A Taste for Violence (17 page)

“Didn’t you get any dope from Persona?”

“Nothing much.” She chuckled quietly. “He doesn’t like Seth Gerald. Thinks he’s incompetent. I think they’d had an argument, but he didn’t tell me what it was about. He didn’t want to talk anything but…”

“Does he think Brand is guilty?” Shayne broke in harshly.

Lucy chuckled again, then said seriously, “I don’t know. I imagine Mr. Persona thinks what he wants to think. He doesn’t care. Mr. Roche’s death ended the strike, and that’s the only thing that matters to Mr. Persona. Now, tell me why you are taking me with you to visit a naked widow. That’s out of character.”

Shayne relaxed for a moment. A grin spread his wide mouth. “I got back in time to protect you tonight. Now it’s your turn. I need protection this time.” He turned left onto Magnolia Avenue.

“You?” Lucy scoffed. “I didn’t suppose   “

“We’re calling on Mrs. Ann Cornell. God has given her the fixed idea that all men are her meat and I hope to save a lot of argument by bringing you along to convince her she’d just be wasting her time on me.” He stopped in front of the lighted house and laid his hand over Lucy’s briefly. “This isn’t going to be very romantic,” he told her, holding his light mood. “She was raving like a maniac when I left her gagged and tied up. You’ll have some new words added to your vocabulary if she goes into the same act when we release her. That is, I hope they’ll be new to you.”

Lucy laughed and said, “Your secretary does lead an interesting life, Michael.” She slid out of the car and they went up the walk together. Shayne opened the front door. A commentator was highlighting dull and stale news over the radio. Shayne took Lucy’s arm and led her back to the bedroom. Ann Cornell was lying on the bed as he had left her, still struggling to free herself. The tape was stretched, but still held, and her contortions had caused the coverlet to slide from her body. Lucy stopped in the doorway with a gasp of astonishment, as though she had not believed him until this moment.

Shayne stepped forward and threw the cover over Ann again, then sat down beside her and said calmly:

“Listen to me. Ann Cornell, this is Miss Hamilton, my secretary, and I’m going into the living room in a moment and leave her here to turn you loose. Raving won’t accomplish anything. Angus is safely hidden away where neither you nor anyone else will find him until he breaks down for the want of dope and tells me what I want to know.”

He paused, looking down steadily into the enraged eyes of the gagged woman. “There’s only one thing you can do for Angus. Give me what I want now. I’ll get it from him later anyway, so you can’t accomplish anything by holding out. Neither Seth Gerald nor Henry Elwood can help you now. You know you hate the whole set-up, and this is your one chance to kick it down on top of them. You can either stay underneath and be crushed, or you can play ball with me and stand on the sidelines when it falls. Think it over while Lucy helps get that adhesive tape off you.” He got up and walked past Lucy into the hallway, closing the door behind him.

Directly across the hall was another bedroom. Shayne went in and turned on the light. Men’s clothing hung from the back of a chair, and there were masculine toilet articles on the dresser. The coat of Angus’s yellow and red-striped pajamas lay on the floor in a heap.

Shayne’s eyes glinted when he saw a rear door beyond the bed. He went to it and found it unlocked. It opened directly onto a wooden stoop at the rear of the house. He stood looking around for a moment, stepped back inside and closed the door.

He went into the living room and poured himself a small shot of corn and sank into a deep chair to do some concentrated thinking while he waited for Lucy to bring Ann out.

She was wearing a pair of gray slacks and a white blouse when she finally entered the living room, followed by Lucy. Her face was sullen and showed streaks of red from the tape, but she appeared sober and self-possessed. She crossed in front of Shayne and flung herself into a chair.

“What have you done to Angus?” she demanded.

“Put him where you can’t find him until he talks.”

“You stinking…” she began, but Shayne stopped her with an upraised hand. “We won’t get anywhere that way. If you want to save Angus a lot of trouble you can tell me the truth about last night. That’s the only way you can help him. I’m wasting time here if you aren’t going to do that.”

Lucy Hamilton stood quietly, looking from one face to the other, a troubled frown between her smooth brows. Then she went to a chair in a corner of the room and sat down, folding her hands in her lap.

“What about last night?” Ann Cornell snapped.

“Everything.”

“What gives you the idea…?”

