Fair Prey

by William Campbell Gault

  “I wasn’t worried. I’m quitting, Willie.”

  He stared at me calmly. “Not right now. I didn’t figure that you’d stay on a job like this, but wait a while. It would look like you were forced out.”

  “Okay,” I said, “I’ll hang around a while.” And thought, but only because you asked.

  Willie looked out at the first tee. “And when you go on that trail, make no friends, no enemies. Just be a machine, boy.”

  “I mean to try. It’s hard to do.”

  “I know. I couldn’t do it. But then, I could never hit a golf ball like you can, Denny. And I’ve only seen one man who could, and his name is Sam Snead.”

  I didn’t rise to the bait. Willie was a Snead man and my man was Hogan. I went into the back shop to change the weights in Dr. Krisler’s woods.

  CHAPTER NINE

  AT TWO, CHARLES CAME in to get Judy’s clubs. At five, I went into the bar for a bottle of beer.

  Henry said, “Sorry about last night. Something came up.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” I said.

  “Who’s this Chopko character?” he asked me.

  “Never heard of him,” I said.

  Henry smiled. “Hot, huh? I’ll phone you tonight.”

  “I won’t be home,” I told him. “Let’s forget it, shall we, Henry? I’ve got too many things on my mind.”

  His eyes narrowed. “You learned something, didn’t you?”

  “Could I have a glass for this beer?” I asked patiently. “I don’t like to drink out of a bottle in front of the members.”

  “Yes, sir,” he said. “Coming right up, sir.”

  When I returned to the shop, Willie said, “You can go home if you want. I’ll be around the rest of the day.”

  “I’m restless,” I told him. “I think I’ll go down and hit some balls.”

  It’s more than a trade; it’s a solace. I spent an hour on the middle irons and a degree of mental stability came back. For that hour, I almost blanked my mind. There were only fleeting thoughts of Judy that came through.

  I hadn’t seen her since lunch; when I got to the shop to put away my clubs, I saw that hers were there. She was back from her round, but there was no sign of her around the clubhouse.

  Maybe she was giving a lot of hard thought to cheap hotel rooms.

  At fifteen, I’d worshiped money; at twenty-two, I worshiped Hogan. When had the big change come, or had it been a change? There are boys who will say the terms ‘Hogan’ and ‘money’ are synonymous. But ‘Faulkner’ and ‘money’ are more so. What did I have against the gravy train? There was one chance in a hundred that the tournament trail would prove to be that.

  At home, in the shower, I tried to give it some objective thought. Did I want to be rich or a golfer? And decided that I wanted to be both, but the more important thing was golf.

  When I came into the kitchen, Mom said, “You look smug.”

  “I feel holy,” I said. “I’ve renounced the world and material gain.”

  “If that means you’re going to be cruel to sweet Judy Faulkner, boy, you are being a fool.”

  “It means,” I said, “I am going to be what I am. Where’s Dad?”

  “With a prospect in Brentwod. That man has turned into a regular fireball.”

  We read the paper while we ate. I read that Julius Boros had won the big one at Tam O’Shanter and the Hearst National Junior finals would be held at Riviera. Six years ago, they’d been at Canyon. Mom read the society pages, but what monumental news she got from there I’m not equipped to judge. The phone rang as I was drinking my coffee.

  It was Chopko, and his voice was genial. “I’m sorry about last night. You caught me in a bad mood.”

  Both he and Henry were now sorry about last night. My sudden popularity was mysterious. I said, “It’s all right. We all have our bad days. See you around, Chopko.”

  “Wait,” he said. “Don’t hang up.”

  I waited.

  “The way I figure it,” he went on, “a sure five thousand is better than a doubtful ten. And I think you’re the boy who can assure the five. But you need a professional in your corner, Burke.”

  “I’ll give it some thought,” I promised. “Don’t call me; I’ll call you.”

  An edge of impatience in his voice. “Easy now, Burke. Your temper cost you a win at San Diego. You’re not so young you can’t learn from experience.”

  “I know. And I said I’ll give it some thought. But I haven’t got anything you can use—not yet.”

