Murder in the Raw

by William Campbell Gault

  “Okay, Brock. Will the police want me to testify about what I’ve told you?”

  “Let’s hope not. I’m going over there, right now.”

  Bobby went out and I locked the door and went down to my car. Bobby was out of sight, and I was pulling out of the parking lot when I saw Mira’s Merc pull up in front of my office. I didn’t stop and he didn’t see me.

  15

  TRASK HAD JUST COME IN when I got to the West Side Station. He was talking to Caroline in his office. He didn’t look happy to see me.

  “Nystrom and Gonzales here?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “Just the kid. We’ve transferred Nystrom downtown. Why?”

  “Did the kid break, yet?”

  Trask shook his head again. “What’s on your mind, Brock? Learn something new?”

  “The kid is Rosa Carmona’s half brother. Did you know that?”

  Trask paused, and shook his head for the third time. “Are you sure of it?”

  I nodded. “Why don’t I talk to him? Maybe he’d tell me more than he would a police officer. Haven’t you got a room where we could be — overheard?”

  Caroline looked more skeptical than Dave Trask, though Dave looked skeptical enough.

  “What can you lose?” I asked him. “How much luck have you had, so far?”

  Caroline muttered something. Trask said, “All right, Brock. I’ll go along with it.” He turned to Caroline. “Get a man on that room, try and get Ledsoe.”

  A little later, I went down the corridor with Dave Trask and a turnkey. In front of the kid’s cell, Trask said loudly, “Don’t ever go over my head again, Callahan, or you’ll regret it. I’ll give you ten minutes with this punk, for all the good that’ll do you.”

  “Not in the cell,” I answered. “I want to talk to him privately. I don’t want any of your stooges listening in. The Captain said I could talk to him privately.”

  “He didn’t tell me that,” Dave said. “You want to wait until he comes back from lunch, and we can confirm it?”

  The turnkey said, “Callahan’s right, Lieutenant. Those were the Captain’s orders.”

  We weren’t exactly the Abbey Players, but pretty good for amateurs. The kid’s inherently skeptical face showed no change, however.

  Trask swore, and said, “All right. Ten minutes. They can use Room 23, officer.” He went away, and a uniformed man came down the corridor.

  The turnkey opened the cell door, and the uniformed man escorted us to a small room a few doors from Apoyan’s office. The uniformed man stayed outside, and we could hear him locking the door.

  It was a plain room with barred windows, holding some files and a cot and two chairs and a washbasin. I couldn’t see any place where a mike would be concealed.

  The kid went over to sit on the cot. “What do you want with me, footballer?”

  “The same thing I wanted from Sue Ellen. Only Red stopped me from learning it. The only thing I’ve ever wanted in this whole mess. I want to know where Rosa Carmona is.”

  “How should I know?”

  “Why shouldn’t you? She’s your half-sister, isn’t she?”

  Expression in the face now. Shock, and a tinge of fear. “Who told you that. Do the police know that?”

  I shook my head. “Lange told me that. And he got it from Red. They’re getting ready to sell you down the river, boy. They’re saving it for the trial. But to hell with that; I’m here to find Rosa. And if you know, you’ll tell me where she is. She’s got a mighty bright future if I find her.”

  “You’re lying. You’re working for Mira.”

  I smiled. “Son, Mira has a few dollars, but not enough to pay my kind of fees. Those Beverly Hills offices come high.”

  “You mean — You’re working — I mean, the guy still wants to marry her?”

  “Does that seem so strange to you? Rosa’s a very attractive girl. She just seems to carry sunshine around with her. Tell me, where is she?”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “So help me, I don’t know. That rotten Scott was going to ruin her chances. He set that up, didn’t he, so she’d be found like that? Cut her off from all that money, the son-of-a-bitch. And why? For the guy’s family, huh? They set it up, didn’t they?”

  “It doesn’t matter. He’s got his own money, now. He came into it a week ago. And he wants to find her. How come you went to the motel that night?”

  “Red told me they were going to pull something on her. When I got there, Scott was on the floor and Rosa wasn’t in sight. And I remember seeing this car pull away and I realized the guy had been there and caught them.”

