One of his hands reached up, as though to grasp that handle, and then his knees gave way, and he toppled.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
I TOLD ROYAL, “TELL the police to bring a doctor.” I ran past Henry’s body toward the end of the locker room from which he had come.
There were two doors at this end of the room. One of them was locked. The other led to the parking lot, and I shoved it open.
Juan Perita was trimming the hedge that bordered the flagstone walk leading to the parking lot. Thirty feet past him, C. R. Faulkner was putting a bundle that could be laundry into the front seat of his Imperial.
Juan looked at me quizzically.
I asked, “Who just came out this door?”
Juan shook his head. “No one. Something wrong, Denny?”
“Henry’s been stabbed,” I said. “Stay here, and don’t let anybody leave.” I pointed. “That includes Mr. Faulkner.”
I closed the door again and locked it. Royal came up the corridor and I told him, “Send out a call for any doctor on the course or in the clubhouse.”
He went toward the phone again and I went along the rows of lockers, trying each door, opening all those that weren’t locked. They were big enough to hold a man.
Royal came back to tell me, “They’re sending a car out for Doctor Evans.”
I nodded. “Where does this locked door lead to?”
“To the canyon. There used to be a little patio out there, but it gave way when we had that wet winter in fifty-two. Remember?”
“Have you a key for it?”
He shook his head. “I don’t even think there’s one around. It’s been locked ever since I started to work here. We don’t want no drunken members walking out of there.”
I remembered the door from the outside, now. Often, as I stood on the eighteenth green, I had looked up to see this door fifteen feet above the ground beneath it. And five feet to the left of its left edge, the cliff wall went down another fifty feet.
“All right, then,” I said quietly to Royal, “where’s our killer?”
His brown eyes stared at me and then their direction shifted to the door that led to the parking lot.
I said, “Juan is out there. And he tells me nobody came out through that door.”
“Juan can be bought,” Royal said. “Juan’s another Henry.” He looked up at the high, barred windows and down the rows of locker doors I had left open. He shook his head.
I told him, “I’m going to stay right here, where I can watch this whole end of the locker room. You stay at the other end until the police come.”
Royal expelled his breath. “This end, you can have. You think Henry’s dead, Denny?”
I nodded. “We’ll know for sure, soon enough. Get down there, now.”
Morrow brought his partner, Officer Joe Nolan, along with him this time. And a raft of technical men.
In the little shoeshine room, Morrow listened to my story which Royal corroborated.
When I’d finished, he said, “So he’s your only alibi and you’re his, is that the picture?”
Resentment moved through me. I didn’t answer.
Royal said, “Alibi for what, officer? Who needs an alibi, and for what?”
Morrow looked at him gravely. “An alibi for murder. Denny was working with this bartender; I know that.” He looked back at me. “Trying to put the bite on the killer, weren’t you, you and this Henry? And now you figure to get the whole wad.”
“That’s right, Sergeant,” I said. “I know who the killer is and so did Henry and we were trying to blackmail him. So while Royal was bent over, polishing shoes, I went down the corridor and killed Henry and came back. I was sitting three feet from Royal all the time and he wouldn’t miss me if I left, would he?”
Morrow’s eyes were cynical, “Smart, aren’t you?”
“In some company,” I said, “I look smart.”
“Watch your tongue. Do you deny that you and this bartender were working on the Venier kill together?”
“I deny it. And I know where you got that idea. From a cheap divorce investigator named Harold Chopko. He was supposed to be working with Henry, too. Henry worked with nobody where there was a jackpot involved.”
Morrow sneered. “And you?”
“Book me, Sergeant. I’m sick of your talk.”
“You’re practically on the way to the station this second,” he said. “Stay right here.”
He went away and Royal said, “I think we could use a drink. Right, Denny?”
“Not me. Morrow’s on the warpath; one more drink and I’d really tell him off. And then where would I be?”
Royal grinned. “In exactly the same place—the pokey.” He went over to get the bottle.
He didn’t get a chance to mix himself a drink. Morrow came back and said, “Come on, you two; we’re going down to the station.”
The three of us were going down the corridor when Willie came through from the bar. He saw us and stopped. We would have to go into single file around him if he wanted to continue.
He looked only at Morrow. “What does this mean?”
“These men are coming to the station with me,” Morrow said quietly.
“Why?”
Morrow’s voice was sharper. “Because I want them to. And if I have any trouble from you, you’ll go along.”
Willie hesitated, and then said, “The Chief will be in for his Wednesday round in a few minutes. I’ll mention that you took two very valuable employees away on our busiest weekday. I’ll mention your insolence.” He stepped to one side, to let us pass.
Sergeant Morrow shook his head and smiled. “Oh, you small men with big mouths…Come on, you two.”
I could almost feel Willie’s heat as we moved past him.
There was no dialogue in the Department car all the way to the West Side Station on Purdue Street. There, Sergeant Morrow took us into a small and hot office across from the washroom.
Royal and I sat in a pair of hard wooden chairs. Sergeant Morrow sat in a more comfortable chair behind a desk and considered us. The silence continued.
