No Flowers for the General (A Mike Faraday Mystery Book 3)

by Basil Copper

  I crossed the lawn at a run, keeping from tree to tree. I slipped as I got behind a large oak and pulled up sharp as I caught its rough bark. I hadn’t heard the soft pad on the turf behind me; as it was, my abrupt halt served a useful purpose. A black streak of thunder went by me in the gloom, muscles full stretch, a low-powered rumble deep in its throat. The big Dobermann rounded a full ten yards away with effortless thrusts of its spread paws and headed back towards me, the faint light from the sky reflecting on its eyeballs.

  I had the Smith-Wesson out by this time and had already set off in a zig-zagging run in the general direction of the wall. I could hear the large pads of the guard dog gaining effortlessly on me; it still didn’t give tongue and I threw myself sideways round the dark bole of a tree. I heard its paws scratch heavily on the bark a second later.

  As the dog rebounded from the tree, I found my bearings and set to doubling about to throw him off; this could obviously be only a limited strategy and my breath was going fast. I came up over a rise, with only a head start over the animal and was then going full tilt down-hill with very little idea of what was in front of me. The dog sprang at the same moment that I saw the branch about eight feet off the ground; I jumped for it, caught it one-handed and swung in a violent arc, all the strain on my right arm.

  The Dobermann’s body bounced against me as he went by, the jaws snapped and he sheared away an inch or two from the bottom hem of my raincoat. I heard him land with a snarling crash in the bushes; I pushed the revolver back into my holster with my left hand and I got two hands over the branch and levered myself up. Sharp teeth clashed in the air a good three feet below me as the Dobermann jumped again.

  Then things started to happen quickly. The lodge lights went on, there was the barking of dogs in the far distance and some sort of siren started up. The Dobermann sounded puzzled; he faced around in the direction of the lodge gates but still didn’t bark. Lights came on through the trees; the whole house was aroused. When a chain of lamps blazed on the drive, turning the whole place into daylight, I thought it was about time I got the hell out.

  The Dobermann was still looking towards the drive when I hit him; from ten feet up my six feet three must have seemed like the sky falling on him. I only hoped I hadn’t broken his back but I could already hear voices and see torches from the direction of my retreat; somebody was searching the area under the wall. The Dobermann went flat in the middle and his breath went out in a protesting yelp. I laid the butt of the Smith-Wesson across his head, behind the ear a couple of times with all the force I could muster. It’s best to use the barrel but I didn’t want to break the silencer off, or leave it behind me. Anyways, it didn’t make much difference to the Dobermann. He went flat out for the night as I gave him a third one for luck.

  I went off then across the lawn, took the low hedge near the kitchen garden like Jesse Owens and made for the gap in the wall. I had just got round one of the hot-houses when I ran full-tilt into a man carrying a torch directed low down on the ground. He must have switched it on the instant he heard my footsteps. He gave an exclamation like he had something urgent to tell me but he was pretty resourceful at that. He took a sideswipe at me with something that caught a glancing blow to the side of my head; flashes of brilliant light sparked off in front of my face and I went down. My head cleared almost instantly and I caught him round the knees.

  I put all my weight into it and he crashed over with a loud cry of surprise. I was up again then. All I could see of him was brown trousers and tan shoes. I shook the muzziness out of my head and went off again as quick as a worker leaving the factory. A moment later I was very close to the wall where I had come into the grounds. There was quite a palaver going on near the main gate and I could see lights and figures dashing about in the reflected glow. I wondered why they didn’t unleash the dogs.

  My knees gave way when I came in under the trees and I realized that the knock on the head had been harder than I thought. When I came to again the dogs were barking, the lights still visible through the trees but no-one came near me. I was lying propped against a soft mass. The smell of wet grass was in my nostrils; that and a scent that was cloying, familiar and unmistakeable.

  I clawed myself upwards; my fingers met unresisting grass, pieces of stick, leaves and such-like. I sat up. I had fallen against a large compost heap under the low trees near the main wall of the grounds; a place where gardeners dumped grass cuttings and other debris in summer but which had become something else this dark November night. As I got up my fingers had seized automatically on a substance which neither gave nor tore.

  I pulled against an immovable weight. My exploring fingers felt a considerable bulk. I got out my pencil flash, cupped it with my hands and risked a quick beam. What I had hold of was a segment of a woman’s green tweed skirt.

  I put out the light and felt upwards, clearing and raking with my hands. After a moment more I found a surface cold and soft. I risked the light again and almost dropped the torch. Though the eyes and nostrils were filled with mould and corruption, insects and worms had been at work beneath, there was still enough left of the face for me to recognize the unflawed likeness that rested in my wallet. Carmen Benson had come home.

