A Taste for Violence (14 page)

“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?”

“’Stead of Brand? There’d be hell to pay. Brand would be a hero and we’d have strikes all over the country.”

“Maybe not. Why not make a deal with Brand?”

“What kind of deal?”

“Put it up to him straight. He’s in one hell of a spot right now and he knows it. Look at it this way.” Shayne sat down and poured himself another drink.

“I’m from the outside looking in,” he went on. “You’re bucking a losing proposition here in Centerville. Maybe you can pull this off. I’m not sure you can, but maybe.”

“No maybe about it,” rumbled Elwood. “Brand hasn’t got a chance.”

“Aren’t you forgetting the evidence that may have been in my letter from Roche?”

“Then there is somethin’…”

“I’m not saying whether there is or not. I’m admitting you may be able to ride this out. But it’s just one wave, Elwood. The tide is rising against you. There’ll be another man… and another… like Brand. You can’t arrange a murder every time and get a conviction every time. You may be able to sit on the bomb another year or so, but the fuse will keep getting shorter. You’ve got this chance to get in solid. Fix things so you’ll stay in the saddle and there’ll be labor peace in Centerville for years to come.”

“What’s your proposition?”

“That you and I throw in together. Jethro Home might be persuaded to come back to testify, and Dave Burroughs
might
repudiate that statement you got from him this evening if you suggested it. With what I’ve got, we can spring Brand and put a noose around Seth Gerald’s neck at the same time.”

“Why in hell would we do that?” he demanded. “I told you…”

“And I say we could make a compromise deal with Brand before we go through with it. Fix up some sort of settlement with the miners… give them certain concessions that’ll keep them happy for a long time. You’d be their friend… their benefactor. In solid with them.”

A slow grin spread Elwood’s thick lips. “Mr. Persona,” he said slowly, “would be fit to be tied. Any concessions the miners get here would spread all over the state… and fast.”

Shayne said, “To hell with Persona. You’ve got yourself to think of… and Centerville.”

The grin faded from Elwood’s lips. He rolled his bulging eyes up at Shayne. Suspicious eyes. “Where would you come out?” His tone was suspicious. “Isn’t your fee contingent on Brand’s conviction?”

“I like the feel of money,” Shayne told him flatly, “but I’ve already cashed a five-grand check from Charles Roche on this job. And I’ve never helped frame an innocent man, no matter what you may have heard about me. And I don’t think,” he went on grimly, “too much of my chances for ever collecting that fee from AMOK. Not if you’re telling the truth that it wasn’t your men who tried to run me off the road tonight.”

“I swear it wasn’t,” rumbled Elwood.

“Then it was some of Persona’s deputies.”

“I didn’t like what you said awhile ago about taking over my job.”

“Then you’d better throw in with me and make a deal with Brand.”

“Or else?” His expression and his voice were still filled with suspicion. He looked down at the .38 on his lap.

Shayne shrugged. “I don’t like ultimatums.” He emptied his glass and got up. “Why don’t you think it over?”

“And what’ll you be doing?”

“Digging up evidence to hang Seth Gerald. The only way you can stop me is with a bullet.”

He turned and went out the door with long, slow strides, down the hallway and out the front door.

THE hands of the big wall clock pointed to eleven when Shayne got back to the Eustis Restaurant. The dinner crowd had thinned somewhat, but there were still couples dancing to the jukebox music and some half dozen tables occupied. He stopped just inside the door, lit a cigarette and looked over the crowd, grinned at the expression of alarm and surprise on the proprietor’s face, and strolled over to the desk. He said mildly:

“Things are going to be different around here from now on. You’ll have to take your profit out of the business and pass up the split fees you’ve been collecting.”

The proprietor swallowed his Adam’s apple and brought it up again. “I don’t know what… you’re talkin’ about,” he stammered.

“The hell you don’t. Next time you phone the cops to come and pick up a drunk, they won’t be in such a hurry to get here.”

“I didn’t… I swear I never did,” he drawled.

“Nuts,” said Shayne. He turned to look back at the table he and Lucy Hamilton had occupied. Rexard was still there, with a man he had not seen before. Turning back to the proprietor, he scowled heavily and demanded, “Where’d my girl go?”

“Your… girl?”

“Yeh. The young lady I was with before your stooges made the mistake of picking me up outside the door. A yokel named Titus Tatum was with her when I left.”

“Oh… her? Why, she and Mr. Tatum went out around half hour ago. You say you got picked up… by the police?” He was perspiring freely, and his glasses slid down on his nose. He pushed them up, and wet his lips with his tongue.

Shayne grinned and said good-naturedly, “Don’t try pulling your stuff on me. Just remember next time not to pick on a bosom friend and pal of Hank Elwood’s.”

He left the proprietor swallowing his Adam’s apple again, and threaded his way between empty tables toward Rexard.

The balding dry-cleaning man looked up with a start, and his jaw dropped laxly. “Mr. Shayne! I sure didn’t expect…”

“To see me back so soon?” Shayne supplied. He drew out a chair and dropped into it. “Where did you think I’d gone?”

“Well… I thought,” sputtered Rexard, “well, hell, the way you was staggering when you went out… I figured the cops’d grab you and throw you in the dink.”

Shayne said grimly, “They did. And right on schedule.”

“You look sorta like they treated you rough,” said Rexard.

“As a matter of fact, they were gentle as lambs,” said Shayne, touching his sore and split lip lightly, “in comparison to some things I’ve observed.” He twitched the corners of his mouth pleasantly. “They handed me this souvenir of Centerville justice before Chief Elwood decided it was all a mistake.” He looked across the table at Rexard’s companion, a thin, middle-aged man, pale and gray. He wore gold-rimmed glasses and a strained smile. “I don’t believe I’ve met your friend,” he added, turning to Rexard.

“Pardon me. I was so taken up with… well, I forgot my manners. Mr. Seveir, meet Mr. Shayne. Mr. Seveir publishes the
Gazette,”
he explained, turning to Shayne again.

The publisher held out a bony hand. “Stranger in town, Mr. Shayne?” His pale eyes beamed behind his glasses. “The
Gazette
is always interested in visitors.”

“I’m a stranger,” Shayne admitted, crushing the publisher’s frail fingers in an iron grip, “but I’m getting acquainted fast.” He upquirked the corners of his wide mouth, carefully protecting the slit in his lip. “How would you like to run a story on how the local jail stinks?”

Mr. Seveir chuckled and caressed his aching hand. “I see you must have your little joke, Mr. Shayne.”

“I’m not joking,” Shayne said harshly. “Vomit on the floor, stale urine, clogged toilets, and men sleeping on concrete floors and iron bunks with no bedding, and denied the privilege of calling in a lawyer or friends.” He turned suddenly from Seveir’s bewildered and astonished eyes and asked Rexard, “What became of Lucy Hamilton and Titus Tatum?”

“They went out with Mr. Persona. He runs AMOK. A very important man from Lexington. He dropped in soon after you left.”