’t like anything that looks like it might get in the way of my collecting.”

  Chief Henry Elwood understood that sort of talk. He nodded vigorously, his fat jowls waggling.

  “It’s too bad one of your men got to Brand first and warned him I’d sold out to AMOK. If I could have got some of the truth out of him we’d know better where we stand.”

  “That Gantry. That’s who it was.” His tone was placid, his lips scarcely moving, and the fleshy mound on his chin wiggling. “He’ll never sell me out again.” His protuberant eyes stared past Shayne.

  “That’s why I didn’t want to talk in front of the other men. This stuff Mrs. Roche gave me is dynamite.”

  “Let’s have it.” His fat, lashless lids rolled half-way down.

  “First, she’s prepared to swear that her husband reached an agreement with Brand to settle the strike. To take effect on his thirtieth birthday when he was to take over control from Gerald.”

  “I don’t believe it,” the chief rumbled. “Why’d Brand kill him, then?”

  “She doesn’t think he did.”

  Elwood took a drink from his water glass and snorted, “Everybody knows she’s been layin’ up with that Commie son-of-a-bitch.”

  “Except her husband?” Shayne suggested.

  “Exceptin’ him, I reckon.”

  “I’m telling you what she told me tonight,” Shayne reminded him. “It’s up to us to decide what to believe, and what to do.”

  Through an open window they heard a car coming. It slid to a stop in front of the house. Elwood got up and said, “That’ll be Andrews with Gantry. This’ll just take a minute.” He went to the desk, pushed some papers aside, and picked up a. 38 revolver with a silencer on the muzzle. Holding the gun flat against his thigh he went out into the hall. Shayne heard him open the front door. A voice that he recognized as the desk sergeant’s spoke from the porch. “You wanted to see me, Chief?”

  Elwood didn’t reply. Instead, there was a soft, plopping noise from outside the door. Shayne recognized the sound and half rose from his chair. He held himself grimly in check, his features hard and masklike, and strained to hear the low murmur of voices in the darkness outside.

  The front door slammed shut and Shayne settled back in his chair as the chief reentered the room. A faint odor of burned powder came from the silenced revolver which he carelessly laid on his desk.

  There was nothing in his manner to indicate that he had just killed a man. He said, “Pour yourself another drink and we’ll finish up our little talk.”

  13

  Shayne poured himself another drink, squinted at the liquor and said, “Suppose you’re mistaken about it being Gantry who tipped Brand off?”

  “He’s had that comin’ for a long time. You were tellin’ me about Mrs. Roche.” Elwood picked up his glass and sat down again.

  “She admits having been out drinking with George Brand a couple of times, but swears it never went beyond that.”

  “Didn’t expect her to admit the truth, did you?”

  “What is the truth?”

  “How do I know? Maybe she kept her drawers on… maybe she didn’t.” He chuckled obscenely, exercising his jowls, and added, “I’d guess she didn’t.”

  “What,” asked Shayne, “has Gerald told you about last night?”

  “Didn’t you read the Gazette?”

  “Privately, I mean.”

  “Just what’s in the paper.”

  “What about Mrs. Cornell?”

  The chief scowled. “Nobody gets much out of Ann.”

  “Was she in love with Brand?”

  “Ann ain’t in love with anybody or anything, ’cept maybe a dollar and a jug o’corn.”

  “They lived right across from each other.”

  “You mean was Ann sleepin’ with ’im? I wouldn’t doubt it. Not if he wanted to spend some money that way.”

  “What about Angus?”

  “I never could figure where Angus fits. I’ve told Ann time and again… you mean was he one of her men, too?” Chief Elwood looked incredulous. “That little dope? Not a chance. Ann likes her men big an’ tough an’ with money in their jeans.”

  “She gave me that impression, too. That’s why I wondered about Angus living there with her.”

  “I’ll tell you the way I figure. She kicks him around an’ gets a kick out of it. ’Cause he wears pants, maybe. I’ve seen her keep his dope away from ’im till he was jerkin’ and twitchin’ an’ frothin’ at the mouth. And her sittin’ there laughin’ and badgerin’ him. She don’t go much for any man, see? Figures she’s got a raw deal from ’em all along the line, so she takes it out on a little bastard that’s afraid to talk back.”

  Shayne nodded thoughtfully. “A psychologist would probably call it a compensation complex. What I really meant about Angus was, did you get anything about the murder out of him?”

  “Naw,” said the chief disgustedly. “Ann and him both claims he slept straight through everything.”

  “I’m wondering if he did.”

>   “You got some reason for thinking different?”

