A Taste for Violence

10

Her small dark face was strained, her gray-green eyes, red-rimmed and swollen, were intent upon his face. She looked sober and frightened. She caught both of his hands and gripped them with surprising strength. Her short upper lip quivered when she tried to speak. “I… had to… see you,” she managed to say.

“I didn’t expect you to be here,” Shayne said. “How the devil did you find out I was here?”

They were alone in a small private office. Shayne released her hands when Gantry came through the doorway and said, “I’ll get your stuff, Mr. Smith,” then retreated down the corridor.

Elsa Roche took a compact from her purse, opened it, and turned aside to peer into the mirror. “It was difficult to find you.” She had control of her voice now, and it was almost flippant. “I called around at the different hotels and learned you were registered at the Moderne but weren’t in yet. Then I called the police station to ask them to watch out for you around town and have you call me at once. I talked to Sergeant Gantry, and when I described you he laughed and said he’d just booked a man named John Smith who answered your description. I thought it might be you, so I came down to see.”

They heard Gantry’s footsteps coming toward them in the corridor. He came in and handed Shayne a sealed envelope.

Shayne opened it and examined the contents, nodded and said, “Thanks, sergeant,” gravely. “Do I just walk out of here?”

Gantry smiled thinly and glanced at Mrs. Roche. “Suppose we say you’re paroled in her custody. That what you want, Mrs. Roche?”

She snapped her compact shut. “It was all a stupid mistake in the first place,” she said arrogantly. “You can see for yourself Mr. Smith isn’t drunk.”

“I admit he’s sobered up fast,” Gantry agreed.

“So just cross off that ridiculous charge against him.” She stepped forward and took Shayne’s arm confidently. “My car is outside the main entrance.”

Gantry preceded them down the wide hallway and opened a door leading out onto the front entrance of the city hall. The Buick which Shayne had seen at the Roche house stood at the bottom of a flight of wide concrete steps. Elsa clung to Shayne’s arm as they descended. He opened the left-hand door for her to get in. She started the motor and waited for him to get in, then put the car in gear and drove to Centerville’s main street without speaking.

Shayne lounged back on the cushions, lit a cigarette, and waited for her to start talking. She drove competently and with grave intensity, turning left on the main street and following it through the outskirts of town onto the eastward highway. When they were beyond the city limits she said, “I hope you don’t mind being kidnaped.”

“Have you ever visited the city jail?” Shayne countered.

“No.”

“If you had, you’d know that being kidnaped is a pleasure.”

“Jimmy and Seth discussed you thoroughly after you left tonight,” she confided. “They seemed to think you were quite notorious in your profession.”

“I’ve got a good publicity man.”

They had left the village far behind. The highway was dark and deserted, winding through a wooded valley, the headlights glowing upon a stream on one side and a mountain slope on the other. Elsa drove purposefully, sitting erect and watching the road carefully. Presently she slowed and turned off onto a dirt road leading down a gentle incline to a flat wooded grove in a bend of the river. She parked between two overspreading trees on the bank of the stream, cut off the motor and headlights and leaned forward with both hands clasped on the steering wheel.

Shayne meditatively puffed on his cigarette and listened to the sound of the river and the chirping crickets and wondered how Lucy was getting along with her two Kentucky cavaliers.

“Did you see George in jail?” Elsa asked suddenly.

“Didn’t you guess that was why I got myself locked up?”

“Yes. I guessed that.”

“I talked to him,” Shayne said quietly.

“How is he?”

Shayne thought he detected eagerness or anxiety in her tone. He turned quickly to look at her. She was leaning farther forward, her chin on her hands, her eyes staring straight ahead. He said, “Seems well enough. Quite cheerful, in fact. He’s not worrying about the murder charge. I got the impression he has a couple of aces up his sleeve.”

“Does he know… about the men he was trusting to give him an alibi?” Anxiety was definitely in her voice now.

“I told him that angle was shot. It didn’t seem to perturb him very much. He’s…” Shayne paused, groping for the right words to describe George Brand’s attitude. “… very sure of himself. Not vain, but with the certitude of a man who knows exactly the odds against him and how to beat them.”