  “You didn’t have to knife him, Pete. That solved nothing.”

  “Maybe I didn’t knife him.”

  “All right, to hell with that. Where could Rosa have gone; that’s what we want to know now? Red killed her friend, of course, but why should he do away with Rosa? Maybe he only got her out of town. Maybe he didn’t kill her. What do you think?”

  “Of course he didn’t. Why should he?”

  “Who knows why? Why should he kill Sue Ellen? He’s trying to plant that on you, too, but I’m damned sure it wasn’t you running down the alley that night.”

  “Don’t give me that, footballer. Red wouldn’t rat.”

  “Wouldn’t he? Who set you up to kill Scott? Why did he have to tell you about Scott’s little trick?”

  “Because he’s a buddy, that’s why. He’s the boss.”

  “Cut it out. You’re not that young. He wanted to get rid of Scott, so he could get some of those blackmailing pictures of Scott. He wanted that racket, but he was too stupid to realize it was no good without Scott’s finesse. All he could milk was the old ones. He’s got a beautiful way to set you up as the stooge, and when the time comes, he’ll sing like a canary.”

  The kid took a deep breath and looked down at his hands. “I never trusted that Lange. He’s a shyster, isn’t he? He’s no lawyer.”

  “In his business,” I said, “he rides with the big boys in each case. In this case, Red’s the big boy, and if he has to throw some minnows to the sharks to get Red off the hook, he’ll do it. You’re one of the minnows.”

  The kid was still looking at his hands. He said nothing.

  I said, “There wasn’t a reason in the world why Red should kill Sue Ellen, and you know it. She was Rosa’s best friend, and she’d never rat. Red’s kill crazy, or else he was afraid Sue Ellen knew what he had done to Rosa.”

  The kid was breathing heavily. He didn’t speak.

  “Unluckily for him,” I went on, “I saw him running down that alley. That’s one of those things nobody can figure in advance. That really put him in the soup. And when Red’s cornered, he’s out to protect Red — and no one else. You know that damned well, kid, and you’re a sucker to let him pull it.”

  The kid looked up at me and his face was suddenly young. “Who have I got but Red and his shyster?”

  “I’ll get you some money; don’t worry about that.

  You know my client’s name?”

  He shook his head. “I just know he’s loaded.”

  “You know he didn’t kill Scott.”

  He paused, and nodded. “I know that.”

  “And he didn’t kill Sue Ellen.”

  The kid’s pause was longer, this time. “Yes, I know that.”

  “All right, then, why should he be dragged into it?”

  “I didn’t know he was.”

  “Lange’s trying to blackmail him. And where did Lange get his name, if you don’t know it?”

  “From Red?”

  “Where else? And Red got it from Scott. And had you take care of Scott. Pete, think of how sweet they set you up. You’re dead, right now, Pete.”

  He shook his head stubbornly. “No gas chamber for me. I’m too young.”

  “So you’ll get life and ninety-nine years when Red and Lange get through crossing you. What you need is a good lawyer, with some money behind him, a lawyer who can point out to a female
jury that you were in a rage, in temporary insanity, when you killed the man who despoiled your sister. You need a manicured lawyer for that, with some education behind him, not a cheap shyster who prejudices a jury against him the minute he opens his mouth.”

  “Footballer, you’re not conning me?”

  “You’ve got a right to think I could be, but just think back on everything I’ve told you. And if you know where Rosa is, now is the time to level. Believe me, I mean her no harm.”

  “I don’t know where she is. That’s the gospel. Look, could you get me some money for my defense? I’m not going to talk about anybody who’d spoil Rosa’s chances.”

  “I’ll get you some money. You give it to the police, exactly as you know it. You don’t have to lie about my client. Give it all to them. Believe me, it’s your best hope.”

  “I’ll do it,” he said. “And I’ll give ‘em the word on Lange, too. He’s not as covered as he thinks he is. He was with Red a couple times when the law was looking for Red. I’ll give ‘em the word, all right.”