  “Maybe you don’t know what you’ve got. How about this bartender at the club? You’re chummy with him, aren’t you?”

  “Not very. He’s got the same idea about me that you have; he thinks I know something he can use.”

  “Oh? I see. Well, think it over, Burke.”

  “I will,” I said. “Good night, good hunting.”

  In my mind I could see Chopko hanging up. I could see him dialing Henry’s number.

  I went back and finished my coffee. I wondered if Mrs. Evans had taken Chopko off the case. I remembered his saying that ten thousand dollars might make a suspect out of a client. Perhaps he had voluntarily taken himself off Mrs. Evan’s payroll.

  Mom said, “There’s a good movie at the Bay.”

  “Sorry,” I told her, “but I’m busy tonight.”

  At five minutes to eight, the Chev stopped in front of the Evans home on Redondo Drive.

  A maid came to the door, but Valerie Evans was waiting in the reception hall. She led me into the living room.

  There, she asked, “Drink?”

  “No, thanks,” I said.

  She looked rather longingly at the liquor cabinet, and then sat at the far end of the long davenport from me. She said, “I don’t know what prompted my outburst yesterday, but I’m sorry for it, Denny.”

  I nodded, and smiled.

  “If there is one person at that club who treats me like a human being, you’re he,” she went on. “The members snub me and the help have that faraway look when they talk to me.”

  “Maybe you’re too sensitive, Mrs. Evans,” I said. “I’ve resented some purely imaginary snubs in my time.”

  “It’s possible,” she admitted. “But I’ve overheard myself referred to as ‘that woman in his office.’ That’s before we were married. I’m his former office girl to them. I was a little more than that; I’m a registered nurse.”

  I said nothing.

  Valerie Evans picked a shred of lint from the davenport. “I think about the only bright spot I remember in the place is your smile, Denny. Which makes the memory of yesterday all the more regrettable.” She took a deep breath. “I think I’ll have a drink. You don’t mind, do you?”

  “Of course not,” I said.

  She put ice in a glass and poured whiskey over it. She came back to her former seat and took a healthy swallow. “I suppose I’m almost an alcoholic,” she said.

  I looked at the carpeting.

  Her voice was a monotone. “Bud Venier was a very good friend of mine—of ours. His death was a severe shock to me. I hired a detective to investigate it, against my husband’s wishes. I fired the detective today. He isn’t exactly what I’d hoped for in that line. I guess you know who he is.”

  “Chopko?” I asked, and she nodded.

  A moment, and I asked, “Did you tell the bartender at the club about the business at the pool in San Diego?”

  “Henry?” She nodded. “But I didn’t think it would make the newspapers. I guess Henry has sold this columnist items before.” She sipped her drink. “And I told him something else.”

  She paused and I waited.

  She finished her drink, and stood up. “I told him about a girl named Olive.”

  She went over to pour another drink, and I filled the conversational void. “Olive—?” I asked blankly.

  She nodded. “I guess you know I’ve looked at a lot of olives in my time, but I’ve never seen this one. That’s a joke, son.”

 
I managed a smile.

  Her voice was sharper. “I told Henry about this girl before Bud—before what happened happened. It was just a touch of alcoholic whimsey on my part; I wanted to see if it would wind up in that column.”

  “She was a friend of Bud’s?” I asked.

  Valerie Evans nodded emphatically. “She was a conversation piece, and the doctor and I often twitted him about her. It was Bud’s boast that no matter what girl resisted his considerable charm, he would always have Olive.”

  “Is that all you know about her, just that one name?”

  “That’s all. She became a—oh, a symbol, sort of, but Bud wasn’t joking about her, I’m sure.”

  “Did you tell Chopko about her?”

  She shook her head.

  “Did you tell Sergeant Morrow about her?”

  Again Valerie Evans shook her head. “At the time I talked to Sergeant Morrow, I had my own favorite suspect.”

  I looked at her and away and looked back again. “Do you want to tell me who that was?”

  “No. Are you sure you don’t want a drink?”

  “Thank you, no. Why did you want to tell me all this, Mrs. Evans?”

