by J. T. Edson
‘We’ll take it in and let Jed Cornelius run some tests,’ Alice said. ‘But we’ll go and talk to the Airport Detail first.’ While the deputies had intended to ask if Vellan had been seen around the airport, and to learn how long the locker had been rented by him, they found a more pressing matter awaiting them.
‘I was just going to call you,’ announced the lieutenant commanding the watch. ‘Hagmeyer came in on the eight o’clock west-bound flight last night. His ticket had been bought in Newark, New Jersey.’
‘Which’s why Mrs. Lubbitz never saw him,’ Alice remarked.
‘There’s more than that,’ the lieutenant warned. ‘Mrs. Hagmeyer’s just come in with a long-haired creep. Grace Emmet broke the news to her and’s gone with her out to East Shore Drive.’
‘Why there?’ Brad demanded.
‘That’s where Mrs. Hagmeyer insisted on going,? the watch commander replied. ‘I’ll say one thing. She took to hearing that she was a widow real well.’
Nine
Sergeant Grace Emmet might have been an off-duty hostess for a major airline. Always well-dressed, she had the same svelte appearance of politely-concealed superiority most of them cultivated; an asset when mingling with the crowds at the airport. While she had hoped for an appointment to the Sheriff’s Office, being assigned to the elite Airport Detail had removed most of her disappointment.
In any case, she was too professional a peace officer to let jealousy interfere with her work.
‘Hi Alice, Brad,’ she greeted as she opened the door at 28 East Shore Drive. ‘I thought you’d be around.’
‘We came as soon as we heard,’ Alice replied. ‘Thanks for holding off the reporters and keeping her under wraps.’
‘It’s all part of the A.D.’s service, for no extra charge. The New York police had tried to contact her, but she was already en route. So we checked that she was on the flight and brought her off the back way.’
‘Had she heard that he was dead?’ Brad asked.
‘Not as far as we know,’ Grace answered, closing the door behind the deputies. She nodded to. the tall, lean Mexican who stood at the rear end of the entrance hall. ‘Joe Tiburcio and I broke it to her.’
‘How did she take it?’ Alice wanted to know.
‘I’ve seen some in my time,’ Grace replied vehemently, ’
‘but she’s the end. It was a shock, I’ll swear to that, but I’ve seen a horse show more emotion when its master died. At first she didn’t even want us to come with her. As soon as we got here, she eased Joe and me into the kitchen and left us there. She’s in the sitting-room with that English actor, Jody Shacklin. Have you heard of him?’
‘We always miss his movies,’ Alice admitted. ‘Let’s go see her, Brad. Can you wait until we get through, Grace?’
‘Why not?’ the sergeant said. I’ll make you both a cup of coffee, you’ll probably need it.’ She walked along the passage with the deputies and went on, ‘They’ve only got their hand-baggage with them. The rest wasn’t unloaded but we didn’t want to wait until it was.’
‘I don’t suppose there’ll be anything in it,’ Alice answered.
Apart from its occupants, the room looked the same as it had on Alice and Brad’s last visit. S.I.B.’s search team were experts and had removed all traces of their abortive hunt for scientific evidence.
Seated on the divan, Judith Hagmeyer eyed the newcomers with a mixture of disinterest and thinly-veiled disdain. She was a tall, slender woman with long, straight black hair framing a thin, good-looking face which skilled work by an expert beautician only just prevented from showing its age. Studying the pallid features, Alice could see no trace of grief. Jewelry glinted in profusion about the woman. The mini-dress and knee-high black patent leather boots did nothing to increase her attraction to Brad’s experienced eyes.
By the woman’s side, Jody Shacklin displayed much the same emotions. A smear of lipstick, matching Judith’s, showed at the corner of his petulantly loose-lipped mouth. His lank brown hair hung shoulder long and his face had a gaunt, hollow-eyed pallor. Tall, lean, he wore a maharishi tunic, with the inevitable ‘peace’ medallion, slacks and sandals.
