The Anatomy of Violence

by Charles Runyon

  “But she was a pro, wasn’t she? Jules could have been just another customer. Do you have a photographer to swear in court he took them?”

  “No,” I said.

  “Sorry, photos aren’t any good in court without the photographer. What else?”

  “Tape.”

  “All Curtright company cars have first-aid kits. And maybe Jules has bandaged a finger since Saturday.”

  “The footprints—no, they’ve disappeared. Well, there’s the fact that Curtright’s alibi is open to question.”

  “To you and me, maybe.” Rich shook his head. “Not to a jury, if the bartender sticks to his story.” He sighed. “We’ll have to visit the lodge, soon. It would explain Riemann’s trip, Ann’s absences. But trying to get Curtright on what we’ve got is like trying to buy a thousand-dollar pot with a one-dollar bet.”

  “I could run through the streets yelling, ‘Curtright did it to me!’ Something would give.”

  “Don’t even whisper it.” Richard’s voice was tense. “Remember, this guy kills little girls.” He leaned back and drummed his fingers on the wheel. “Let me put myself back in Koch’s shoes. If he’s straight, he’ll take what we have and sit tight until he gets more. If he’s covering for Jules, he’ll take what we’ve got, destroy it, and try to get us out of his hair. Ever hear of drawing fire?”

  “Just heard of it.”

  “Well, say you’re in combat and you want to move but you don’t know where the enemy is. You send out a patrol. The patrol gets shot at. Voila! You’ve found the enemy.” He leaned close. “Now suppose I went in and said Ann knew the killer?”

  “Suppose we went.” I said firmly.

  “Okay. We won’t spring our evidence until we see how Koch acts. Koch will either start looking for Ann, or …”

  “Or what?”

  “We’ll have to be ready to jump. Want to try it?”

  “I want to try something. I switched on the ignition. “Let’s go.”

  I didn’t talk as Rich wound through the back roads to Curtright City. But it felt good having him with me. He pulled into an alley a half-block behind a tavern. “Rich, do these patrols ever get wiped out?”

  “Sometimes.” He opened the car door. “That’s why it’s a volunteer mission.”

  “Wait.” I caught his arm. “What if they’re looking for you already? Maybe a bike’s been stolen or something. I’ll go in first and see.”

  “That’s all you’ll do? Just find out if they want me?”

  “That’s all.”

  “Well, don’t let them follow you back here. I want to keep this car hidden.”

  I went out the other end of the alley and doubled back on the sidewalk. There was one policeman in the station sitting at the radio. “Is Koch in?” I asked.

  “Who wants him?” He turned and looked at me over his glasses. “Well, I’ll bel” He whirled back to the radio. “Get in here, Johnson. You’re watching an empty mousehole. She just walked in.”

  Johnson’s cursing came faintly over the speaker as the man turned back to me. “I’m in charge. What did you want?”

  “I prefer to tell Koch.”

  “He’s sacked in. He’d be grouchy as a froze hog.” I waited and said nothing. He shrugged and jerked his thumb at the inner office. “Wait in there.”

  I waited ten minutes, then heard Koch’s growl in the outer office. “Is that Crewes family taking over the goddam department? The old man squawks to the attorney general; now the girl wants to tell me how to run her case.”

  The man at the radio said something I didn’t catch. Koch growled back. “No, the state hasn’t sent anyone yet—but keep your eyes open. And you, Johnson, get me a quart of hot coffee. If you louse that up, I will bust you.”

  Koch came in, lowered his bulk into a chair behind his desk, and glared at me over little gray pouches that hung below his eyes. One eye was still dark where Rich had hit him. After a minute, he rasped, “You’re supposed to stay home.”

  “I go where I please. I’m not under arrest.”

  “No.” Koch smiled and lifted a mat-haired Persian cat that had been crawling under the desk. “You could learn a lot from Lady Esther, Miss Crewes. She isn’t pretty, but she minds her own business, eats well, and gets affection.” He stroked the fur, and the cat arched her back. “I had a prettier cat, but she kept getting into things. I had to … dispose of her.”

  “I didn’t come here to discuss cats, Lieutenant.”