  I stood up. “Okay. And for the last time — you don’t have any idea where Rosa could be?”

  “I swear it.”

  I went over and knocked on the door, and the officer opened it. I said, “We’re through,” and looked at Pete Gonzales.

  Pete said, “I want to make a statement. I want to confess.” He took a breath. “And could you get the priest back? I’ll talk to him now. It’s Father Doyle, from St. Jude’s.”

  In Trask’s office, Trask was smiling. It wasn’t a nice smile. “Good work, Brock. You’re learning, aren’t you?”

  I shrugged. “I guess. I need a shower.”

  Trask continued to smile. “And the high and mighty Miss Glenys Christopher has a brother, hasn’t she? Going to S.C., isn’t he? I’m a UCLA man, myself.”

  “Don’t make a disease out of it,” I said. “You wouldn’t throw the kid to the wolves, Dave. A man would need to be some son-of-a-bitch to do that.”

  “I’ve been called worse,” he said.

  “Not by me.”

  “Not yet. Where’s this Rosa, that’s what I want to know? Would young Christopher know that?”

  “No.”

  “Would you?”

  “You know I’m still looking for her. And your interest in her comes a little late. You shrugged her off every time I mentioned her, before today.”

  He stretched and yawned. “Well, you go out and look for her. You find her, and maybe we can forget Bobby Christopher. Though that girl’s scorn still rankles in my small soul.”

  I stood up and went over to the desk to use his phone. I got the Christopher residence, and Bobby answered.

  I asked, “What’s new on that end?”

  “Tommy Self is here. We’ve got the money, five thousand in cash. Lange’s dropping over to pick it up.”

  “Tommy okayed that?”

  “He set it up. We have the serial numbers of the bills and a couple boys from the Beverly Hills Police Department ready to pick Lange up the minute he leaves with the money.”

  “That could put you in the soup, Bobby,” I told him. “That could get you some headlines, when Lange starts to blab.”

  “Maybe not,” he said. “Maybe not in Beverly Hills. We take care of our own up here, Brock. That’s what Tommy thinks, anyway.”

  “Maybe,” I said. “But if it gets out, be careful. There’s a little hothead still looking for the name, you know.”

  “I’ll be careful,” he promised. “From here in, I’m the carefullest kid in the world.”

  Trask watched me replace the phone. “Now, what?”

  I told him.

  His smile came back. “And those boys think they can sit on it? Wouldn’t they be embarrassed if they knew I knew?”

  “Wouldn’t they, though? And wouldn’t it be inconvenient for you, driving around Beverly Hills every time you wanted to go downtown?”

  “Stop it,” he said.

  “I will if you will. If you have some charges against Bobby Christopher, go and get him. And you’ll probably look even sillier proving them than you’ve looked up to now. Though that would be hard, I’ll admit.”

  He stared at me without emotion. “We’re off again, eh?”

  “You’re too hard to get along with, Dave. I’ve worked with you and for you and done my share. All I get are threats and your petty malevolence against the brother of a girl who wasn’t impressed by you. You’re too light to scare me and too petty to interest me. I hope I never have to work with you again.”

  Caroline came in with a sheaf of papers. “Sweet and complete,” he said, “including his admission he drove the car that carried Red to and from the Venice murder of that Sue Ellen.”

  “Thanks to Brock Callahan,” I said. “And on that grateful note, I’ll leave. I’ve still got to find Rosa.”

  I was a step from the doorway when Dave said, “Just a second, Brock.”

  I stopped and turned.

  Trask said, “Don’t we shake hands? I want to thank you, Brock.”

  I went back to shake his hand.

  And Caroline said, “Me, too. You’re not a bad guy for a private peeper, Callahan.”

  “That’s the way I feel about it,” I agreed. “If anything rough comes up, feel free to call me in as a consultant.”

  A lot had happened since I’d had lunch with Jan. Too much had happened. I thought back to the lunch and our talk about rich people.

  That was the thought that triggered my second hunch and the pieces fit. I swung the flivver toward Santa Monica.