  “Somebody,” said Shayne, “telephoned Gerald last night to tell him Roche and Brand were meeting at Brand’s house.”

  “Sure. Mrs. Roche phoned him. She got worried about Charles and couldn’t go to sleep…”

  “She claims she wasn’t worried at all,” Shayne broke in, “because she knew they had already reached an agreement.”

  “Then why’d she phone Seth at four o’clock?” he asked obtusely.

  “She didn’t, according to her story. First thing she knew about anything was when Gerald came to the house and woke her up and asked her to say she’d phoned him if the question came up.”

  “The hell you say. Why didn’t she tell me that?”

  “I don’t say it,” Shayne reminded him patiently. “Mrs. Roche does. If you noticed that newspaper story about her this morning, she doesn’t say anything about it either way. She claims Gerald told her this afternoon it was some anonymous man who phoned him.”

  “You think maybe Angus?”

  Shayne shrugged and took a drink. “It must have been someone who saw Roche and Brand together. Or someone trying to stir up trouble.” He hesitated, frowning, then added, “Does Mrs. Cornell generally stay up all night playing her radio so loudly she can’t hear a shot in the same block?”

  “Says she had a headache and couldn’t sleep.”

  “Well, that’s Mrs. Roche’s story… just the way I got it tonight. I thought Gerald had probably told you all about it.”

  “Seth wouldn’t tell me anything that might help clear Brand. Right now he’s ridin’ pretty. Keeps control of the mines and the strike is busted with Brand in jail.”

  “I wondered about the Roche Mines. Who inherits Charles’ share?”

  “Way it was set up by old John Roche,” said Elwood, “fifty-one per cent went to Charles and forty-nine to Jimmy… to be held in trust for both of ’em with Seth stayin’ on as manager until Charles was thirty years old. He was to get his share then, but Jimmy was to keep on gettin’ the income till he was thirty.

  “But if Charles died before that, old John fixed it so that only forty-nine per cent was to go to Charles’ heirs, with the rest held in trust for Jimmy till he was thirty. Then Jimmy takes over.”

  “And Gerald will continue in complete charge for several more years,” Shayne mused, “instead of losing his job immediately.”

  “That’s right,” said Chief Elwood. “Look at it any way you want, Charles’ death was a mighty lucky thing for Seth.”

  “And for AMOK,” Shayne reminded him. “Particularly if Mrs. Roche’s story about the strike settlement is true.”

  “I reckon all the mine owners in Kentucky’ll feel easier with this strike over. Folks in this state don’t much take to the idea of miners tellin’ ’em how to run their business.”

  “Do you think Roche would have compromised with Brand if he had lived?”

  “Just between you and me,” said Elwood, “I reckon it’s most likely he would’ve. Charles was pretty close-mouthed, but he brought back some mighty fancy ideas from the war. Yes sir, way I look at it, Brand come mighty close to winnin’. Mighty damn close.”

  “According to all this,” said Shayne angrily, “Brand looks like the one man in Centerville who had every reason not to murder Charles Roche.”

  “Well sir,” said Elwood comfortably, “it might look that way if he could prove Charles had made a settlement with him. Lackin’ that, all the evidence is against him. It’ll go mighty bad for Brand when it comes out in court he bribed those men to make out an alibi for him beforehand. That’ll look mighty like premeditation to a jury. Then there was his gun, too. Lyin’ right by the body. Looks to me like your fee is already earned.”

  “Aren’t you forgetting Mrs. Roche’s testimony?” asked Shayne sharply.

  “Who’ll believe her?” Elwood waved a big hand negligently. “Prosecution’ll have a dozen witnesses to swear she was sweet on Brand.”

  “Just between the two of us,” said Shayne, “if I’d been in Gerald’s shoes last night and discovered that Roche and Brand had reached an understanding, I’d have done exactly what he did.”

  Elwood’s fat, lashless lids rolled up. He stared at Shayne for an instant, then said, “You reckon Seth gunned him to make it look like Brand did it?”

  “Don’t you?”

  “I’d keep it plumb to m’self if I did. Way things’ve been run here in Centerville for twenty years suits me right down to the ground. That bein’ the case, there’s one piece of evidence you’d better turn over to me right here and now.”

  “What’s that? I’ve only been in town a few hours and I’ve told you everything I’ve picked up.”

  “That letter Charles wrote you to Miami.”

  “I haven’t got it with me.”

  “Where is it?”

  “In a safe place.”

  “You can see how it is,” Chief Elwood said mildly. “Could be there’s something in it wouldn’t look good at Brand’s trial.”

