The Galton Case

Chapter 21

SHERIFF TRASK was in his office. Its walls were hung with testimonials from civic organizations and service clubs; recruiting certificates from Army, Navy, and Air Force; and a number of pictures of the Sheriff himself taken with the Governor and other notables. Trask’s actual face was less genial than the face in the photographs.

“Trouble?” I said.

“Sit down. You’re the trouble. You stir up a storm, and then you drop out of the picture. The trouble with you private investigators is irresponsibility.”

“That’s a rough word, Sheriff.” I fingered the broken bones in my face, thoughtfully and tenderly.

“Yeah, I know you got yourself hurt, and I’m sorry. But what can I do about it? Otto Schwartz is outside my jurisdiction.”

“Murder raps cross state lines, or haven’t you heard.”

“Yeah, and I also heard at the same time that you can’t extradite without a case. Without some kind of evidence, I can’t even get to Schwartz to question him. And you want to know why I have no evidence?”

“Let me guess. Me again.”

“It isn’t funny, Archer. I was depending on you for some discretion. Why did you have to go and spill your guts to Roy Lemberg? Scare my witnesses clear out of the damn country?”

“I got overeager, and made a mistake. I wasn’t the only one.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“You told me Lemberg’s car had been stolen.”

“That’s what switched license plates usually mean.” Trask sat and thought about this for a minute, pushing out his lower lip. “Okay. We made mistakes. I made a medium-sized dilly and you made a peacheroo. So you took a beating for it. We won’t sit around and cry. Where do we go from here?”

“It’s your case, Sheriff. I’m just your patient helper.”

He leaned toward me, heavy-shouldered and earnest. “You really mean to help? Or have you got an angle?”

“I mean to help, that’s my angle.”

“We’ll see. Are you still working for Sable – for Mrs. Galton, that is?”

“Not at the moment.”

“Who’s bankrolling you. Dr. Howell?”

“News travels fast.”

“Heck, I knew it before you did. Howell came around asking me to check your record with L.A. You seem to have some good friends down south. If you ever conned any old ladies, you never got caught.”

“Young ones are more my meat.”

Trask brushed aside the badinage with an impatient gesture. “I assume you’re being hired to go into the boy’s background. Howell wanted me to. Naturally I told him I couldn’t move without some indication that law’s been broken. You got any such indication?”

“Not yet.”

“Neither have I. I talked to the boy, and he’s as smooth as silk. He doesn’t even make any definite claims. He merely says that people tell him he’s his father’s son, so it’s probably so.”

“Do you think he’s been coached, Sheriff?”

“I don’t know. He may be quarterbacking his own plays. When he came in to see me, it had nothing to do on the face of it with establishing his identity. He wanted information about his father’s murder, if this John Brown was his father.”

“Hasn’t that been proved?”

“As close as it ever will be. There’s still room for doubt, in my opinion. But what I started to say, he came in here to tell me what to do. He wanted more action on that old killing. I told him it was up to the San Mateo people, so what did he do? He made a trip up there to build a fire under the San Mateo sheriff.”

“It’s barely possible he’s serious.”

“Either that, or he’s a psychologist. That kind of behavior doesn’t go with consciousness of guilt.”

“The Syndicate hires good lawyers.”

Trask pondered this, his eyes withdrawing under the ledges of his brows. “You think it’s a Syndicate job, eh? A big conspiracy?”

“With a big payoff, in the millions. Howell tells me Mrs. Galton’s rewriting her will, leaving everything to the boy. I think her house should be watched.”

“You honestly believe they’d try to knock her off?”

“They kill people for peanuts. What wouldn’t they do to get hold of the Galton property?”

“Don’t let your imagination run away. It won’t happen, not in Santa Teresa County.”

“It started to happen two weeks ago, when Culligan got it. That has all the marks of a gang killing, and in your territory.”

“Don’t rub it in. That case isn’t finished yet.”

“It’s the same case,” I said. “The Brown killing and the Culligan killing and the Galton impersonation, if it is one, all hang together.”

“That’s easy to say. How do we prove it?”

“Through the boy. I’m taking off for Michigan tonight. Howell thinks his accent originated in central Canada. That ties in with the Lembergs. Apparently they crossed the border into Canada from Detroit, and were headed for an address Culligan gave them. If you could trace Culligan that far back–”

“We’re working on it.” Trask smiled, rather forbiddingly. “Your Reno lead was a good one, Archer. I talked long distance last night to a friend in Reno, captain of detectives. He called me back just before lunch. Culligan was working for Schwartz about a year ago.”

“Doing what?”

“Steerer for his casino. Another interesting thing: Culligan was arrested in Detroit five-six years ago. The FBI has a rap sheet on him.”

“What was this particular rap?”

“An old larceny charge. It seems he left the country to evade it, got nabbed as soon as he showed his face on American soil, spent the next couple of years in Southern Michigan pen.”

“What was the date of his arrest in Detroit?”

“I don’t remember exactly. It was about five-and-a-half years ago. I could look it up, if it matters.”

“It matters.”

“What’s on your mind?”

“John Galton turned up in Ann Arbor five-and-a-half years ago. Ann Arbor is practically a suburb of Detroit. I’m asking myself if he crossed the Canadian border with Culligan.”

Trask whistled softly, and flicked on the switch of his squawk-box:

“Conger, bring me the Culligan records. Yeah, I’m in my office.”

I remembered Conger’s hard brown face. He didn’t remember me at first, then did a double take:

“Long time no see.”

I quipped lamely: “How’s the handcuff business?”

“Clicking.”

Trask rustled the papers Conger had brought, and frowned impatiently. When he looked up his eyes were crackling bright:

“A little over five-and-a-half years. Culligan got picked up in Detroit January 7. Does that fit with your date?”

“I haven’t pinned it down yet, but I will.”

I rose to go. Trask’s parting handshake was warm. “If you run into anything, call me collect, anytime day or night. And keep the hard nose out of the chopper,”

“That’s my aspiration.”

“By the way, your car’s in the county garage. I can release it to you if you want.”

“Save it for me. And take care of the old lady, eh?”

The Sheriff was giving Conger orders to that effect before I reached the door.