  It was one of the old, small Spanish houses with thick walls and small windows in a section of Santa Monica that was solid but not impressive. There were no new houses on the block, but the old ones were well kept up and the lawns were green. Clean, trimmed palm trees ran in symmetrical rows along both sides of the street.

  I went along the walk to the front door, picking up the evening paper from the lawn on the way. There was no answer to my ring, though I could hear the heavy chimes inside.

  I went out to the front again to see if there was any way to get to the back yard from here, but there was none, no gate in the high, concrete block wall that went back from the front of the house.

  Coming back across the lawn I saw the partially open window. I paused and looked over at the house across the street. Nobody in sight. Nobody was looking my way on this side of the street. Well, Trask was my friend, now. Trask would take care of me.

  I was halfway through the window when I realized Trask couldn’t do me any good in Santa Monica, and this was Santa Monica. I almost went back out, but only almost.

  The living room was high and beamed, a step down from the dining room. I went through it to the dining room, and through that to the kitchen. From here, I could look out into a walled rear yard, the walls covered with bougainvillaea, the yard bordered with geraniums. And what were those in the middle, on that arched trellis? Yellow roses, big as small cabbages.

  I went back to the hall and into the largest bedroom. a picture of Rosa stared at me from the dresser. I opened the closet door and smelled a woman’s fragrance. There was a woman’s dressing gown hanging in here, and a couple dresses. There were some woman’s shoes on the floor. There was a portable typewriter.

  In the dresser, there were mostly men’s clothes. There were only a few items of lingerie, and some stockings. I went over that room carefully and the other, smaller bedroom, but found nothing else of importance. Except for a loaded .32.

  I went out into the back yard and over to the trellis. The lawn was mounded almost imperceptibly under the trellis and the sod looked like it had been recently replaced. I couldn’t be sure; it was an excellent job of landscaping.

  I went over to the geranium beds and it seemed to me the ground was higher than it should be, here, as though surplus ground had been added recently. I found some clumps of clay at the foot of the bougainvillaea. I went back to the trellis. Yellow roses for the faintly yellow R
osa; she did have some Chinese in her. Roses for Rosa? Who knew?

  I went back into the kitchen and had some water and looked into the refrigerator for some beer, but there was none. There was some Coke, and there was some rum in the cupboard. I’d earned a drink of something hard; I mixed it and went back to the living room, to sit near the fireplace.

  It wasn’t more than ten minutes later that I heard a car stop in front, and I looked out the window to watch him get out and come up the walk.

  I went over to open the door for him.

  He was about six feet away when I opened the door, and he stopped short and glared at me. “How you get in? Why are you here?”

  “I’m looking for Rosa, Juan,” I said. “That’s why you hired me, wasn’t it?”

  “How you get in? You are alone?”

  “I’m alone. Come in, Juan.”

  He hesitated and then came the rest of the way to the door. He came in, and I left the door slightly ajar as I followed him into the living room.

  He looked around in there, and then said, “You wait here.”

  “No. Not if you’re going to get a weapon, Juan.”

  He shook his head. “No weapon. No cops, either. I look, first.”

  I went back to the fireside chair while he prowled the house. When he came back, he asked once more, “Why are you here?”

  “I came to look for Rosa, but I realize now that wasn’t why you hired me, was it, Juan?”

  “You tell me, double-crosser. Why I hire you?”

  “To find out all I could about Rosa and her friends. To find out who this last man she went with was, this rich man who wanted to marry her. The others didn’t want to marry her, did they, Juan? They weren’t going to take her away from you permanently like the rich man was.”

  Juan’s hand was in his jacket pocket. Juan’s face showed nothing but a hundred fights. “Big talk. What you prove?”

  “Wealth bothered you too much,” I explained. “You got indignant because I didn’t think you were rich that very first day. When I told you about Red Nystrom, you asked if he was rich. So you knew it was a rich man Rosa liked.”

  He shook his head, staring at me.

  “Today,” I went on, “you talked about a Beverly Hills man. How did you know about a Beverly Hills man, Juan? Why do you hate the Beverly Hills men so much?”