Vein of Violence

by William Campbell Gault

  Homer nodded. “And with Miss Milgrim. They tell me you’re available for the picture they’re planning.”

  “It’s possible,” Davenport said.” Did they tell you where they hoped to get the money for the picture?”

  Homer frowned, looked uncomfortably at his bride, and said nothing.

  Aunt Sheila’s eyes widened and her head went back. “Homer-!”

  “Now, Sheila, I didn’t promise anything. It was just-talk.”

  My aunt finished her second double bourbon and looked around at all of us as though we were Forty-niner fans. Then she announced, “I’m going to have a little talk with Miss Mary Mae Milgrim!”

  “Sheila, please — ” Homer protested.

  But she walked off stiffly and Homer didn’t follow. He ordered bourbon and water and stared after her gloomily.

  Then he sighed and turned to me. “Do you understand ‘em?”

  “Women?’ I shook my head. “Maybe that’s their attraction. Of course, Aunt Sheila’s a little drunk right now. She has a better side, you know, Homer.”

  He raised a hand. “Don’t get me wrong. I love her very much. But she’s sure been ornery since she found out about the house. And what the hell difference does it make? It’s only money.”

  My kind of man, Homer Gallup. I was proud to have him in the family.

  Then Jan came looking for me and looked relieved when she saw I wasn’t with Joyce Thorne. Where, she wanted to know, was Sheila?

  “Looking for Mary Mae,” I told her.

  “I wonder where she’s gone,” Jan said. “Wallace Darrow was looking for her, too.”

  At the bar, John Davenport put down his drink and stared thoughtfully at all of us. “Missing? Mary Mae? It isn’t at all like her to leave a party early.”

  “So maybe she’s in the powder room,” Homer said.

  “Wallace has been looking for twenty minutes,” Jan said. “She wouldn’t need that much powder.”

  “Maybe she’s out in the courtyard, necking,” I suggested. “There’s a full moon, you know.” I looked at Davenport. “Is there any reason why we should be worried?”

  He said slowly, “Possibly not. However, there are a number of people here who have reason to hate Miss Milgrim. People she invited to this party. “He looked at Homer. “I know that seems unusual to a straightforward man, Mr. Gallup, but friends who hate you are a part of the local pattern.”

  Homer frowned and looked at me. I continued to give my attention to John Davenport. “You’re not suggesting any of the guests would hate Miss Milgrim enough to — to do her bodily harm?”

  Davenport shrugged. “She’s missing, isn’t she?”

  “She’s not in sight from where we stand,” I agreed. “But that doesn’t mean she’s missing. This is a big house. “

  Homer said, “Maybe we’d better — ” and that was as far as the sentence went.

  Because from outside the house somewhere, we heard a horrible scream, and though I didn’t recognize the voice, Homer did, immediately.

  “My God,” he said, “that’s Sheila. Let’s go.”

  He and I went out the French doors right next to the bar and heard Aunt Sheila scream again. To our left, we saw a flashlight; we ran that way, toward the drawbridge.

  “We’re coming!” Homer called. “Hang on, Sheila.”

  We were closer now and we could see that Aunt Sheila was not alone. A young Japanese boy, one of Miss Milgrim’s servants hired for the night, was with her. He had the flashlight.

  As we approached, we could see that he and Aunt Sheila were standing on the edge of the moat, near the drawbridge. And now the boy shifted the light to the bottom of the moat, and we could see the missing Mary Mae Milgrim.

  She was lying at the bottom of the moat. And I knew by the way her neck was twisted that Mary Mae Milgrim was dead.

  FOUR

  LIEUTENANT REMINGTON, FROM Beverly Hills Headquarters, brought Sergeant Gnup with him and another detective I didn’t know, plus three uniformed men. Lieutenant Remington was home-grown and Mary Mae Milgrim was still a big name to him.

  Nobody was permitted to leave. The courtyard lights were turned on and all the guests were assembled in the ballroom. Lieutenant Remington stayed outside with Aunt Sheila and the Japanese boy; they had found the body.

  In the ballroom, Homer fumed and fretted. “What’s the matter with that lieutenant?” he asked me. “He doesn’t suspect Sheila, does he?”

  “He suspects everybody who is here, if it was murder,” I said. “It hasn’t been established as murder yet. She could easily have gone outside for some air and fallen into the moat. The cause of death hasn’t been determined.”