She said, “I know,” in a stifled voice. She raised her head suddenly and beat one doubled fist against the steering wheel. “I’m frightened, Mr. Shayne. I don’t know what to do. I had to talk to someone. From the things Jimmy and Seth said about you I gathered…” She hesitated, turning toward him.

“What,” asked Shayne, “did you gather?”

“That you’re tough and hardboiled, but basically honest. Seth and Mr. Persona had an argument about it after you left. Seth doesn’t trust you.”

“Doesn’t trust me to give my all for AMOK,” he amplified.

“Yes. He insists it would be safer to get you out of town.”

“Do the police take orders from Seth Gerald?”

“Why I… not exactly orders, but…”

“I understand,” Shayne interrupted grimly. “I noticed the way they scratched the charge against me on your say-so. Did Gerald make a phone call after I left?”

“I don’t… know,” she faltered. “I went to my room while he and Mr. Persona were still arguing.”

“Why are you frightened?” Shayne demanded.

“Because… it’s all so… terrible. This hatred… and burning… and killing. I want to do what’s right. You must believe me. I do. But I don’t know what to do or who to tell.”

“That’s why you kidnaped me and brought me here,” he reminded her.

“I can’t tell you… if Mr. Persona is right about you.”

“You mean if I’m the sort of guy to sell out for his five grand. I’m not.”

“I want to believe you,” she declared. “Things are all mixed up. I’ve been an awful damned fool, Mr. Shayne.”

“In what way?”

“You can’t imagine the… the mess I’m in. If I say a word, Jimmy threatens to come right out and accuse me of having taken George Brand as my lover. And that would make things look worse for him, don’t you see? Jimmy says it would provide the one thing they need to convict George… a motive.”

“Was he your lover?” Shayne demanded harshly.

“No. There was nothing… really. Just that I was bored with Charles. He was always too busy to take me out, and he didn’t think it was right for us to go dancing while the men were on strike and hungry, and he disapproved of my drinking, too.” Her voice trailed off listlessly.

“And you enjoyed playing with fire,” Shayne said brutally.

Elsa Roche shivered. “I… what do you mean?”

“The world is full of women like you. Too rich and too bored and too dumb. You were attracted to George Brand just as a debutante might be attracted to her chauffeur.”

“No!” she cried. “That’s not true. You’ve no right to talk to me like that.” She turned the ignition key and pressed the button to start the motor.

Shayne said, “Hold it,” and took the key from the ignition. “How far did this affair with Brand go? How many people knew about it?” Shayne demanded.

“It’s none of your business,” she snapped. “Give me that key.”

“Okay,” said Shayne lazily. “It’s your funeral… and Brand’s.” He replaced the key in the ignition.

Elsa laid her face on her hands that were clasped together on the wheel. Her body slumped wearily. “Nobody actually knows… about George and me… except Jimmy. But I think Seth has suspected… for some time.”

Shayne groaned and said, “You’d better give it to me straight if I’m going to help any. Your nasty-natured little brother-in-law is perfectly correct in saying it would practically tie a knot around Brand’s neck if it’s proven that you and he were playing around together.”

“We weren’t… not that way. I’ve been with him exactly twice,” she went on with forced calm. “Both times I slipped away from a country club dance… where I’d gone with other people… and met him out beyond the parking lot and we drove to a roadside place and had a few drinks. And that’s absolutely all.”

“It’s enough,” Shayne muttered, “if anyone saw you.”

“But I’m sure no one recognized us.”

“Don’t worry. If this comes out you’ll find a dozen people who saw you together. Did your husband suspect?”

“No. Charles was a lamb. He wanted me to go out and have a good time.”

“But not clandestinely… with the man who was leading a strike against him.”

“No,” she admitted in a small voice. “I guess not. But I think Charles really liked George. I’m sure he admired him. He had agreed to his terms on ending the strike.”

“Are you positive?”

“Of course I’m positive. Charles showed me a copy of the agreement he’d signed… postdated on the day he was thirty and took control of the mines.”

“How many other people knew about that agreement?”

“No one. I’m sure Charles told no one. He made me swear I wouldn’t tell.”

“I suppose you realize how important this is as evidence in Brand’s favor. If it could be proved, it would absolutely kill the murder charge against him.”

