Race with Death

by Gilbert, Morris

  Dani stepped out of the darkness, saying, “After you get through with the lesson, Ben, come inside, will you?”

  Allison frowned, “Oh, Dani, you always want to have Ben! I can’t even have an old lesson!” She whirled and ran into the house, rebellion in the set of her back.

  Dani started to go after her, but Savage said, “Make it up later, Boss.”

  “She’s so—sensitive!” Dani shook her head. “She’s either hanging on me or running away from me mad as a hornet.”

  “Hard time for her.” Savage studied Dani, his dark eyes careful. “You’re a little along those lines yourself, or haven’t you noticed?”

  Dani was startled, then a touch of anger came to her. She hated to think that she needed people, and said stiffly, “If I’ve been ‘hanging on you,’ I’m sorry!”

  “It’s okay, Boss,” Savage nodded, his lips turned up in a grin. “I like to be hanged on. Why, you can help yourself right now if you feel the need.”

  His good humor drove the irritation out of Dani, and she smiled suddenly. “I may take you up on that if things don’t get better.” She moved closer to him, adding, “How does it feel to have three hysterical females dangling from your neck?”

  “I like it. Makes me feel masterful.” He studied her, then asked, “No luck in Baton Rouge?”

  “Come on inside and I’ll tell you about it.”

  They left the patio and, entering the house, found Ellen setting the table. Her stonewashed jeans and cranberry crushneck top gave her a youthful appearance. “Hi,” she greeted Dani. “Go wash up. Supper is ready.”

  “Don’t let Ben get at the boudin,” Dani warned as she turned and left the kitchen. “He’ll put it all away!”

  Ellen smiled at Ben, then asked, “How did the lesson go?”

  “Fine.”

  “You don’t overburden anyone with excess information, do you, Ben?” Ellen picked up one of the boudin sausages and handed it to Ben. “See if it’s good.”

  Savage bit the end off the sausage and a glow of pleasure touched his dark eyes. “Just right!” He chewed on the spicy meat thoughtfully, then added, “Allison’s going to be fine, Ellen. Just takes time.” He swallowed the morsel, then gave her a peculiar look. “Going to take time for you, too.”

  Ellen glanced up at him quickly, noted the concern in his eyes, and said quickly, “I’ll be all right, Ben.”

  “You put up a pretty good front—but the nights are bad, aren’t they?”

  Caught off guard, Ellen stopped dead still, her hand going to her throat. The smile faded and grief that she kept carefully hidden surfaced, twisting her lips and dulling her eyes. She said nothing for a few moments, and the ticking of the clock in the hall was audible.

  “Yes, Ben,” she whispered finally. “The nights are pretty bad.”

  “Wish I could help.”

  Ellen lifted her eyes to meet his. “You really mean that, don’t you? Well, you are a help, Ben.”

  “Not much,” he muttered. “Not much anyone can do, is there? We can only go so far with someone who’s had a loss—and then we have to fall back and let him go alone.”

  She was surprised at his perception, as she was from time to time, and said so. “You’re so tough, it always catches me off guard when you let me have a little glimpse of what’s underneath that hard shell you wear.” She turned and picked up the bowl of shrimp remoulade, then turned to say, “You’re here, Ben, and I’m aware of it all the time. So are the girls—and Rob, too.”

  Savage was uncomfortable, for he disliked being thanked. “Well, Ellen, I’ll be around.” He grinned crookedly, adding, “If you want to save some bucks, you can unload on me instead of a shrink.”

  She laughed, and he stood there, talking and listening to her until Dani and Allison came down. Savage caught Dani’s glance and knew that she’d made up with the younger girl. “Did you let him have any boudin?” Dani demanded. “I don’t need to ask, because you always let him do what he wants.”

  “Keep a man’s stomach full and he’ll behave,” Ellen smiled. “Which is the extent of my wisdom, I guess. Let’s eat.”

  Rob came in from the study, and the five of them sat down. Ellen bowed her head and asked the blessing. Everyone was totally aware of the loss in their house at that moment, for it had always been Dan Ross who’d asked the blessing.