  “Well,” he said, “if it turns out to be murder, I want you to work on it, Brock.”

  I stared at him.

  “I’ll pay for it,” he said. “If it’s murder, I want the killer caught.”

  “Homer,” I asked patiently, “why — ?”

  “I always enjoyed her,” he said. “She gave me many happy hours.” He seemed embarrassed. “Damn it, it’s the least I can do.” He put a hand on my arm. “Just don’t tell your aunt who’s paying you. She’s sure as hell getting stingy with my money.”

  Then my old semi-friend, Sergeant Gnup, was bustling over in his officious and official way.

  “You,” he greeted me. “Now, what in hell are you doing here?”

  “He is my guest,” Homer said firmly. “And who are you?”

  I introduced them. I told Sergeant Gnup, “Mr. Gallup is the host. He bought this house from Miss Milgrim and tonight’s party was planned as a housewarming. Mr. Gallup is married to my aunt.”

  “Well, well,” Gnup said. “Cozy, huh?”

  “Translate that into English,” I said.

  He looked doubtfully at Homer and belligerently at me. “The word I get so far is that Mrs. Gallup went out to look for Miss Milgrim with blood in her eye.”

  Homer glared at him; I kept my face bland. Neither of us said anything.

  “So what was the fight about?” Gnup asked.

  I said calmly, “Sergeant, when my aunt found Miss Milgrim, she was accompanied by a servant. I imagine you have questioned him?”

  “I haven’t. He’s out there with the Lieutenant. You telling me my business, Callahan?”

  “Someone should,” I said quietly. “If you have questions, ask them. If you have accusations, save them until we’re booked.”

  His face reddened and his soft, flattened nose twitched pugnaciously. “I’ve told you before, Irish. Watch your lip.”

  Next to me, Homer was rigid as stone. “Sergeant,” he said ominously, “you’re in my home. I will stand for no insolence. Keep your voice down and your tongue civil or leave!”

  Gnup stared at him.

  “I know you’re a police officer,” Homer told him, “but I’m a citizen and you’re on my property. Now, we’re all going to co-operate — but we will not be intimidated.”

  That Homer…. My kind of bastard.

  Gnup took a deep breath of air. Gnup looked at two hundred-and-twenty-pound me, two-hundred-and-fifteen-pound Homer and at some unoccupied air between us.

  Finally he said, “Why was Mrs. Gallup looking for Miss Milgrim?”

  “To tell her off,” Homer said honestly. “My wife thought Miss Milgrim had cheated her on this house. However, that wasn’t possible. I was informed by the broker I could make a smaller offer than I did. I didn’t want to haggle with Miss Milgrim.”

  “And why not?”

  “I happen to be one of her fans.”

  I asked, “Has the cause of death been determined? You’re making this sound like a murder investigation, Sergeant.”

  “That’s the way it’s going to sound until we find out it isn’t,” Gnup said. “I’m talking to Mr. Gallup, Callahan. Stay out of this.” He turned back to Homer. “Who was the broker?”

  “His name is Darrow, Wallace Darrow,” Homer said. “He’s here tonight.”

  G
nup frowned. “The broker is here? Friend of yours, is he?”

  “Not exactly. I don’t know many people in town, so my wife invited him.”

  “You didn’t?”

  Homer shook his head. “She told me she was going to and I approved. After all, he found me this wonderful house.”

  “You think you got a good buy then?”

  Homer smiled. “Look around you, at this magnificent room. The whole joint for a hundred and forty thousand, man. I stole it.”

  Gnup said stubbornly, “At eighty-five thousand it would have been a better bargain, wouldn’t it?”

  “Possibly,” Homer admitted. “But I’m not a businessman, Sergeant. I made a few dollars in oil, but business shenanigans bore me.”

  Gnup took another breath. “Mr. Gallup, to most people, fifty-five thousand dollars is a lot of money. A hell of a lot of money. And they would resent being overcharged that much.”

  Homer nodded. “I’m sure you’re right, Sergeant. But I don’t happen to be most people. I happen to be a big shot from Gila Creek.” He winked at me. “And that ain’t easy, coming from Gila Creek.”

  Gnup’s soft nose twitched again and his voice was quiet. “Perhaps your wife didn’t take quite as tolerant a view about being overcharged fifty-five thousand dollars?”