  His smile disappeared. “I’m not discussing cats, young lady. A pretty girl has privileges a plain girl doesn’t enjoy, but there’s a limit. Maybe you’re getting close to it.” He held my eyes in the heavy, threatening look I’d seen him use on the boys he questioned, then he threw back his head and bellowed. “Where’s that coffee!”

  “Coming.”

  He coughed, then growled at me. “What do you want?”

  “Are you going to prosecute Richard?”

  “The city attorney does that. I just collect evidence.”

  “Suppose Rich could show you he couldn’t have done it.”

  His eyes didn’t leave mine. “I wouldn’t believe him.”

  “Just like that, before you talked to him?”

  Sergeant Johnson hurried in and set a paper container of coffee at Koch’s elbow; walked out again without looking at me. Koch ripped open the container and gulped the coffee as though it weren’t boiling hot. He blinked at me. “Frankly, Miss Crewes, I don’t care to see your boy friend again until it’s time to escort him to the state pen.” His mouth twisted in a smile. “All I want from him is a confession. And I don’t really need that.”

  Richard drummed his fingers on the wheel while I told him what had happened. “I think Koch is crooked, but we’ll have to flush him out.”

  I couldn’t see his expression in the dim light that came from the rear of the tavern, but his voice was taut. “I can do that, Rich. You stay here. He hates you.”

  “I know.” His hands were under the dash, doing something with the wiring. “But he won’t do anything in the station. I can run fast; that’s why I want the car to stay right here.”

  “You may not get a chance to run.”

  He straightened with a laugh. “I’ve busted jails, a reformatory and a gook prison train, so don’t worry about me. If this blows up, you worry about Laurie, nobody else. Got your knife?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay. And you can put my gun in your purse.” He took the purse, reached beneath the seat, then put the purse back in my lap. Its weight had doubled. “Now you’re set.”

  “You take the gun, Rich.”

  “No, they might search me. You, they might not. Don’t let them. You’re carrying all our evidence. And if I have to run … remember that all-night restaurant on the highway?”

  “Yes. We meet there?”

  “Not in public. There’s a tank battery a couple hundred yards down the road. The pumper’s shack isn’t being used. That’s our rendezvous. If you can’t wait, leave a note telling where you’re going. I’ll do the same.”

  “Okay.” My hands were sweating again. I sensed the excitement in Richard’s voice, as though he expected something to happen and was eager for it. I felt suddenly helpless and feminine.

  Rich scratched the retriever behind the ear. “Goldie, you stay here.” He opened the door.

  “Rich …” I gripped his shoulder. “Kiss me first.”

  His arm slid around me and I pressed against him. Our lips met and I felt the blood pound against my temples. After a moment I drew away. “We’d better go now.”

  Koch was hunched over his desk with his arms in front of him, like a spider waiting for something to twitch his web. His eyes were bright under the cowl of his brows as he looked up at Rich. “Sit down, Farham.”

  “I’ll stand, Koch. I won’t be staying.”

  “Don’t be so damn sure. Your old cell’s still vacant.”

  Rich leaned back against the wall and smiled. “Don’t try
to put me in it, fat man.”

  Koch narrowed his eyes. Then he flipped a hand and swiveled his chair, turning his back to Rich. “Say what you have to say, on your feet, on your knees or on your head. Then get out.”

  “I’m giving you my alibi, Koch. You wanted it pretty bad yesterday.”

  Koch shrugged and started filing his nails.

  I sat in a chair and watched Rich while he told how he’d acquired the rotor cap. His voice was airy and he seemed calm. But each time footsteps sounded in the hall, his eyes darted to the door. He was ready to run.

  “So,” said Koch when Rich had finished, “you lost the girl somewhere over the state line. That’s a long way out of my jurisdiction.”

  “You can send an alarm over as many states as you want. You can even cross the line.”

  “In hot pursuit we can cross the line.” Koch sounded bored. “This girl planted something in your pocket three days ago, and now you tell me. That’s a long way from hot pursuit.” Koch swallowed a mouthful of coffee. “Even if she pulled the rotor cap business, there’s no proof she was working for the man.”

  “Yes, there is,” I said. “I’ve got a letter where she says so.”