Despite avoiding his films, the deputies knew a little about Shacklin. After graduating as a school-teacher from a British state-supported university, he had become an actor. He first came to the public’s notice in a twice-weekly television soap-opera, playing a sullen university drop-out who was unable to come to terms with the capitalist society. Having achieved fame—and wealth—in the role, he had left the program after announcing he did not wish to become type-cast. Since then he had appeared in a television play as a university graduate who sullenly dropped out because he could not reconcile himself to the modem capitalistic world, and two films in which he played respectively a sullen drop-out who quit university as a protest against western society and, as a complete change, a surly university graduate who opted out because he could not condone the capitalistic western world.
Having displayed his versatility, he clinched his claim to be a great actor by always declaring his Socialist beliefs when interviewed and by featuring prominently in protest demonstrations outside the American Embassy in Grosvenor Square, London. His face, as he studied the deputies, held much the same expression it always carried when playing in one of his diverse, non-type-cast roles.
‘I’m Deputy Counter and this is my partner, Deputy Fayde,’ Brad introduced, showing his id wallet. ‘We’re sorry to intrude, ma’am, but we have to ask you a few questions.’
‘Feel free,’ Judith answered, eyeing him with predatory interest and edging away from her companion, then patting the divan between them. ‘Come and sit down so that we can talk in comfort.’ She flickered a defiant glance at Alice and went on, ‘I hope that my behavior doesn’t shock you. But Austin and I always refused to be fettered by the outmoded conventions of society.’
Smoke, curling up from an ashtray by the divan, caught Alice’s attention and her nostrils quivered a little. Then she looked at the pair on the seat with extra attention. She had been a peace officer long enough to recognize what she saw.
‘I’ve been shocked by experts, Mrs. Hagmeyer,’ Alice answered calmly. ‘And I do my best talking standing up.’
‘I meant your partner! ’ Judith sniffed.
‘I know who you meant,’ Alice replied. ‘Do you want Mr.—your friend—to stay while we talk?’
‘Come on now! ’ Judith said. ‘You know who Jody is. And he can stay. We have no secrets from each other.’
Shacklin moved restlessly on the divan. ‘Maybe I’d better go—’ he began.
‘And have these two read all kinds of motives into it?’ Judith sneered and looked straight at Alice. ‘Before you start jumping to conclusions, Austin knew all about Jody. We never—’
‘So you just told us,’ Alice cut in. ‘Why didn’t you come to Gusher City with your husband, Mrs. Hagmeyer?’
‘I should have thought it would be obvious even to a couple of fuzz,’ the woman answered, laying a hand on Shacklin’s sleeve and tightening her hold as he tried to move away. ‘It was nothing as—what you would call—sordid as it seems. Austin wanted to spend a quiet week studying the script for our next production.’
‘He only arrived yesterday,’ Alice said gently.
Although the words had been spoken in a casual manner, they brought about an instant response. Judith stiffened and glared at the deputies.
‘How do you mean, he only arrived yesterday?’ she croaked. ‘If this’s your idea of a joke—’
Alice had framed her comment deliberately to see how the woman reacted. Unless Judith was a remarkable actress, discovering that her husband had arrived only the previous day had handed her a hell of a shock. She exchanged a startled glance with Shacklin, who freed his arm and edged farther away from her.
‘We leave making jokes to Virg Grayne, or Rowan and Martin’s Laugh-In,’ Brad replied. ‘Did you expect your husband to arrive earlier?’
&nb
sp; ‘He was supposed to have been here a week ago. You haven’t made a mistake?’
‘No, ma’am,’ the big blond answered. ‘He arrived yesterday, on a flight booked out of Newark, New Jersey.’
‘Newark!’ Judith screeched, leaping to her feet.
‘Does that mean something to you, Mrs. Hagmeyer?’ Alice asked.
Spitting out a reply that would have been more suitable from a dockyard worker who had dropped a heavy weight on his foot, Judith lunged forward with her arms raised. She crooked her fingers, the long nails like talons ready to rake at Alice’s face.
Since her rookie days, Alice had been involved in several such assault attempts. Sufficient for her to react instinctively. With fingers straight and together, thumbs bent across the palms, she chopped the heels of her hands hard at the insides of Judith’s forearms. Struck against the nerve-centers about two inches below the elbows, the karate tegatana, hand sword, blows numbed and weakened the widow’s arms and prevented her hands from reaching their objective.
