Moment of Violence

by George Harmon Coxe

Dave was standing by the window when Sankar entered and he listened to the other’s apologies as he explained what had happened. Dave waved the apologies aside. He said he knew Sankar was a busy man and that he also had an appointment. He said he would make some inquiries. He said it was likely that he might be in Trinidad some time the following week.

  “If I get to Port of Spain,” he said, “I’ll be in touch with you.

  He got out fast then, aware that he was perspiring freely, that his legs were a little shaky, not so much at the narrowness of his escape but at the realization of what he, a staid Boston attorney with an ingrown respect for the law and rights of others, had just done.

  Joan was waiting for him in the lobby, her eyes bright with interest and an unaccustomed eagerness showing in her face as she hurried to meet him. Hardly breaking stride, he took her arm, turned her, and started toward the street entrance.

  “Let’s get out of here.”

  “Where?”

  “I don’t know yet, but I need a drink, and not here.”

  “Did I do all right?” she asked.

  “Perfect. You were wonderful.”

  When they came out into the sunshine, Clarence, who had been talking to some other drivers across the street, started toward them. Dave waved him away. He said they would go down to the Continental Hotel, which stood about seventy-five yards down the road, and that Clarence could pick him up there.

  There were no sidewalks here but they kept to the edge of the road, one eye on the traffic. They swung into the entrance of the Continental, Joan almost trotting to keep up with him, and continued through the lobby to the porch at the rear which overlooked the sea. Here he found a table off to one side and beckoned to a waiter. Not bothering to ask Joan what she wanted, he ordered two rum punches, not very sweet, and then sat down and pulled the reports from his pocket.

  “Whew!” he said as he let his breath out.

  “What does that mean? Did you have any trouble?”

  “No. It’s just that I’m not used to that sort of thing.”

  “Who is?” She touched the sheets which were spread out before him. “What are those?”

  He told her, and as soon as the waiter served the drinks he began to read. He saw at once that this was a report, the original of which apparently had been given to Richard Dunning, of certain activities of Mrs. Dunning because Sankar had referred to his subject as Mrs. D. The first paragraph told how Sankar had followed Mrs. D. from her home, and the date on the report suggested that this had been done sometime yesterday. It was the second paragraph, however, that made Dave pay attention.

  … She went first to the store of Mr. Ramadhin, the jeweler, on Temple Street. As I entered and engaged the clerk in conversation I was able to see Mrs. D. and Mr. Ramadhin entering the rear office. Before he pulled the curtain I noted that she had removed a black cloth bag from her basket.

  So that I would be better able to follow Mrs. D. when she left, I took up a position outside the store. About fifteen minutes later she appeared and walked down Temple, turning left at the corner and continuing to Broad. Here she crossed the street and entered the Dominion Bank. From where I stood at one of the writing desks I observed her speaking to someone at the Foreign Exchange counter. She waited there while this clerk went to the manager’s office, knocked, and entered. He reappeared immediately and beckoned to Mrs. D. and she then entered the office.

  I continued to watch the door. A short time later one of the cashiers was summoned to the office. When he reappeared I watched closely and saw that he was collecting a considerable amount of currency in new bills. When he had finished, the bills were put into a large envelope and returned to the manager’s office. Soon Mrs. D. came out. She left the bank and I followed her to Goddard’s. She went upstairs to the restaurant and bar and a corner table on the veranda where Mr. L. was waiting.

  From the inside I could observe them clearly and I saw them have a drink together. I watched them talking intently but I could not get close enough to hear what was said. I continued to wait until Mrs. D. stood up and left. When she did so the envelope she had brought from the bank was on Mr. L.’s lap. Since my assignment was to follow Mrs. D. I did so until she went back to her car and returned home.

  He passed the report to Joan and told her to read it, and when she gave it her attention he glanced at the second one. This one was headed For Mr. Crawford but he soon discovered that the report was exactly the same as the one he had just read. At first he didn’t believe it. He had to read halfway through before he was convinced, and when he sought an answer he finally had to accept the only one that seemed possible under the circumstances.

  Joan passed the first report back to him, her brow again furrowed and bewilderment showing in her eyes. “What does it mean?” she asked finally.

  “What do you think?”

  “It looks as if she pawned, or sold, the family jewels. The jeweler must have given her a check and she took it to the bank to get it cashed and then she gave the cash to Mike.”

  Dave said that’s the way it looked to him, too, and then he passed her the second report and told her what it contained. He said the only explanation he could find was that both Dunning and Crawford had been interested in Mrs. Dunning’s movements.

  “Neither knew about the other and naturally Sankar didn’t tell them. They wanted to know what Alice Dunning was doing and all Sankar had to do to collect twice was to make two identical reports.”

  “So that’s how Mike got that cash,” Joan said.

  “That’s how he got some of it, anyway. Maybe most of it. The trouble is, I didn’t find it.”

  “Find it where?”

  “Why—in Sankar’s room.”

  “Oh?” Joan said, her inflection suddenly cool. “So that’s why you wanted to search his room?”