  But Ellen was smiling, and they plunged into the food at once. She’d made oysters Bienville, and both Rob and Ben ate as though a famine were coming to Louisiana. There were crawfish patties, too, which were Allison’s favorite, and for dessert, there was a large platter of pig’s ears—les oreilles de cochon, as the Cajuns called them—balls of dough fried in oil, dipped in cane syrup, and rolled in pecans.

  After the meal, Ben and Rob washed the dishes. Then they all played Trivial Pursuit for two hours. Ben won by knowing which country lies directly south of Detroit, Michigan, and was insufferable about his victory.

  “You people are ignorant of geography,” he announced. “You should have grown up traveling with a circus, then you’d know something.”

  Finally the rest of the family went to bed, discreetly leaving Ben and Dani alone.

  They sat in the study for a time, and Dani told him about her visit to the Leonard Hotel. Savage listened, then said, “I’ll have a talk with Givens, and the preacher, too.” He got up to leave, and she walked him to the front door. The moon was shedding a silver light over the drive, and she accompanied him to the Hawk. When he turned, she said, “Thanks, Ben.”

  “No charge.” He hesitated, then said, “I’d like to do more.”

  Dani knew his meaning, but said, “I have to have time, Ben—and so do you.”

  “Sure, I know.”

  Savage got into the car, slamming the door. The deep-throated roar of the big engine fragmented the silence. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said as the Hawk left the driveway, turning off onto the main road.

  Dani stood there, listening to the fading sound of the car, then moved slowly back toward the house. When she reached the door, she paused, her hand on the knob, and for one moment she longed to turn and run away, to find someplace where there was no crisis. But there was no place on earth like that, she well understood—so she took a deep breath and stepped inside, closing the door firmly behind her.

  4

  Old Flame

  * * *

  Spanish Town was a tired section of Baton Rouge’s inner city that lapped at the edges of the downtown area, running almost up to the steps of the Capitol. Savage drove along the narrow streets, noting that it had all the signs of a high-crime area: deteriorating housing, many young men with apparently nothing to do, and a lack of any elements of progress or improvement. Some of the houses had been fine specimens of southern architecture in the past, mansions gone to seed and cut up into miniature apartments or rooming houses. The paint was peeling from most of them, or had faded beyond hope of giving any color to the street.

  Savage thought of a line of poetry he’d read: Hope is a thing with feathers that perches in the soul. As the words flashed across his mind, he looked at the graceless scene and muttered, “I guess not much hope perches around Spanish Town—”

  He hated inner cities, and the sight of the area brought to mind bitter, harsh memories of the years he’d spent as a policeman in Colorado. He’d been a fine cop, but had spent most of his time fighting the system. It had rankled him that a sixteen-year-old black youngster from the slums could go to prison for smoking a joint, while a wealthy preppie could smoke all the dope he chose without fear of reprisal. It had been his refusal to see the difference between the two as far as arrests were concerned that had gotten him “released” from his job. He’d arrested the son of a state senator for dealing drugs, and had refused to heed the warnings that came at once. It had been a losing battle, of course. Within a few days the drug dealer was out of prison, and Savage was out of a job.

  Savage saw several dealers plying their trade openly, but it was
none of his business. He drove out of the area and parked his car in front of the Leonard Hotel. Getting out, he plugged the meter with two quarters, then crossed the street and entered the hotel. It was, he saw, an old building that had been kept up-to-date. He passed through the large lobby, admiring the fine chandeliers that were reflected in the glistening marble floors, ignored the desk clerk, and made his way into the parking area.

  “Help you, sir?”

  Savage found a small black man of no more than twenty standing beside a desk along the wall. He wore crimson trousers and a black jacket with Leonard Hotel written in gold script over the breast pocket. His hair was cut in a tribal pattern, and there was a shrewd look in his brown eyes as he waited.

  “I’m looking for Clyde Givens.”

  “I’m Givens.” The man’s eyes grew more cautious as he studied Savage carefully. “You the law?”

  Savage smiled at the quickness of the man. “Not anymore. What makes you think I’m the fuzz?”

  “Most folks don’t carry guns,” Givens said quickly adding, “mostly only cops and robbers. And you don’t look like a robber.” His speech was not southern, having none of the quality of Black English. There was something foreign about him, though Ben could not quite place it.