Coming to his feet, Shacklin made as if to approach the women. Without waiting to learn what the actor’s intentions might be, Brad laid the palm of his right hand against the other’s face and shoved. Lifted from his feet, Shacklin
went backwards. His legs struck against the divan and he fell across it. Rolling on to the floor, he stayed there and stared in fright at the blond giant who had handled himself with effortless ease.
Although Shacklin had stood up meaning to impress a potential employer with his loyalty and unswerving devotion, he hurriedly revised his plans. In each of his films, he had ‘won’ tough fights against neo-Fascist public-school or militaristic characters; and on a ‘peaceful’ student demonstration had been one of a party of eight who had kicked and battered a young police constable unconscious. Yet he felt no inclination to demonstrate his fighting prowess against Brad. For one thing he had no stand-in to do the fighting and the big deputy was not a stunt-man who would obligingly fall down when hit, no matter how amateurishly. Nor was he a single, unarmed, slim young constable attacked by several assailants in the anonymity of a dark street. Anything Shacklin attempted against the blond giant must be done by his own, unaided efforts. It was not an alluring prospect.
Another thought drummed through Shacklin’s head. This was not England, with left-wing Members of Parliament eager to ‘investigate’ even the most unjustified allegation of police brutality, providing it came from the right source. Instead he was in Texas, a Southern State where the Fascist-hyena police could practice atrocities with impunity. So he stayed cringing on the floor, trying to frame a demand to see the nearest British consular representative.
While her partner dealt with the actor, Alice continued almost automatically with subduing the widow. Gripping Judith’s right elbow from below with her left hand, Alice thrust the arm upwards and turned the woman away from her. Standing behind Judith’s back, Alice had her right arm extended across the top of the woman’s chest and left shoulder. With the widow’s right arm forced upright against her own left shoulder, Alice flashed her left hand across to join her right. Interlocking her fingers, she applied sufficient pressure at the side of Judith’s neck to end the cried-out curses and struggles. Separating her hands, Alice took the left down to grip Judith’s left elbow. As the door flew open and the two police officers burst in, Alice hooked her right leg behind the widow and dumped her on to the divan.
‘I’ll fix you!’ Judith sobbed. ‘I’ll have your badge for this!’
While certain she could justify her conduct should the widow lodge a complaint with the Internal Affairs Bureau—which investigated allegations made against local peace officers for the County Commissioners’ Disciplinary Board—Alice did not want the matter to go that far. So, ignoring Grace’s and Tiburcio’s demands to be told what the hell was happening, she went to the divan. Bending, she took a lipstick-stained cigarette butt from the ashtray and held it where the widow could see it.
‘Why don’t you try smoking tobacco, Mrs. Hagmeyer?’ Alice suggested. ‘It’s cheaper, safer, more soothing to the nerves—and a whole heap less likely to get you into trouble with the law.’
Crouching on the floor, Shacklin thought of the contents of his cigarette-case and Judith’s handbag. All too well he recognized the gravity of the situation. Maybe in England, where one prominent television celebrity announced he would rather have his daughter’s boy-friend arrive drugged than drunk, a conviction for possession or addiction to narcotics was a way of gaining the critics’ acclaim as a liberal, progressive artist. The same did not apply in the United States. In fact the contents of his cigarette-case could cause him to be deported. Not a bad thing in one way, for the deportation would assure him numerous appearances on British television. However, he had come to America to appear in shows and make a film for far more money than he could hope to make in Britain. It was clearly a time to show where one’s loyalties lay.
‘She—Judith—attacked the officer without provocation!’ he announced.
Twisting around on the divan, Judith stared at Shacklin and her pale face glowed with fury.
‘You stinking limey son-of-a-bitch!’ she hissed. ‘You’re dead. When I’ve done with you, they won’t even let you into a theatre to sweep the stage—Which’s about all you’re fit to do.’
‘Is it?’ Shacklin spat back, coming to his feet. ‘Well—!’ Seeing the big blond deputy eyeing him, the actor relapsed into silence.