“That’s what I thought. Except… Jimmy and Seth both said no one would ever believe me if I came out now and told it in George’s defense. On account of the way a lawyer would twist the other things around… to make it appear I was in love with him and just making it up about the agreement to save him.”

Shayne nodded thoughtfully. “We’d have to produce the agreement signed by your husband. Where is it?”

“That’s the trouble,” Elsa faltered. “Jimmy and Seth went through all his papers at home. They didn’t find it. I only saw the one copy… a few days ago. I think,” she went on faintly, “he was honestly afraid to let any of the others know about it before his birthday when he would be legally in control. You know. Because he was afraid they might…”

“Murder him before his birthday to prevent him from settling the strike?” Shayne supplied harshly when she hesitated.

“Yes. That’s it exactly.” She was sitting erect, and she turned her body to face him squarely, and continued earnestly, “You don’t know how fanatical they are, Mr. Shayne. You can’t imagine how they hate unions. They’ll spend hundreds of thousands to prevent the workers from getting a few thousands additional in their pay envelopes. I don’t understand it. I just can’t.”

Shayne was thoughtfully silent for a moment. It was too dark to see her expression, but she sounded sincere. He was puzzled, and tried to figure whether the drunken, hard-boiled woman he had met at the Roche house was the real Elsa Roche, or the woman who now sat beside him pleading for the miners. He frowned into the darkness and said:

“It isn’t the first few thousands. It’s the opening wedge they’re afraid of. Once the workers get power, they demand more and more of the profits.”

“But Charles insisted they deserve it. He planned all sorts of changes when he got control.”

“Your late husband evidently wasn’t cut out for the role of an economic royalist,” he told her grimly. “Let’s go back to last night.”

“One thing I don’t understand, Mr. Shayne… is why George was out playing poker instead of at home to meet Charles. Charles said they had an appointment to discuss the agreement, and it certainly was terribly important to George. It meant the end of the strike to him. Everything he had been righting for.”

“Perhaps there was a mix-up about the time?” he suggested.

“I don’t think so. Charles seemed very sure they were to meet at George’s house last night.”

Shayne shook his red head angrily, then tried to get things straightened out in his mind by speaking his thoughts aloud. “Your husband discreetly parked his car up at the corner and walked down Magnolia Avenue to Brand’s house. Finding it dark and unoccupied… if Brand is telling the truth… Charles must have been surprised. What would he have done then?”

“I don’t… know.”

“Suppose the house across the street had been lighted at that hour. Ann Cornell was up when Seth Gerald got there, and a little after five when Brand drove up. Mightn’t your husband have gone across to inquire whether she knew anything about Brand’s whereabouts?”

“He might.” Elsa Roche drew in a quick, audible breath, as though this train of thought was frightening to her.

“We might suppose that Mrs. Cornell was entertaining a friend,” Shayne went on slowly. “Someone who might stay in the background, unnoticed by Mr. Roche, when he asked about Brand. Would your husband have hinted to her the importance of his reason for wanting to find Brand?”

“You mean… tell her about the strike agreement? I’m sure he wouldn’t. He didn’t want anyone to know beforehand.”

“But he might have explained the queer hour of his visit by saying it was very important that he see Brand. To any one on the inside listening, it might sound very much as though he was negotiating with the strikers.”

“What are you getting at?” She caught his arm fiercely.

“Some one killed your husband,” he told her calmly. “After he left Brand’s house… or Mrs. Cornell’s… and was walking back to his parked car. Someone who had a reason to. Someone who wasn’t interested in the contents of his wallet.”

“With George’s gun?” she faltered. “They say it was found right there.”

“With Brand’s gun,” Shayne agreed. “His gun lying beside the body is one of the best arguments we have for Brand’s innocence. Certainly he wouldn’t have left it there… unless it was carefully premeditated and Brand realized that a smart lawyer would use it as proof of his innocence if it were found there.”

There was a short silence between them. The rush of the river and the crickets’ songs came faintly through the mist in the valley. Elsa’s hand was still gripping Shayne’s arm tightly. She asked, almost in a whisper, “Who do you think did it?”