  Koch swiveled his chair and looked at me through narrowed eyes. “I don’t believe it.”

  I took the letter from my purse and waved it gently. “Right here, Koch. You’d better find her.”

  “Well …” He stood up and held out his hand. “Of course, I’ll need the letter first.”

  “I’ll keep it.” I rolled it into a tube and slipped it into my bra.

  Koch took two long steps toward me before Rich stepped between us. “Sit down, Koch.”

  Koch stopped and forced out a smile. “You can’t expect me to work without evidence.” When neither of us moved, his smile faded. “We always have Amanda search our female prisoners. Won’t take a minute to get her here.”

  “You keep forgetting I’m not a prisoner, Koch,” I said.

  I thought he’d charge past Richard and grab me, but the phone rang instead. Koch leaned across the desk and jerked the receiver to his mouth. “Koch!”

  His eyes flickered to Rich as he listened. I strained to hear, but caught only the sound of a man’s voice, talking rapidly. I whispered, “Run!” But Rich shook his head.

  The voice on the phone stopped. “All right,” said Koch. He put the receiver on the hook slowly, his lips pursed. He lit a cigaret, blew out the match, and placed it carefully in an ash tray. “You been home, Farham, since your little drive today?”

  “No.”

  “Hmmmm.” Koch smiled at the end of his cigaret. “Woman called just now, reported some noise around your place about an hour ago. Yelling, thumping around.”

  “I heard a man’s voice,” I said.

  Koch smiled at me, then turned back to Rich. “A woman with a deep voice, Farham. You got any theories about the commotion?”

  Rich shrugged. “Sure, here’s one. There’s a guy in the next trailer who beats his old lady. The kids wake up and start bawling. There’s seven kids and it sounds like the burning of Rome. Now,” he said, smiling thinly, “go arrest him.”

  “Where were you an hour ago?”

  “Driving around,” said Rich without hesitation.

  “Anybody with you?”

  I spoke quickly. “I was with him.”

  Koch didn’t take his eyes off Richard. “How about that?”

  “My dog was with me.” Richard’s jaw knotted. “That’s all.”

  “Your dog?” Koch barked a laugh. “Farham, you pick the screwiest alibis.” He heaved himself off the desk. “Let’s have a look at your place.”

  Koch didn’t want to let me in the patrol car, but I said I was going—either with them, or behind them in a cab. He said I’d never learn to mind my own business and told me to get in the back seat. He sat beside me during the trip, filing his nails and smiling like a man with a secret. Rich sat stiffly in front with Sergeant Johnson.

  The trailer looked just as I’d left it—peeling veneer and a faint kerosene smell from the heater. The card table held the typewriter and books. Nearly every flat surface held books.

  For several minutes Koch went through the trailer like a kid in an empty house with a new boy-scout hatchet. He opened drawers and spilled the contents on the floor, tossed bedclothes, overturned the mattress. He opened a closet, shuffled through the clothes, and let them fall to the floor.

  I bent to hang them in place, and saw Richard’s knuckles whiten. “If you’re looking for something that fits you, Koch, you won’t find it here.”

  “No?” Koch raked pots and pans from beneath the sink and let them clatter to the floor. He grinned at: me when I started putting them back, then looked up at Rich. “I guess you have nothing to hide, is that right?”

  “I could have kept you out of here legally, fat man.”

  “Sure you could, for maybe an hour.” Koch took a sheet of paper from the card table. “What’s this?”

  “Some writing. Being a cop you wouldn’t understand.”

  “Poetry.” Koch let the paper flutter to the floor and turned to Rich, his feet planted wide apart. “Farham, these trailers are gimmicked up like a smuggler’s suitcase. Show me the secret compartments.”

  Sergeant Johnson walked to the doorway and stood with thumbs hooked into his belt. Rich unhooked a panel beneath the bed and lifted it. “Jacks, spare wheels, empty suitcases. Interested?”

  Koch looked under it, grunted, then pushed himself up. He walked to the couch that extended across the rear of the trailer. “What’s in here?” He started raking books onto the floor.

  “More books. I’ll do it.” Together, Rich and I removed the books and stacked them on the floor. Rich tugged at the back of the couch. “Seems … stuck.”