  “She sure as hell didn’t,” Homer admitted innocently. “But she knows I love Mary Mae and she sure as hell wouldn’t harm her. “

  Gnup stared. “You were in love with Miss Milgrim?”

  Homer returned the stare. “Hell, yes! Weren’t you? Wasn’t everybody?”

  Gnup shook his head and stared sullenly between us. He said to me, “You found a soul mate, didn’t you? Stay here, both of you; I’ll be back.” He went over toward where another detective was talking with Joyce Thorne.

  “Cantankerous fellow, isn’t he?” Homer said.

  I nodded, watching Joyce Thorne.

  Homer asked quietly, “She couldn’t have been murdered, could she? What reason could anyone have?”

  “Money, for one,” I said. “Mary Mae was a lot richer than she liked to admit, Homer.”

  “And was the heir here? Or the heirs? Who gets it?”

  “I have no idea. I was just giving you one reason for murder. There are a lot of others. But we don’t know that it was murder yet, do we?”

  Homer looked bleakly out at his guests. “No, but I’ve got a bad feeling it was. Mary Mae — ” He sighed. “What kind of animal would kill Mary Mae?”

  Outside, there was a peal of thunder. We get rain out here in the spring, but rarely thunder. A murmur moved through the nervous crowd in the ballroom. A siren wailed and Lieutenant Remington came into the room from the archway that led to the entry hall. The Japanese servant was with him.

  “Where the hell’s Sheila?” Homer asked. “Do you think they took her down to the station?”

  “No,” I answered. “Easy now, Homer.” I went over to intercept the Lieutenant.

  He grimaced impatiently as I approached. “Keep out of my hair, Callahan. I’ve already had enough trouble with your aunt.”

  “All I want to know is where she is, Lieutenant.”

  “She’s on her way to Headquarters, that’s where she is. She’s even more insolent than you are. “He brushed past me.

  Homer had followed me over, and he had heard the conversation. He tried to grab Remington’s arm but Remington brushed past him too. He said to me, “Get an attorney. I’m going down there. I’ll meet you down there.”

  “I doubt if the police will let you leave, Homer,” I warned him. “Let me ask the Lieutenant about it.”

  “Call an attorney,” he said. “Don’t worry about me.”

  I went to look for a phone to call Tommy Self.

  • • •

  In Lieutenant Remington’s office, Tommy conversed quietly with Homer, out of my audio range. Though he had gone to Stanford with me, and quarterbacked our team, Tommy had gone to Harvard after that and become a little pretentious.

  He hadn’t wanted to come down until I told him Homer was my aunt’s latest husband. Tommy knew that Aunt Sheila never settled for the middle class.

  And now he was giving Homer all the well-bred attention Harvard lawyers reserve for wealthy Texans. Lieutenant Remington and Sergeant Gnup were questioning a few of the selected guests in another room.

  Somewhere, I sensed, they had uncovered a potentially revealing line of investigation. It was possible that they knew most of the old local residents rather intimately, particularly the cinema crowd, and were familiar with most of the feuds and alliances.

  The door opened and Lieutenant Remington came in with the Japanese servant.

  Tommy stood up and Remington said, “Mrs. Gallup claims you are also here to represent Mr. Yoshida. Is that true?”

  Homer said, “Of course it’s true. Do you think my wife’s a liar?”

  Remington looked coolly at Homer. “I was addressing Mr. Self, sir.”

  “And talking about my wife,” Homer reminded him. “Mr. Self will represent Mr. Yoshida.”

  Lieutenant Remington gave Homer a long, hard look and then went over to sit behind his desk. Yoshida came over to sit next to me on the leather couch.

  “Callahan’s my name,” I told him. “BrockCallahan.”

  “I know,” he said softly. “I’ve seen you many times, the greatest guard who ever played football. My name is Raymond Yoshida.”

  We shook hands and I looked up to meet Lieutenant Remington’s stare.

  “Soliciting?” he asked me. “Business slow?”

  “I never solicit, Lieutenant,” I said with dignity.

  He made some comment I couldn’t hear. Anger stirred in me, but my mouth remained shut.

  Homer, my good friend, said, “Mr. Callahan doesn’t need to solicit. He’s working for me on this case.”

  Remington’s eyebrows lifted. He smiled disdainfully.