He shrugged his broad shoulders. “Someone who wanted the strike broken. Who knew that the one sure way of breaking it was to have Charles murdered and have Brand charged with the crime?”

Her hand fell away from his arm. “Mr. Persona wouldn’t have stopped at murder to break the strike. He hasn’t stopped at murder in trying to break it. Three miners have been killed in the past few weeks.”

“On Persona’s orders?”

“It was all made to look perfectly legal,” she said listlessly. “The law doesn’t call it murder if an officer shoots a man who’s resisting arrest.”

“I wondered who pays the salaries of all these special deputies,” Shayne muttered. “It seems a big outlay for one mine owner.” He paused a moment, then went on, “Another thing that troubles me is this: If Gerald controls the local police department, and AMOK hires the deputies… why wouldn’t it have been much simpler to have put George Brand out of the way long ago, just as they did the three miners. Wouldn’t the strike have fallen to pieces without strong leadership?”

“I don’t know,” she confessed. “It isn’t until lately that I began thinking about such things.”

“Let’s get back to the facts and see where we stand,” he said briskly. “When did you first tell Jimmy Roche and Seth Gerald about the signed agreement?”

“This afternoon. At first I thought I wouldn’t say anything. I thought it would turn up. Then I began brooding. Please try to understand. I’m not in love with George. I’m not really in sympathy with the miners, I’m afraid. I don’t understand anything about the mining business. But I’ve been thinking about Charles all day. He would feel terrible if he knew that his death had been the means of sending the miners back to work at the same old starvation wages. And I do admire George. He was strong and fearless. He believed in what he was doing. It seems terrible that he should pay for a thing I know he didn’t do.”

“You’re basing your belief entirely on the fact that you know Charles had agreed to settle the strike, and that therefore Brand is the one man in Centerville who had every reason to want him to stay alive until his thirtieth birthday at least?” Shayne asked gently.

“Isn’t that reason enough?”

“It is,” Shayne said slowly, “unless Brand happens to actually be in love with you… and has reason to think you feel the same about him.”

“He isn’t.” Her voice sounded smothered. “He knew I was just… bored with life. Besides, he isn’t the sort to… to…”

“To murder a woman’s husband,” said Shayne flatly, “so she would be free to come to him. Perhaps not. But sex does do the damndest things to certain types of people. It makes them forget morals and obligations and loyalty and they don’t give a damn about broken lives.”

“You’ll just have to believe me,” she broke in. “It wasn’t that way. I was a fool to ever speak to him, but I thought it was perfectly harmless.”

“Let’s go back to this afternoon again,” said Shayne patiently. “You told Gerald and Jimmy about the agreement, pointing out that Brand must be innocent. What then?”

Her hands were gripping the wheel again. “I’d been drinking a good deal,” she admitted, “and I guess they thought I was pretty drunk. First, they tried to make me admit I was mistaken. They said no one would believe me if I did tell about it, and that’s when Jimmy threatened to tell about the times I went out with George. They both said no one would believe me after that was made public, and I… decided maybe they were right.”

“And promised to keep your mouth shut?”

“What else could I do?” she exclaimed wildly. “You’re a stranger here. You don’t know how things are in Centerville. Whom could I go to? Chief Elwood?” She laughed derisively. “Or the district attorney? They’d go straight to Seth or Persona and say, ‘Please, what do you want me to do?’ Then you came, and I thought I could at least tell you so you’d know that George isn’t guilty, and maybe you’d look harder for evidence to free him.”

Shayne thought for a time before saying, “There’s one thing in your story that doesn’t add up. If your husband told you he had everything arranged with Brand… even to the extent of showing you this signed agreement, then why in the name of God were you so worried about that meeting last night? Why did you beg him not to go? Why the premonition of disaster? A premonition that kept you awake all night and drove you to telephone Seth Gerald and ask him to go and see if your husband was all right?”

Her body was shaking and she cried out hysterically, “But I didn’t! That reporter just put words in my mouth to make a good story. I wasn’t worried one bit about Charles meeting George.”

“Why did you telephone Gerald?”

“I didn’t! I’m trying to tell you. I went straight to bed after Charles left and went to sleep.”