Finally he leaned back and shook his head.
“If this is going to be a pantomime,” I said, “could I have a program?”
His glance was indifferent. “I don’t know where to begin with a pair like you. Neither of you have any reason to protect the members over there, have you?”
Royal looked at me. “What’s the man talking about, Denny?”
I shrugged.
Royal said, “Lieutenant, I was polishing shoes. That’s a crime? Not for white men, it isn’t.”
“I’m not a lieutenant, Washington.”
Royal smiled. “You got that brass look, Corporal. How was I to know?”
Morrow didn’t seem to be listening, his eyes on me. “Three men are in a locker room. One of the men is murdered. Wouldn’t it figure that one of the other two men did it?”
I shrugged.
“Or maybe both?” Morrow suggested. Now, he looked at Royal.
Royal said, “How about that Mexican, that Perita? He was right outside. And you know those Mexicans, Corporal. Hotheads, all of ’em.”
Morrow nodded. “We brought him down. I’m a sergeant, Washington.”
Royal sighed and looked at the floor. “Congratulations.”
“Don’t be insolent.”
Royal looked up and met Morrow’s gaze steadily. “To hell with you, white man.”
Morrow’s face stiffened, and he leaned forward in his chair.
I said, “Don’t do anything foolish, Sergeant. Maybe you think Willie’s kidding about knowing the Chief. He wasn’t. And Willie thinks a lot of both of us.”
Morrow leaned back again and his voice was sticky with sarcasm. “The lackey mind…You think because you mix with the money you’ve got some power of your own. Get those ideas out of your head right now. Two men have been killed, and you, Burke, are involved with both of them right up to your hairline. And your buddy here is co
vering for you.”
I said nothing.
Royal sighed again.
Morrow said, “Now would be a smart time to tell me everything you know about this, Washington.”
Royal continued to look at the floor.
Morrow looked at me. “And on the off-chance that you’re innocent you could save yourself a lot of trouble by spouting it this minute.”
“I’m clear,” I said, “and you know it. I was at a show with my mother when Venier died and talking to Royal when Henry was stabbed. All I knew about the case, I brought over to your house that night when you couldn’t tear yourself away from the ball game. Now charge us with something or let us go.”
He leaned forward again—and the phone rang.
He picked up the phone and said gruffly, “Sergeant Morrow speaking.” Then his voice changed, and he said, “Oh, yes, Chief. Yes, sir, they’re here. I—” Silence from him.
I said, “Ask the Chief if his short game’s improving.”
“Of course, sir,” Morrow said. “I’ll handle it personally.” He hung up, and looked at the desk top quietly a moment.
“The lackey mind,” I said.
Royal continued to look at the floor, but now he was grinning.
Morrow said impersonally, “You’re a real nasty little man, aren’t you, Burke? You try to look like the All-American boy, but underneath you’re just a nasty little man.” He stood up. “I’ll send a stenographer in to take your statements. I’m sick of the sight of both of you.” He went out.
Royal shook his head sadly. “You nasty little man. He should see you hit one, huh, Denny?”
“He’s not through with us,” I said. “Maybe for this minute, he is, but we’ll be hearing from him.”
“I can wait,” Royal said. “I’m patient.”
A police stenographer came in and we dictated our statements. We had to wait for them to be typed so we could sign them. After the stenographer had gone out, we were alone in the room.
I said, “I wonder what Henry was doing in the locker room.”
Royal said, “That was his regular relief time. He comes in pretty often to chew the fat, try and get some gossip about the members. A snake.”
“He’s dead, Royal,” I said.
“So? Who’s crying? You’re not. Me, either.”
The room seemed to grow hotter and smellier. In my mind, I saw the fifth hole and Bud’s body in the arroyo. And then, in my mind, another memory began to form, some words I’d heard long ago and was itching to remember now. I had a feeling of being lost in space in this quiet, airless room. What were the words I was groping for?
What had been the trigger that had sent my mind groping? The Chief…? The male stenographer…? The heat in here, the smell? The word ‘snake’…? What did that word mean? Again, the buried words came almost to the surface of my mind, and then submerged again. I felt sure that “snake” had been the trigger word unleashing an image my memory couldn’t complete.
The door opened, and Juan Perita came in. He looked at us for a moment before trying a tentative smile. “Hot,” he said. “Over a hundred downtown.”
Royal smiled back at him. “It’s going to get hotter, Juan.”
Juan shrugged. “Policemen,” he said, and shook his head. He went over to sit on a bench near the window.
Officer Nolan came in with the statements Royal and I had dictated.
We signed them and he told us, “Don’t make any plans for a trip. You can go, now.”
“How about transportation?” I asked.
He looked at me without interest. “The buses are running.”
“Once an hour. Okay.” I looked at Royal. “Let’s go. The smell is killing me.”
We were going out the door when Nolan said to Juan, “All right, Pancho; over here where I can talk to you.”
Maybe Willie was right about cops.
At the desk near the entrance, Judy was talking to the uniformed sergeant. She saw me and came over.