  “Could be,” Shayne agreed.

  “Could be it’s just what we could use to clinch the case against him. If, f’rinstance, he happened to say in the letter he was afraid Brand or some of the other strikers might kill him on account of he’d decided not to deal with them. Or, if it was proof he knew Brand was chasin’ around after his wife. You can see how important that’d be as evidence.”

  “That would be extremely important,” Shayne agreed.

  “So you better turn it over to me,” Chief Elwood said in his rumbling monotone. “Just to make certain it don’t get into the wrong hands.”

  Shayne shook his red head. “I always play a lone hand.”

  Elwood emptied his glass and set it down on the floor beside the whiskey bottle. He placed a palm on each knee and considered Shayne with a level, protuberant gaze. He said, “You can figure what happened to Gantry.”

  “I figured you staged that for my special benefit.” Shayne emptied his glass and added curtly, “I’m a lot tougher than Gantry.”

  “No man is tougher than a lead slug,” Elwood said slowly.

  “But you’ve got better sense than to use one on me.” He stood up suddenly. “That letter is in a safe place… as long as I stay alive. You hope you know what’s in it, but you’re not sure. Killing me might wreck your case against Brand.”

  “What do you want, Shayne? You’ve been offered five grand if Brand is convicted.”

  “Maybe,” said Shayne lightly, “I’ve got an idea it would be fun to be chief of police in Centerville.”

  “Now, by God!” The chief moved swiftly for so big a man. He was beside the desk and had the. 38 revolver in his hand while his angry exclamation still vibrated in the room.

  Shayne didn’t move. He watched him with a twisted smile on his angular face. “I’m not a punk like Gantry. You can’t dispose of my body by dumping it outside the city limits. That fuse never was as short as it is right now, Elwood.”

  The chief’s thick body trembled violently. He breathed hard through set teeth and the mound of flesh on his chin wiggled. He forced his muscles to level the barrel of the gun on Shayne’s mid-section twice, and relaxed his grip both times. “Seth musta been right,” he grated. “He figured your signing up with AMOK was just a dodge.”

  “It was Persona’s idea,” Shayne told him.

  “Damn Persona. We don’t need his deputies messin’ into things here. Always got along okay in Centerville without outside help.”

  “Until George Brand showed up,” Shayne suggested. “When you failed to handle him, Seth Gerald must have felt you were slipping.”

  “That’s a lie. It was Seth’s idea from the first. Thought he could handle him and he wanted a strike back at the time it started. I’d of taken care of Brand right away if I’d had my way.” He looked down at the gun in his hand as though surprised and faintly embarrassed to see it there.

  “That,” said Shayne, “doesn’t make sense.
Why would any mine owner want a strike?”

  “Prices were down and there was too much production. All the other mines were shutting down and the men grumbling, and Seth got the bright idea a strike would fix things up. Just a short one. That’d go bust when the men got hungry enough. Be a sort of lesson to all the other miners.” The chief seemed to have forgotten the lethal impulse that had moved him to pick up the gun. He turned it over and over in his hands, sighed, and sat down, resting the weapon on his lap.

  “So Gerald actually imported Brand to foment a strike? Like getting hold of a tiger by the tail.”

  “I don’t think he actually brought Brand in. But he didn’t mind having him around. Not at first.”

  “And after that it was too late,” Shayne summed up thoughtfully. “Brand got such a hold on the men you were afraid to bump him off.”

  “I never was afraid to,” said Elwood pugnaciously. “Seth got worried the men never would go back to work if somethin’ happened to Brand. He did have a way with the miners.”

  Shayne was beginning to see a lot of things clearly now. Things that had been obscure before. Gerald’s defensive attitude toward Persona, for one thing. He chuckled inwardly as he reviewed the situation. How galling it must have been to Gerald to find himself outsmarted as the strike situation got out of hand. The other mine owners in the state certainly could not have viewed his experiment in labor relations with favor. He had become desperate, Shayne guessed, as the day of Charles Roche’s thirtieth birthday approached and it became more and more apparent that the new owner was preparing to settle with the striking miners on their own terms. Roche’s death… and the accusation of Brand… had become the only possible solution.

  Shayne looked down at the seated police chief and said sardonically, “It was a bad spot for you to be in all the way along.”

  “Wasn’t much I could do,” Elwood admitted sourly.

  “Gerald sounds like a hard man to work with.”

  “’Pinionated. ’Pinionated as hell. Dead-set he’s always right.”

  “How would it be if you and I put our heads together,” said Shayne slowly, “and hang a murder rap around his neck?”