  Savage took out his billfold and flashed a photocopy of his private investigator’s license.

  “Oh, you’re private.” Relief showed in Givens’s eyes at once. “What can I do for you?”

  “Like to ask you a few questions about Eddie Prejean.” The question, Savage saw, brought an instant reaction. Givens’s eyes dropped at once and his lips grew tighter. “Already told the law all I know, Mr. Savage. And I can’t talk now, not on the job.”

  “How about I wait until your lunch break?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.” Givens shook his head, his voice adamant. “You go down to the station and get them to let you read my statement. It’s all in there.” He turned and walked quickly away, intercepting a new Buick Roadmaster that was nosing into the area.

  Savage hesitated, but he had no leverage. If he had been a local cop, he could have gotten Givens to talk by threatening to have him arrested, but he had no authority. He could wait until the man got off, catch him alone and pressure him—but that wouldn’t do, either.

  Turning abruptly, he moved out of the parking area and went through the lobby into the dining room. It was four fifteen, too late for lunch and too early for dinner, so the tables were mostly empty. A pretty redhead in a green dress, with a badge that said Hostess, came to ask, “Smoking or non-smoking?”

  “Non-smoking,” Savage said, and followed her to a table beside the wall. “A waitress will be with you soon.” She smiled, turned, and left. Almost at once a waitress was there, a young black woman wearing a starched white uniform. “Coffee?” she asked, handing him a menu.

  “Yes, black.” She left and Savage studied the menu briefly, then looked around the room. It was a large room, with ceilings at least fifteen feet high. High windows flanked one side, allowing light to fall across the room, and the curtains were a rich, mellow green. White linen tablecloths gave an immaculate look to the room, and the cup the waitress brought was real china.

  “I’ll have the gumbo.” Handing her the menu, he asked, “Is Leon Williams working this afternoon?”

  “Yes. That’s him over there.”

  Savage followed her gesture and nodded. When she left, he studied the man. Dani had given him a description of Williams, and as he ate his meal, he kept his eye on the waiter. Not long after Ben finished his gumbo, Williams walked by. Savage got up and spoke to him, “Like to see you for a few minutes when you have time, Reverend.”

  Williams stopped and turned to him at once. “Have to be back in the kitchen, suh.”

  “That’s fine.”

  Savage dropped a dollar on the table, picked up the check and paid it, then walked through the door where Williams had disappeared. He found the man waiting for him, and said, “Miss Ross talked to you yesterday, I think.”

  “Oh, the young lady,” Williams nodded. “Yas, suh, she did.”

  “I work for her, Reverend,” Savage said. “I’ve been trying to get some information from Givens about the night the young woman was murdered. He doesn’t want to talk to me.”

  Williams nodded quickly, “He’s real nervous ’bout all that. Don’t like to talk to nobody.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Well, fo’ one thing, he’s afraid he’ll get sent back home. He’s from Africa, you know.”

  “I didn’t think he was from Louisiana.”

  “Goes to LSU—he’s a real smart young man,” Williams nodded. “Never did talk much, but ever since that killin’, he’s been tight as a clam, real nervous. I ax him about it, and he said if he got mixed up in any trouble, he’d get sent home.”

  “But he testified at the trial.”

  “Yas, suh, but not at first. He didn’t say nothin’ at all ‘bout seein’ that man leave with that young lady—not until the trial was ’bout over.”

  Instantly Ben was alert. “Why was that, Reverend?”

  A cautious light came into the waiter’s brown eyes. “Can’t say, suh. But I kin say he didn’t want to go to no courtroom.”

  “Nobody does,” Savage said dryly. He stood there, not knowing what to say. Givens was sullen and it seemed pointless to pressure him. He’d sworn in court that Prejean and Cory Louvier had left together. If he changed his story, he’d be open to a perjury charge. A thought came to him, and he said, “Miss Ross said you mentioned somebody called Bejay.”

  “Well, I did say that—” Williams looked around quickly to be certain that the cook could not hear him, and lowering his voice, said, “Don’t tell nobody I said that, please, suh.”

  “No, I won’t. Who is Bejay?”

  “He a bellhop here in the hotel.”

  “Why’d you tell Miss Ross to talk to him, Reverend?”