“You came at the right time,” I said. “Royal and I were about to walk back to the club.”
“You’re being released? You’re not being held?”
I nodded. “How about your father?”
She stared at me. “What do you mean? What about him?”
“He was outside, in the parking lot, when Henry was killed. Juan was outside, too, and he was brought in. I thought perhaps your father would be.”
She asked quietly, “Was that a crack, Denny? What did it mean?”
“Nothing. I’d appreciate a ride back to the club. So would Royal. You know how lousy the bus service is. Or no, you wouldn’t.”
She didn’t move. “Nice mood you’re in.”
“I’m sorry. I’ve had it, today. I’ll be better. Could we try a ride?”
Her face was blank and she didn’t look at me directly. “Of course.”
Like the trip over, this one included no dialogue. In the parking lot, Royal got out and thanked Judy for the ride and left. I started to get out and she said, “Just a second.”
I sat where I was, waiting.
“Look at me,” she said.
I looked at her.
Her voice was calm and low. “This isn’t going to work, is it? You’re not going to give it a chance. You’ve decided to be the professional poor boy, hating the world.”
I shook my head. “I’ve decided to be my own man. I love you and probably always will. But my wife goes my way and I pay the freight all the way. There’s no compromise on that.”
Some tremor in her voice. “Is that fair?”
“I don’t know. It’s the only way I’ll accept it. Thanks for the ride, Judy.”
I got out and turned to close the door.
She said, “I suppose you’ve always hated my father since you first caddied for him. You resent his success.”
“I might resent his success. I can’t be sure. But I never hated him and I don’t now. I’ll be waiting for your decision, Judy.”
“Don’t hold your breath,” she said, and the big Imperial moved off, her tires squealing.
I watched her gunning out toward the highway and reflected that I could never make a gesture like that in the Chev; she gets under way too laboriously.
In the pro shop, Willie was grinning smugly.
“You certainly have influential friends,” I told him.
He yawned, and examined his nails. “You didn’t need to come back. You could have taken the rest of the day off.”
“I just came back for my clubs,” I said, “and my car. I’m through, Willie. This is goodbye to Canyon.”
He smiled. “All right. The trail, Denny?”
“I guess. If I can get financing. Charles would do it for a piece of me. But I’d like to be a whole man for a while.”
He looked serious. “Charles might be a good companion and a better backer. If you don’t earn much, his cut won’t hurt you and if you hit a jackpot, you’d still be all right. Because with taxes what they are, Charles’ cut wouldn’t even be noticed in real money.”
That made sense, and I nodded. Ī went in and got my clubs and came back.
I felt uncomfortable; I didn’t know what to say.
Willie said easily, “Drop in from time to time, Denny. Play the course any time you want to.” He came over to take my hand. “All my other children are daughters.”
I remember the gulp and the moisture in my eyes but I don’t remember what I said. That Willie knows how to get to you. I went out into a blistering afternoon, feeling about as low as I had ever felt in my life.
For nine years, this had been almost my only recreational area. For five of those nine years, it had been my employer and in the other four I had earned my spending money in this true testing ground. It was identified with my adolescence and was the reason for my recent maturity; what I knew I had learned here.
Here, I had met Willie and Judy and Charles.
The deck of the Chev was too hot to touch. I got a rag out of the glove compar
tment and held the deck handle with that while I stowed my clubs in the rear. If it was this hot out here, it must be murder downtown.
I opened the doors of the car and pulled her over under a eucalyptus tree. I had to hold the steering wheel with the tips of my fingers.
I left the doors open while I walked over to the side of the clubhouse that held the locked door. I studied the drop from the doorway and realized a man could close the door before dropping; the ledge was big enough to permit that. It was probably a spring lock.
But first a man would need to have a key to open the door and there’d been no key around for years. But how else could the killer escape? Juan had been standing outside that other door; C. R. Faulkner must have been even closer to it than he was when I first saw him.
One of them might lie, but not both of them. And they couldn’t both be guilty of murder; it would be just a geographical accident that both of them were in the area when Henry was stabbed.
From the shelf fifteen feet below, a path led into the chaparral of the canyon slope. The old men who hunted for lost balls followed these paths through the shoulder-high jungle. There were always a few of them around the course; a killer would need to be lucky to avoid being seen by one of them.
Which boiled it down to this: One door was locked and there was no key. The other door had been in view of two witnesses. All the lockers had been checked.
Somewhere, I’d read that a case like that is the easy kind because once the fallacy is found, the puzzle unravels. This wasn’t one of those. This, I felt sure, hadn’t been manipulated. Someone had thrust that knife in desperation, expecting the victim to die right where he was struck. But the victim had walked away from his killer, alerting us.
And, somehow, the killer had got away unnoticed.
The Chev was a little cooler when I climbed into it again. The boys would be coming in from their afternoon rounds soon and there would be a lot of buzzing about this second murder in eight days. An awful lot had happened since that first one.
I was waiting for a break in the traffic on Sunset when a Ferrari turned into the driveway and stopped across the road from me. It was Valerie Evans.
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