  “Naturally,” Dave said. “Sankar was there at the time of the murder or somewhere around that time. He could have taken that metal box. If not, he might know who did. When you told me who he was I thought there was a chance he might have that box or the money or—”

  “I see. So you were still worrying about poor Gloria.”

  Dave looked at her, sensing her displeasure but not yet understanding the reason for it. Distance had replaced the warmth and friendliness in her eyes and her mouth was somehow tighter.

  “Gloria’s had a tough time.”

  “I know. And who’s fault is that? She could have had you without lifting a finger, but no, she wanted Mike. Well, she got him. She made her own decision, didn’t she?”

  “Look.” Dave reached for her hand but she moved it before he could touch her. “She make a mistake and she paid for it. For nearly five years. We talked with Mike’s lawyer this morning. There’s nothing except the five thousand dollar insurance policy and I haven’t had time to find out if that’s still in force. Certainly I’d like to find the money for her. Why else would I—”

  “I thought you might have a little concern for me.”

  “For you?”

  “The police still have an idea I might have killed Mike,” she said, a perceptible quiver in her lips that she quickly stilled. “I could tell the way Major Fleming talked. After all, I’m the only one who admits seeing Mike before he was killed and after he was killed. I was there when it happened. I ran away when I shouldn’t have. I didn’t admit I knew anything until I was forced to.”

  Dave watched her, troubled by what he saw, and feeling again the pressure of that Mauser against his hip. When, he asked himself, was he going to be able to get rid of it and what was he going to do with it? He didn’t know. Neither did he want to think about it now because he did not like the conclusions that resulted from such thoughts.

  “It’s not as bad as that, Joan,” he said, trying to reassure her. “I don’t think the major really thinks you killed Mike, but you were there and you did run out and he’s a policeman. That means he has to be suspicious of everyone.”

  “But if they don’t find out who did, I ma
y have to stay here until they do.”

  “They’ll find out,” he said. “And speaking of Fleming”—he stood up and reached for her hand—”I think you’d better telephone him and tell him about Sankar.”

  “Why me? You’re the lawyer.”

  He tried to explain to her. He said they couldn’t very well admit that they had tricked Sankar and searched his room, and that he had no intention of admitting that he had engaged in a bit of larceny.

  “I’ll talk to him if you want me to,” he said. “But it would be simpler if you just called him and said you recognized Sankar and followed him to the Seaside and found out what his name was. Let the police take it from there. They’ll question Sankar and if they want you to identify him later you can do so.… So how about lunch?”

  “No, thanks.” She went with him through the lobby and out on the street, and as they stood waiting for Clarence and his taxi he could still feel the distance between them. “I’m going to rent myself a car,” she said finally, “and then I’m going out to the Carib Club and have lunch there. After all, I have to pay for it anyway.”

  Aware that further argument was useless at the moment, Dave said all right. He said he would give her a lift down to Starr’s Garage and she could rent her car there. He said he would probably rent one for himself because he didn’t feel like using the car Mike had left in the bungalow garage.

  10

  IN THE END, the problem of telling the police was solved by a compromise; they both went to police headquarters and they took Clarence with them. Major Fleming was not in but Inspector Gomes listened with interest as Joan told how she had followed Eric Sankar to the Seaside Hotel. Clarence spoke of the near accident of the night before and said the car he recognized had been rented to Sankar. Gomes seemed duly impressed. He thanked them for their trouble and said the matter would be investigated.

  From there they drove to Starr’s Garage where Joan selected a small Hillman and filled out the necessary papers. She was pleasant enough but far from cordial when she said good-bye, and now Dave went through the same procedure, taking out a car that was almost identical with Joan’s. It had a four-speed gear box and when he had been shown where the reverse was he started out, determined to keep to the left and concentrating on the left-hand shift. It was more difficult than he had expected but he found the main street and managed to locate a parking space not far from Goddard’s. Then, having no further interest in Mike Ludlow’s papers at the moment, he locked the envelope in the glove compartment when he left the car.

  A bottle of Dutch beer and a sandwich gave him a chance to cool off and improved his spirits. Instructions from the waiter gave him an idea as to how to get out of town and he had to stop only once to ask the way. Even so he had to concentrate continually so that by the time he finally parked behind the garage, he felt hot and sticky, and the only thought he had in mind was to get his clothes off and into the sea.

  He saw no one as he waded in. He swam straight out, taking it easy but moving steadily for perhaps fifty yards before he stopped to tread water. He saw then that the Dunning house, which heretofore had been closed off by the contour of the beach, was now in full view. He also saw the woman sitting out front above the high-water line. A beach umbrella obscured her face but an easel and a stand had been set up and she was working diligently with her brushes. When he saw that she was looking up the beach away from him he started to swim diagonally toward her.

  He came in almost soundlessly and she did not glance round until he began to wade ashore. By then he could see that she was clad in white shorts and a halter, and the collapsible canvas stool she was using was so placed that the sun touched her back and left her head and the painting in the shade of the umbrella. She continued to ignore him after that first glance and her refusal to recognize his presence as he came up to examine her work seemed pointed and deliberate. This was her way of telling him he was intruding, and he knew it. Under other circumstances he would have respected her desire for privacy, but because there were some things he wanted to know he was ready to accept the rebuff.