  I continued to keep my mouth shut, but the smile had got to Homer. He said acidly, “With what I’ve seen tonight, it’s plain to me an efficient investigator is needed.”

  Tommy murmured something to Homer and Remington looked rigidly at both of them. Silence. Next to me, Raymond Yoshida stirred uncomfortably. I yawned.

  It was one of those high-tension silences that sometimes precede vocal thunder. And then an interruption broke the moment’s tension. Aunt Sheila came through the doorway talking a mile a minute, Gnup trailing her.

  She glared at Remington and he said curtly, “Please be seated, Mrs. Gallup.”

  Aunt Sheila came over to crowd in next to me. Sergeant Gnup looked around and saw no empty seats. He stood against the wall next to Remington’s chair.

  I asked politely, “Has the cause of death been determined, Lieutenant?”

  He nodded. “Would you like to guess at what it was?”

  I shook my head.

  “Try,” he said.

  “Well, by the way her neck was twisted, a fall might have done it.”

  He shook his head but didn’t enlighten me.

  Aunt Sheila said, “She was poisoned. With coniine. What’s coniine, Brock?”

  An alkaloid, I thought, contained in Conium maculatum. And the common name for Conium maculatum is poison hemlock. I thought back a few days to my fan behind the counter who had taken my order. As a gag, I had ordered hemlock. I shivered.

  Remington said, “What are you thinking about, Callahan? You look nervous. What’s on your mind, Callahan? Quick!”

  I ignored him. I said to Aunt Sheila, “Coniine is a poison soluble in alcohol.” Then I looked at Remington. “I was thinking of hemlock, Lieutenant. I was thinking of Socrates.”

  His face stiffened.

  I said soothingly, “For some reason, we’ve all got off to a bad start. If you don’t feel, Lieutenant, that my services would be of any help to the Department, I won’t accept Mr. Gallup as a client in this case.”

  Homer started to object, but Tommy Self quickly put a hand on his arm. Re
mington looked at Gnup.

  Gnup said, “Callahan and I aren’t exactly buddies, but we have no reason to distrust him, Lieutenant.”

  Remington leaned back in his chair and took a deep breath. After a thoughtful moment, he said, “It has been a bad start.” He looked levelly at Aunt Sheila. “Triggered by considerable citizen arrogance.”

  Aunt Sheila said nothing. Her face showed nothing.

  Tommy said, “I’m sure Mrs. Gallup was horribly shocked by what she discovered. It was bound to react unfavorably on her — disposition.”

  “And she hasn’t got the best disposition in the world to begin with,” I added.

  Gnup laughed. Remington almost smiled.

  The door opened again and a uniformed man said, “A Miss Bonnet wants to know if she may come in, Lieutenant. She’s a friend of Mrs. Gallup.”

  “It’s my girl,” I said. “I’ll go out with her and wait in the hall. Okay?”

  Remington nodded. Almost thankfully, I thought. Gnup came over to take the seat I was vacating. There seemed to be less tension in the room when I left.

  In the hall, Jan said, “What’s going on in there? What kind of a ridiculous police department is this?”

  “Simmer down,” I said. “Aunt Sheila, as usual, was talking when she should have been listening. I’d have run her in myself.”

  “I’ll bet you would. And you’d have let me sit out here the rest of the night, I suppose, if I hadn’t made a fuss?”

  “There was no reason for you to come,” I said. “Let’s go out and get some air.”

  “It’s raining,” she said. “What’s going on in there?”

  “A conference. It’s going to be all right. Now, damn it, calm down! It’s none of your business.”

  She stared at me. “Well — ! Since when are you such a great defender of the police?”

  “Always,” I informed her. “They take too much and get paid too little for it. They don’t always like me, but I’ve always had a great respect for conscientious police officers.”

  The door had opened while I was talking, and Sergeant Gnup came through to hear the last part of my speech. “Glad to hear it,” he said dryly. “Could I have a word or two in private?”

  Jan sniffed and went down to the other end of the hall. Gnup said quietly, “Remington is glad to have you on it; don’t worry about that. He’s just had a bad evening is all. Look, check out this Joyce Thorne woman tomorrow, huh? Tonight, we’ve had it. We’re going to stay here and consolidate what we have, and we’ll brief you in the morning on that. Got me?”