  Williams looked like he was caught in a struggle, as though he wanted to say something but was not certain of the outcome. “I don’t want nothin’ to happen to Bejay, Mr. Savage—nor to Clyde neither.” His large brown eyes were filled with apprehension, and he said quietly, “A black man—he ain’t got much chance if he gits crossways with the law. All this civil rights stuff been goin’ on fo’ thirty years, but black folks ain’t much better off.”

  “I don’t want to get anybody in trouble,” Savage said carefully. “All I want to do is try to help Eddie Prejean. If he killed the girl, he ought to pay for it. But Miss Ross thinks he’s innocent.”

  “Whut do you think, Mr. Savage?”

  “Don’t know. But I’m going to try to find out.”

  “That Miss Ross, she’s a Christian lady,” Williams said thoughtfully. Then he asked suddenly, “You a Christian, Mr. Savage?”

  The question took Savage off guard. He flushed and for one moment couldn’t find a response. He’d been approached before and asked the same question, but somehow this time it was different. He stood there, trying to think clearly. Finally he shook his head. “No, I’m afraid not, Reverend.”

  He waited for Williams to begin to pressure him, but the small man just stood there quietly studying him. Finally Williams said softly, “It will come to you, Mr. Savage. I kin see the Lord is workin’ on you. And when God gits aftah a man, sooner or later they gonna meet up. I’ll be prayin’ for you.”

  Savage felt a warm sensation at the words, and nodded. “I’d appreciate it, Reverend.”

  “Now—” Williams said, “Bejay’s off right now. Fishin’ in the Atchafalaya basin. Won’t be back ‘till next week. Mebbe you kin see him when he gits back.”

  “We don’t have much time, Reverend,” Savage said. “Can you tell me how to find him?”

  Williams nodded. “I’ll draw you a map—show you where his folks stay.” He found a piece of paper and a stub of a pencil and drew a rough map. “Take this exit, go to Whiskey Bay,” he said, “and you git a boat. Mebb
e you better git a guide. Don’t do a man no good to git lost in them swamps.” He drew the location of the Guidry shack, and handed it to Savage, who pocketed it.

  “Thanks for your help—”

  At that moment a door opened and a big man walked in, his hard blue eyes fixing at once on Savage. “What’s your business here?” he demanded. Then, without waiting for an answer, he said roughly, “We don’t allow anybody bothering our help. Come on—”

  He took Savage’s arm and gave it a rough jerk as he wheeled. Savage chopped down with the edge of his right hand, striking the big man’s bicep. A slight gasp of pain came from the man’s lips, and his hand fell away limply.

  “Sorry I broke the rule,” Savage said. “But I can get out without help.” He studied the man, then added, “I guess you must be Mullins.”

  Anger had flared into the man’s eyes, and he grated, “That’s right. Who are you?”

  “Ben Savage. I work for Miss Ross.”

  Instantly Mullins grew tense. “I don’t need any big shot private eyes from New Orleans troubling the help. Now get out—and if you come back, you’ll see just how little our local law is impressed by your license! And you, Williams, if you don’t have enough to do, maybe we don’t need you around here.”

  Savage said, “I didn’t give him any choice, Mullins. Don’t take it out on him.”

  Mullins glared at him, “This is your last warning, Savage. Don’t come back to this hotel.”

  “Can’t promise that,” Savage said as he walked out of the kitchen. He heard Mullins, his voice ripe with anger, shouting at Leon Williams, and he regretted that he’d gotten the mild little man in trouble. Hope he doesn’t get fired over this, he thought, and all the way to his car he tried to think of some way to help the preacher. But nothing came to him, and he gave up. For a moment he considered going on the hunt for Bejay Guidry, but it was too late for that, so he left the city and headed back to New Orleans. As he drove, he tried to make some sense out of the incident.

  Mullins is pretty hard-nosed—but he’s too touchy about this thing. Givens—he’s not telling anything, but something’s eating at him. Could be worried that he’ll get sent back to Africa—but how could testifying in a case do that? And the Reverend knows something he can’t tell me or Dani. That’s why he’s pointed us at Bejay Guidry. Got to get to that one quick. But he’ll probably clam up, too.