  “That’s very good,” he said.

  “I hope it will be when it’s finished.”

  “Did you learn that in Trinidad?”

  “Some of it.”

  He watched her work for a silent moment and then, because he was not too good at verbal fencing with women, he decided to make a direct attack and see what happened.

  “Did your husband give you a hard time when he found out about the jewels?”

  He saw her full-fashioned body stiffen as he spoke. The brush she had been using dropped from her hand and she grabbed at it and missed. Even so she reacted quickly and her self-control was remarkable. “Oh, damn!” she said as she picked up the brush. She swished it around in a jar of water and took plenty of time when she held it up to make sure it was clean. “Jewels?” she said finally. “What are you talking about?”

  “The ones you took to Ramadhin, remember? He gave you a check and the bank manager put the cash in an envelope and then you went up to Goddard’s and gave it to Mike Ludlow.”

  This time there was no question about her reaction. For a long second or two she sat very still, the brush poised. Then, slowly, she put it aside. Still in slow motion, her shoulders began to slump and her hands came to rest limply on her bare thighs. Finally she turned her head and for the first time she looked right at him, the slackness molding her features and a tortured expression in her green eyes.

  “What do you want?” she asked huskily. “What are you trying to do to me?”

  The look on her face and the tone of her voice shamed him. This sort of thing was so out of character that he wanted to apologize and walk away, but he knew he had gone too far now to take the easy way out. Neither could he forget what Joan had said—that she would remain the chief suspect until the police could find a better one.

  “I’m trying to find out what happened last night. Somebody killed Mike and unless it was an outsider, someone—and that includes you and your husband—is lying. You said you went over there but you didn’t see Mike. You don’t know anything. But I’m pretty sure your husband knew about those jewels. He had you followed. He got a report on your movements and since I don’t know the truth about what happened I’ll have to guess.”

  He paused to see if she had any comment, but nothing had changed in her face and he said: “You were having an affair with Mike. He needed a lot of money in a hurry. You got it for him in the only way you could.… The question is, was he going to return it Monday or were you going to run away with him? Either way your husband found out about it and he went over there with a gun—”

  “He didn’t kill Mike,” she said, her voice still husky.

  “You thought so last night.”

  “I wasn’t myself last night. Why would Richard go there last night with a gun if he knew Mike was already dead?”

  “There could be a reason,” Dave said. “He could have gone over there in a fit of rage, and shot Mike, and run out. Afterwards he might have remembered something that he should have done, or shouldn’t have done. Maybe he forgot something. If he did go back, and found me on the veranda, he did the only thing he could under the circumstances. He pretended he was looking for Mike. He knew I could corroborate his story. It would be the smart thing to do. He might even have gone back deliberately when he saw me come to the house. On the face of it the police would have to assume he was in the clear.… Were you going to run away with Mike?”

  He knew, even as he asked the question, that this was a very resilient woman. She had her shoulders in place now, and she had turned her body so she could watch him. Her face was composed, her voice was controlled, and she allowed herself a small mirthless chuckle as she replied.

  “And leave all this?” She waved her hand toward the large white house at the end of the path. “Is that another one of your guesses?”

  “That’s all it is,” Dave said. “And I wish I could guess how you happened to marr
y Dunning in the first place.”

  “Do you find that so strange?”

  “Not strange, exactly, but you’re a very attractive woman and you have a striking figure. You know it as well as I do and you also know that it’s a combination most men find desirable. But your husband is at least twenty-five years older than you are; it was probably not his first marriage, and you don’t impress me as a country girl. Also, if you don’t mind my saying so, I have an idea you weren’t born with a silver spoon in your mouth.”

  “Really?” She allowed herself a small smile and the green eyes showed a flicker of interest where none had been before. “And just what do you think I was doing before I married Richard?”

  “I think you might have been an entertainer of some sort. A dancer or a show girl—”

  “You’re very good,” she said. “You really are. And if telling you the story of my life will send you on your way any happier or any sooner I’ll be glad to give it to you. In capsule form, of course.”

  She reached for her straw bag and brought it to her lap. She took out a silver cigarette case and a lighter to match. Dave had been sitting beside her, his knees high and his arms clasped about them and when she offered a cigarette he took it. She gave him the lighter and when he had a flame he held it for her, lit his own, and passed it back.

  “I was born in a manufacturing town in the north of England,” she said after she had inhaled. “Four children. A lower-middle-class family, I suppose you’d call us. I never did get used to the smoke and soot and the fact that you seldom saw the sun, so when I could I went to London. I worked as a waitress and what money I could save I put into dancing lessons. I finally got work in a series of second-rate music halls and toured a bit and, as you remarked, I did have certain physical attributes that men found intriguing.

  “I don’t know if you know it,” she continued, “but most of the girls you see in night-club acts on the Continent-dancers, show girls, strippers, or whatever—come from England. A booker I knew got me a job with a group that was about to go on tour and for the next few years that’s what I did. We were reasonably well paid and well trained, and we played the best clubs in Madrid and Barcelona and Milan and Geneva and Paris.”