  “Get away.” Koch hooked his fingers under the couch and straightened with a hoarse grunt. Fabric ripped, springs twanged, and the couch overturned. A large white shape thumped on the floor and scattered the books.

  Ann’s wild blonde hair covered her eyes. Her lipstick looked oddly bright against her dark, swollen face. She wore stockings, garter belt, and a length of faded binder twine exactly the color of her hair. It was twisted tightly around her neck.

  I felt myself swaying, then saw the glint of the blue metal in Koch’s hand. “Rich!”

  There was a crash at the door and Sergeant Johnson slumped to the floor. I glimpsed Richard’s broad back as he zigzagged away across the court, then I saw Koch at the door raising his gun. I jumped on his back and struck at his arm. The gun exploded and plowed splinters from the doorsill.

  Koch whirled, swinging me like a hammer. My legs crashed against the wall and my arms were torn from his neck. I watched the pale tile floor rise toward me, then I saw nothing but flashing lights inside my head.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  A TOWHEADED girl of about four was looking down at me when I awoke. She wore pajamas with a dirty yellow bunny sewed on the front. She backed away as I sat up holding my head.

  I looked around and saw that the trailer was crawling with children. Dirty kids in dirty nightgowns and pajamas, one with nothing on at all. They stared at Ann’s body, which lay as it had fallen. I watched in horror as a three-year-old boy touched a dirty forefinger to her open eye.

  “Get away!” I screamed. I jumped up and slapped him and he fell down bawling.

  “All of you get out! Go!” I pushed and slapped until the trailer was empty. I heard them whimpering outside as I snapped the lock and took a blanket from Richard’s bed.

  The plainness of Ann’s features was evident now that excitement no longer shone from her eyes. I pulled the blanket over her and then stood up.

  My knees were like jelly. For the first time I knew the stark, staring fear of personal extinction. The lump beneath the blanket could be me. I wanted to find the man and say, “Isn’t two of us enough, for God’s sake? Does there have to be three?” I felt as though I’d gone for a swim and been swept out to
sea; I wanted to stop swimming but I knew I’d die if I did.

  I could hear the crowd growing outside the trailer. Their voices rose like the hum of a disturbed beehive. A few fragments came through:

  “Heard a shot. What was it?”

  “Girl … found her in Farham’s trailer … hiding … that wheatfield over there.”

  “Damn sex fiends, oughta castrate every last …”

  “We can get him. Lieutenant, you need some help?”

  Koch’s voice resonated authority. “There’s a dozen men on the way, but there’s always room for a good men. Farham is armed and dangerous.”

  “I got a gun,” said a tight voice.

  “Get it and come back here. Anybody else?”

  “I can get one!”

  “Me too!”

  I shivered and picked up my purse. Koch wasn’t organizing a search party, he was building a lynch mob. I started to open the door, then felt the lightness of my purse.

  The gun was gone. So were the photos of Eileen and the roll of tape. I jerked up my jersey and ran a hand inside my bra. Ann’s letter was missing too. Oh, that bastard Koch. He’d searched me while I was unconscious.

  I jerked the door open and stood facing a slight man in a black suit, carrying a black bag. He lifted his black hat. “Excuse me, I’m the medical examiner.” He squeezed past me, followed by two men with a stretcher. I stepped down to the single trailer step and closed the door behind me.

  Standing a head above the crowd, I could see at least forty people in the space between two rows of trailers. Women in nightgowns stood silent on the fringe; men without shirts, their bare feet shoved into unlaced shoes, were in the center. They were the court’s tenants; oilfield workers, harvest hands, and construction men.

  I searched for a familiar face, but saw only Johnson sitting in the patrol car holding a cloth to his head. Koch stood facing a dozen grim men, several of whom already had guns.

  “How about we set fire to the wheat field, Lieutenant?” asked one of the group, a tall, ape-shaped man with suspenders twisted over a grimy undershirt. He grinned, revealing the brown snags of his teeth. “That’d bring him out!”

  Koch scratched his jowls thoughtfully, then another man spoke. “Are you crazy? Start a fire in this weather and the whole town would go.”