“Look,” Shayne interrupted wearily and impatiently. “I’m not here to trade confidences with you. Either you talk or you don’t.” He swallowed the small drink of corn in his glass and looked across the room to see Lucy’s brown eyes wide and staring, fixed on Ann Cornell.

“Suppose I do?” Ann’s voice was brittle with anger. “What then?”

“You get Angus. God only knows why you want the twirp. Unless, of course,” he added slowly, “he’s the killer. In that case you’d better keep your mouth shut.”

“Angus wouldn’t hurt a fly,” she snapped.

Shayne looked down at the butcher knife that had fallen from the hophead’s hand when he knocked him down, glancing again at Lucy to see that she, too, was looking at it. She looked up and their eyes met, hers horrified, his bleak. He gave her a crooked grin and turned his attention to Ann Cornell again.

“What’s the deal?” Ann demanded huskily. “I’ve seen what happens in Centerville when people talk out of turn.”

“That’s why I want you and Angus to clear out of town before the blow-off.”

“What’re you getting at?”

“Give me what I want and then take Angus over the state line,” he said flatly.

“How do I know you’ll come through?”

“You don’t, but make up your mind.”

“How do I know you’ll believe the truth when you do hear it?” she muttered.

“I haven’t just been sitting still since I was here earlier this evening. I’ll know if you’re lying.” He settled back and asked, “Was Jimmy Roche here last night?”

“I’m going to spill it,” she said tensely. “I don’t know what it adds up to, but maybe you will. Sure Jimmy was here. He drops in like that often. He likes…”

“I know,” Shayne interrupted with a grin. “He likes your corn. Like Brand and Elwood and a lot of others. All right. Jimmy was here. Angus was in bed?”

“That’s right.” Ann Cornell began talking swiftly, the words crowding each other as though they had been held back too long:

“Jimmy was drunk. He’s always drunk. About three o’clock someone knocked. It was Charles Roche. He asked if I’d seen George Brand’s light on any time lately. I told him I hadn’t noticed, and then Jimmy stuck his nose in. He was at the stinking nasty-drunk stage and wanted to know what Charles wanted with Brand. They argued back and forth and I told ’em to get out. I don’t like rough stuff here.” She paused, her eyes blazing.

Shayne said, “So they went out, still arguing? Did Charles tell his brother he intended to settle the strike with Brand?”

“Not when he was here. Jimmy kept demanding to know if that was what he was going to do, and Charles told Jimmy it wasn’t any of his business. I slammed the door on ’em and turned the radio up loud and poured a big drink. I can’t stomach a man that can’t hold his liquor,” she ended angrily.

“Did Angus hear them arguing?”

“No.” She said it too fast, too emphatically.

Shayne said flatly, “That’s a lie. I told you I’d been around picking up information. If you’re not going to tell the truth I’ll get it from Angus.”

“All right, goddam it. They did wake Angus up with their yelling. What of it? He came out to see what the trouble was and…”

“Like he came out tonight when you threw the glass at me?” Shayne interposed, looking at the knife on the floor again, and involuntarily glancing at Lucy.

Lucy was sitting forward, her hands tightly clasped, listening intently. Her face was strained and weary and pale, but her brown eyes were bright with interest.

“Not like that,” Ann snapped. “He doesn’t generally get excited. I told him it was all right and he went back to his room.”

“And shut the door?”

“Sure. Why shouldn’t he?” A fleeting look of fear came to her eyes.

“No reason. What happened then?” Shayne asked sharply.

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“So help me God. Jimmy didn’t come back. I looked out after a little while and saw a light in Brand’s house. I didn’t know who was there… whether Brand was home, or Charles had just gone in to wait for him, or Jimmy and Charles both. I didn’t care. And that’s all I know about it.”

“Did Brand generally go off and leave his door unlocked?”

“Sure. Nobody bothers much to lock their doors around here.”

“Had Jimmy left his car parked in front of your house?”

“No. Mostly fellows park down the street and walk up.” Her upper lip curled away from her teeth. “They don’t mind drinking my corn, but they hate for anybody to see their cars parked outside.”

“So you don’t know whether Jimmy left at once… or a lot later.”

“That’s the God’s truth. I got tight and I wasn’t sleepy. I sort of dozed till daylight and then went to bed.”

“Why didn’t you tell that to the cops yesterday morning?”