  “Because I don’t trust Chopko and I’m beginning to mistrust Henry. I thought you’d have access to the club’s member roster.”

  “I have. But we’ve no reason to think this Olive was mixed up in the murder.”

  “And no reason to think she wasn’t. Denny, I don’t want any part of the reward. I don’t want to be publicly associated with the death of Bud Venier.”

  “I understand,” I said. “But this business about a mystery woman is reaching, isn’t it? There could have been other women in Bud Venier’s life.”

  “You’re so right,” she said, and her smile was bitter. She cocked her head to one side and considered me. “Are you going to marry that All-American Faulkner darling, Denny?”

  I stood up. “I don’t know, Mrs. Evans. I intend to play tournament golf. I’m not sure that would support two people. Or even one.” I paused. “Was there any Olive at Bud’s funeral?”

  “None I noticed. I think I knew most of the women who were there.” She stood up. “There were enough of them.” She walked with me to the door. There, she put a hand on my arm. “Denny, be your own man. Don’t sell out.”

  I nodded. “Thank you. And if I’m not being impertinent, Mrs. Evans, next time you’re at the club, say ‘hello’ to a few people. You’ll be surprised how many are just waiting for that.”

  She smiled. “I might try it. Luck. Let me know what you learn, won’t you?”

  I promised her I would and went out into a clear, warm night. Olive…? A Spanish name? Mexican? Olive was quite possibly not in any way involved in the death of Bud Venier. But then again, she might be. By now, Henry was probably on her trail.

  And Henry had said there was a girl waiting in Bud’s car the night of the dance. Had that been Olive, I wondered, and who was she?

  I divided ten thousand dollars by fifteen dollars a day, and discovered it would carry me for six hundred and sixty-six days. Almost two years on the trail, if I could get by on fifteen dollars a day. With Judy along, I certainly couldn’t.

  The membership roster in the pro shop would be locked up by now, but maybe the one in the Secretary’s office was available. I started for the club, and then changed my mind. I didn’t really have a good reason to ask for a look at the Secretary’s roster. I drove over to the apartment house where Henry lived. His new Plymouth was in front and Chopko’s car, or a replica, was parked right behind it.

  I didn’t think they wanted a third party, but I had no place to go.

  Henry came to the door a few seconds after my ring. “Well,” he said. “Change your mind, Burke?”

  “Not exactly. I was just wondering if you’re working with the police on all these things you know.”

  “Come in,” he said. “A friend of yours is here.”

  It was a one room and kitchenette apartment, poorly furnished and now filled with cigar smoke. Chopko sat on a faded couch, a dead cigar stub in his mouth.

  “My, my,” he said, “the boy detective.”

  “It’s an easy league to hit in,” I told him. “Have you boys come to terms?”

  Chopko looked smug. “Between us, we have enough, I think. The jackpot wouldn’t handle a three-way split, I’m afraid.”

  I shrugged, saying nothing.

  Henry came over to sit on the couch. “You’re too late, Denny. Nice to have known you.”

  “Okay,” I said, and turned toward the door.

  “Wait,” Chopko said. “You were up at the Evans tonight, weren’t you?”

  I continued toward the door.

  Henry said, “Wait, Denny. Were you up there?”

  I turned, my hand on the doorknob. “I was. You wouldn’t want to be Mrs. Evans’ only confidant, would you?”

  Henry’s eye glittered. Chopko looked at him suspiciously. For a moment, nobody said a word.

  Then Henry said with false geniality, “I’ll see you at the club in the morning, Denny.”

  Chopko said, “Don’t be a damned fool. We don’t need him, Henry.”

  “Of course you don’t,” I said. “Stick with Chopko, Henry. Just because Mrs. Evans fired him, it doesn’t mean he isn’t competent. She’s a naturally suspicious woman.”

  There was bewilderment in Henry’s eyes now. There was reproach in them as he looked at Chopko. I closed the door on this heart-rending tableau and went down to my car.

