A Taste for Violence (13 page)

“Gantry!” Elwood exploded. “He was in my office while Seth was there. And he was up and down the jail half a dozen times.”

“I never did trust that damn Gantry,” Gar observed sourly from the front seat. “Too damn slick and smooth-talkin’.”

“He turned me out in a hurry when Mrs. Roche asked him to,” Shayne tossed in carelessly, recalling the desk sergeant’s apparent pleasure as he dragged the beaten and bleeding Dave Burroughs through the station.

“I’ll take care of Gantry. Now if you’re on the up and up, you’ll tell us what Mrs. Roche had to say.”

This was the payoff, Shayne decided. Gerald must have realized Elsa Roche was in a mood to spill everything to an outsider. But, how much of the truth had Gerald told Elwood? It didn’t really matter, actually. If Elwood didn’t already know, he would go straight to Gerald with the story Shayne told him, and the final effect would be to put Shayne in solid with both of them.

He said, “She told me plenty, Chief. Some of it would be better for you to hear all by yourself.”

“You can talk in front of Gar and Andrews,” Elwood told him. “They know enough to keep their mouths shut.”

“You may be willing to take a chance on them, but I’m not. I haven’t seen a cop in town I’d trust not to sell his own mother out for two-bits.”

“By God, Chief, that’s an insult,” Gar said thickly.

“Shut up,” Elwood snapped. “I dunno but what he’s got somethin’.” He hesitated a moment, then said, “Turn around and go back to town, Andrews.”

The driver slowed, made a U-turn and stepped hard on the accelerator. Shayne got out a cigarette and struck a match. “Maybe I’ll have time to smoke this before you’re ready to hear what Mrs. Roche told me,” he said.

“By God, I like you, Shayne. Yes sir, you and me could get along together. No hard feelings?”

Shayne put the cigarette between his swollen lips, carefully avoiding the cut. “I don’t blame you for going off half-cocked once… just so you don’t make the same mistake twice.” He spoke lightly, but there was an underlying hardness in his voice which the chief heard and recognized.

He reacted to it by saying frankly, “You and me’ll get along just s’long as you play straight with me… and remember this is my town. Anybody gets out of line in Centerville don’t last long.”

“I’ve been hearing that ever since I landed here,” Shayne told him. “And that made me wonder why George Brand lasted as long as he did. Some people take that as proof you’re losing your grip.”

Elwood didn’t rise to take the bait. He said, “I got my ways of handlin’ things. Don’t pay too much attention to what folks say.”

“Your biggest danger,” Shayne said in a tone loud enough to make certain the men in the front seat overheard, “is that you have to depend on a bunch of dumb clucks to do your work for you. Like that pair you sent after me at Ann Cornell’s tonight.”

“It’s the truth. I could tell you… eh? what’s that last you said?”

Shayne chuckled. “Those two dim-wits that tried to pull the same stunt on me that they pulled on Joe Margule on the highway this afternoon. Don’t your boys know any other way of rubbing a man out?”

“My boys had nothing to do with Margule. That was out of the city limits.”

“And I suppose it wasn’t a couple of your men that laid for me at the Cornell house and tried the same stuff?” Shayne jeered.

“It sure wasn’t. I didn’t know you’d been there till Seth dropped in my office and told me.”

“Then,” said Shayne, “Centerville is being moved in on and you’d better get wise to it. Maybe Persona figures the town could do with another chief of police,” he added carelessly.

“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.”

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.”