“Why should I?” she asked sullenly. “It’s nobody’s business who comes here. I didn’t think Jimmy’d want me to mention it, so I didn’t.”

“What time was it when Angus came back in through the rear door?”

“It was…” Her voice rose shrilly. “I didn’t say…”

“I know he slipped out about the time Roche was getting killed,” Shayne told her indifferently. “What else would you be afraid of? You’re afraid he did it. What did he say about it?”

“Nothing. He won’t tell me anything.”

“Why did he hate George Brand?”

“He had good enough reason…” Her jaw fell open slackly. “Say… who told you that?”

“Never mind. Why did he?”

“George didn’t have any cause to slap him around,” she said angrily.

“And you hate Brand, too, and that’s why you were perfectly willing to let him hang for a murder you have good reason to think Jimmy Roche committed.”

“That’s not so. I don’t know who did it. I don’t give a damn. I hate all of ’em. God, how I hate this stinking town.” Tears began streaming down the red streaks the adhesive had left on her face. Her lips were swollen and trembling. She put her hands over her face and sobbed hysterically.

Shayne got up and beckoned to Lucy. She followed him into the rear hallway and he said, “Ann has a car. Help her pack a couple of bags… one for her and one for Angus… and drive out to the Moderne. Park in front of my cabin. Angus is tied up in there. Give her money if she needs it, and tell her to get out of the state, but not too far. Tell her to phone you at the Moderne where she is. Things’ll be so she can come back in a few days… if she wants to. Then you go to bed and lock the door.” He spoke swiftly and in a low voice.

“What about you, Michael?” Lucy clung to both his arms and looked up into his set face.

“I’ve still got to find a murderer.” He bent to kiss her lips, led her back into the living room and gave her a little shove toward the sobbing woman.

Shayne was in his car and driving away before he realized he didn’t know where Seth Gerald lived. He turned down to the village to find someone from whom he could get directions.

THE general manager of the Roche mines lived in a two-story brick house. Light from the corner street light outlined white trimmings around dark green slatted shutters which were closed all across the front, and probably securely latched, Shayne thought, as he went up the concrete walk and steps to the door. Giant trees shrouded the grounds in the night’s misty darkness, and there was no light, no sign of fire or movement within.

He put his knobby forefinger on the button and held it down until a light came on in one of the upper rooms, stepped back and waited until a glow outlined the opaque upper glass of the front door. When he heard a key turning in the lock, he took out his .45 automatic, clicked off the safety catch.

The door opened a couple of inches and Seth Gerald’s precise voice said, “Who’s there?”

Shayne hit the door with his shoulder and came through it with his automatic in front of him. Gerald had a pearl-handled .32 automatic in his hand which he lowered jerkily as the impact shoved him and his brocaded dressing gown backward.

“Shayne!” he exclaimed. “I didn’t expect you.”

“Didn’t you?” His left hand grabbed for the .32. “Better give me that popgun before it goes off and attracts attention.” Shayne dropped the pistol in his pants pocket after taking it from Gerald’s relaxed hand.

Gerald tried to laugh. It came out a dry cackle. He was looking into Shayne’s eyes. They were very bright. His own were sleep-drugged. He brushed a hand across them and said, “I don’t get this at all. What do you mean coming here and threatening me with a gun? There are policemen in Centerville, and…”

“And you own them. That’s why I prefer to hold the guns while we have a talk.”

“Talk? What is there to talk about at this unearthly hour?”

“Murder. Do we have to stand here in the hall?”

Gerald was swiftly recovering his self-possession. He said, “The library is right over here.” He turned to lead the way and added, “I warn you, Shayne, I shall report this to the police. You will be getting out of Centerville faster than you came in.”

Shayne followed him to a small, snug room beyond the living room. Bookshelves lined the spaces between the two windows, and there was a large oak desk in the center. Three leather armchairs were placed at strategic points around it. Seth Gerald snapped on the desk light, augmenting the pale glow from the hall, sat down in the chair behind the desk and waved Shayne to one of the chairs.

Shayne sat down with his legs far apart and slipped the automatic on the cushion between them.

Seth Gerald was leaning laxly forward, his arms folded on the desk, apparently waiting for Shayne to speak. When he didn’t, Gerald said impatiently, “Suppose you say what you have to say and let me go back to bed. I have a thousand and one things to attend to in the morning.”