  I had an impulse to drive over to the Faulkners, to see if Pat was back from San Francisco. There was a chance C.R. wouldn’t be the most gracious host, but there was another chance he wasn’t home. And he hadn’t told me to stay away from Judy.

  The Chev seemed to turn by herself on Amalfi Drive.

  I saw the Jaguar in the garage when I pulled into the parking area. A minute after that, I was in the breakfast room, watching Pat eat.

  Judy and her dad had gone to the ballet; Pat had just come back from Frisco. He’d had a wonderful time.

  “Playing detective?” I asked him. “Judy said you went up to check on Doctor Evans.”

  “She’s crazy. What’s happened here?”

  “Nothing much. Your dad talked to me yesterday and some gossip columnist got wind of that little hulabaloo down at San Diego with Chopko. Pat, do you know a girl named Olive?”

  He frowned. “It rings a dim bell. Maybe from my youth. Who is she?”

  “A friend of Bud Venier’s. That’s all I know about her. Mrs. Evans gave me that.”

  He smiled “Joining the manhunt, huh?”

  “Ten thousand dollars could carry me for six hundred and sixty-six days at fifteen dollars a day. I could enter a lot of tournaments in six hundred and sixty-six days.”

  “Sure, but you couldn’t live on the road for fifteen dollars a day. Migawd, a hotel room is anywhere from ten to thirty.”

  “Not my kind of hotel room, Pat. Tell me honestly, did you go to San Francisco just for a pleasure trip?”

  He nodded, his face bland. “Dad read you the riot act?”

  “No. He was very reasonable. I can guess he is getting in his innings with Judy, though.”

  Pat smiled. “Oh, yes. He’s explaining it all very quietly and sensibly in his engineer’s way. He rounded up some figures on the average tournament pro’s income over a ten-year span and broke the figures down to what that meant in terms of daily living. The way it came out, there’d be twelve cents a day left for food.”

  I thought of Judy listening to all that and could guess why I hadn’t seen her after, lunch today.

  Pat said, “But as I explained to Dad, you’re not going to be average.”

  The maid brought him a pot of coffee and he looked at me. I nodded.

  He poured two cups. “And now you can give me the scoop on this Olive. How does she fit into the picture?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Maybe she doesn’t,” Pat said.
“Maybe Mrs. Evans was offering you a big, fat red herring.”

  “She didn’t say this Olive had anything to do with the murder.”

  “That isn’t what I meant. Maybe this Olive doesn’t even exist. Who else did Mrs. Evans tell this to?”

  “To Henry, the bartender at the club-before Bud was killed.”

  “Did Henry admit that?”

  “I didn’t ask him.”

  “All right, here’s another thought; maybe this Olive was just a gag of Bud’s. He had a lot of them. He was always bragging about his conquests and I’d bet eighty percent of them were non-existent.”

  We drank our coffee in silence for a moment. I said, “Chopko was working for Mrs. Evans.”

  Pat nodded. “I know.”

  “You know other things, too, don’t you? What put you on this detective kick?”

  He smiled. “Boredom. And the unsullied name of my sister. And realizing that Chopko makes a living at it. I know I’m brighter than Chopko.”

  “You could work for your dad tomorrow, Pat. And you need ten thousand dollars like I need a tennis racquet.”

  “I need some earned income,” he answered. “I need to prove I’m not just a wastrel son.”

  “Douglas is hiring. A dollar-forty an hour to start, the way I heard it.”

  “Why, Denny! Is that adventurous?”

  Silence. The maid came in to ask if there was anything else her lord required. Pat shook his head.

  Chopko had called me the boy detective, but here was one with servants and a Jaguar. And doing better at his new trade than I was. Of course, he didn’t have to work at something else during the days.

  “What are you thinking about?” Pat asked.

  “I was thinking how tough it is to be rich. You just can’t fill up the empty days, can you?”

  He grinned at me. “Don’t be bitter, boy.” He waved expansively. “I’d trade it all for your handicap.”

  “You would like hell.”

  He wiped his mouth on a napkin. “No. And you wouldn’t trade me, and you know it.”

  I stood up. “Be careful, Pat, won’t you? You’re not half bad for a rich guy.”