‘Take Mr. Shacklin out of here, Grace, Joe,’ Alice ordered.
‘It’s nothing. Mrs. Hagmeyer was just a touch hysterical is all.’
‘Huh huh!’ Grace grunted, for her hose was as keen as Alice’s for the smell of marihuana.
‘See Mr. Shacklin’s taken care of, will you?’ Brad went on, reaching up to brush the fingertips of his right hand lightly on his jacket’s left shoulder.
‘We’ll do just that,’ Tiburcio promised, reading a signal from the apparently casual gesture. ‘Come with us, Mr. Shacklin. We don’t have any tea, but Grace brews the best cup of coffee in Texas.’
‘Don’t limit me,’ Grace told her partner. ‘Say in the whole United States. I saw your last movie, Mr. Shacklin. It was great. I hope you’ll give me your autograph.’
While addressing the actor in friendly tones, the police officers escorted him from the room. An awareness of being left alone filled Judith as she watched Shacklin’s willing departure. Then she turned frightened eyes to the deputies.
‘I suppose you’ll take me in on a holding rap?’ she muttered.
‘Not unless we have to,’ Alice answered. ‘Can you talk sense yet?’
‘Y-yes.’
‘What, or who, is in Newark?’
‘Eunice Ullstrom. She’s been hanging on to Austin’s shirttail for months after a part in hi—our next production. If I thought that he’d been with her—’
‘Yes?’ Alice prompted, deciding that nonconformity with out-moded conventions only worked one way in Judith Hagmeyer’s book.
‘It doesn’t matter now,’ the widow replied. ‘Austin’s dead, so there’ll be no production.’
‘Why?’ Brad asked.
‘Nothing’s been put on paper yet, no contracts drawn up, anything. If I know the creep who wrote it, he’ll be looking for a new producer already. It’s a sure thing. It’s got everything Hair has only more so. But with Austin dead, it’s gone.’
‘Why did your husband decide to come to Rockabye County, Mrs. Hagmeyer?’ Brad asked.
‘To read the book, look for backers among the oil-set and have a vacation.’
‘But why Gusher City?’ Alice inquired. ‘Sure we’ve got our oil families, but you could find as many in Dallas, or Houston.’
‘Has he been here before?’ Brad went on.
‘I think so. He travelled around before he came to New York. Yes, I remember, he said once that he’d been here just after the War. World War II, that is.’
‘Do you know what he was doing while he was her
e?’ Brad wanted to know, for just after World War II Gusher City had been a wild, wide-open town run by gangsters.
‘He never said,’ Judith answered. ‘But whatever it was, it wouldn’t be much. He was nothing, from nowhere, when I first met him. Touting for stag shows. It was me who gave him his start—and he was two-timing me with a lousy Swedish whore with all her talent in her tits!’
‘Who’d want your husband dead, Mrs. Hagmeyer?’ Alice asked, not wanting the woman to sink into a morass of self-pity while there were questions still to be dealt with.
‘Not me!’ the woman answered bitterly. ‘So he was two-timing me? I could have divorced him and claimed alimony.’
‘You’ll inherit his money though,’ Brad guessed.
‘What there is of it,’ Judith admitted. ‘We always lived high. And that Swedish whore will have had her hands in his pockets. Believe me, Austin Hagmeyer, may he rot in hell, was worth more to me alive than dead. That show—’
‘Who would want him dead then?’ Alice insisted.
‘He’s made enemies, who hasn’t in show-biz? He was always getting threatening letters, from blue-noses, right-wing cranks, like that.’
‘Has he had any recently?’
‘Not since our last show closed three weeks back.’
‘Were any of the letters mailed from Texas?’
‘Not that we noticed. Who bothers with that kind of trash?’ Judith sniffed, bringing her eyes from Brad every time Alice asked another question. ‘Hey, though. There’s a live one here in town.’
‘Who, ma’am?’ Brad asked.
‘We came by some night-spot on the way from the airport,’ Judith replied with more animation than she had shown since Alice thrust her on to the divan. ‘Virgil Grayne’s playing there.’