  Chapter 6

  Mannlicher

  I went over the wall like a school kid coming out of a classroom. Behind me the racket died. I scooped up the coil of rope as I passed. When I got out of the Diaz place I edged round behind the bushes and stopped. Lights were still shining up near the lodge but I couldn’t hear any more noise. Even the dogs weren’t barking. I put the rope in the car boot.

  The Buick was facing away from The Palisades. I got my shoulder to the windscreen upright and pushed her off the grass verge. She rolled easily. I ran with her for a few yards and then edged behind the wheel as she gathered speed down the gentle slope. We got away nice and quietly. When The Palisades had dropped way behind I switched on the ignition and put her softly into third to start the engine; she turned over and I let her drift down the road. Only then did I switch on the sidelights.

  I looked at my watch. Incredibly, it was only just coming up to a quarter to eleven. Two corpses in two days, both found by the same patsy was too true to be good, as Bernard Shaw put it. Sheriff Clark already had reservations about me; he was going to have a field day with this one.

  Presently I came to a fork in the road. After ten minutes I saw lights and found I was on the other side of town. I soon picked up the road I wanted and that saw me back to the Pinetop. This time I left the car outside and let myself in through the front door of No. Seventeen with my key. It had started raining again.

  In the bathroom I looked at myself in the mirror. My face was covered with dirt and mould; my trench coat had green patches from the grass and my shoes were caked with mud. I mixed myself a Scotch and water, using the bottle I’d ordered from room service the night before. There was an ice-box in the suite and when I’d put a couple of cubes in the glass and got the first taste, raw and smoky in my mouth, I felt I might live.

  I sponged off the raincoat and attended to the shoes while I ran the bath. I found the Smith-Wesson had blood and animal hairs on the butt. I must have hit the Dobermann harder than I figured. By the time I had repaired the damage I was starting to think reasonably again; I decided to give Sheriff Clark a ring when I got out of the tub. He would have to know sooner or later and it would look better coming from me. And I had to have some law in if I intended to do something about General Diaz.

  When I got through it was midnight. I dressed, went back into the bedroom, put the holster under my arm and mixed myself another drink. The trench coat was dry now; the small tear under the edge of the hem didn’t show so I put it on, got back into the car and drove into Mudville through the rain. If ever a town tried it was doing its best to live up to its name.

  Macklehenny finished pounding and slid the third statement sheet out of his typewriter.

  ‘That’s about it,’ he grunted.

  I
read the statement through slowly. I didn’t have to alter anything.

  ‘Sign here,’ he said. He pushed a pen towards me.

  ‘You’d better get some more sheets ready,’ I said. ‘We haven’t finished yet.’

  ‘Oh,’ he said.

  Just then the door opened and Sheriff Clark came in. He looked angry about something. He went over towards the stove and held out his hands above the doors. He hung up his revolver belt over the hat-stand and stamped back towards me. Then I saw that he was wearing thick leather thigh boots. It reminded me of his brown trousers and tan shoes. For some reason that worried me. I started to revise my story.

  ‘You’ve changed your shoes,’ I said without thinking.

  He frowned. ‘Sure,’ he said. ‘Any objections? I always keep a change in the car. I been tramping around some in the wet tonight.’

  He trashed over towards his desk and sat down morosely. He stuck the briar pipe in his face and fished around for a match. Macklehenny slung him a box. Clark didn’t seem to be watching but a lean hand plucked the box out of the air. He got the pipe drawing to his satisfaction and sat back in his old chair belching out clouds of smoke. He looked like Eastman Kodak’s chemical division on a Saturday night. He sifted through my statement and wrinkled up his face. He read it very carefully from end to end and then put it back on the desk.

  ‘You didn’t come here this time of night just for that,’ he said.

  ‘Too true,’ I said. ‘You’re not going to like this, Sheriff.’

  ‘Precious little in the news you bring to like,’ he said sourly.

  ‘I got another corpse for you,’ I said. ‘Unless it’s been reported already.’

  The silence that followed was like the explosion of a bomb. Clark cleared his throat with an ominous rumble.

  ‘This is where I came in,’ said Macklehenny. He spread out his hands to Sheriff Clark in a despairing gesture.

  ‘No-one reports anything important to me. I got two lost dog calls and a missing car so far tonight.’

  Clark ignored him. His eyes were curiously bright. He took the pipe out of his mouth. ‘Come again.’

  ‘I found the Benson girl,’ I said. ‘She’s dead. Buried in a rubbish tip. I didn’t get to see any details.’

  Clark breathed heavily. His face was drained of colour in the yellow lighting of the office. He made a short stabbing gesture with the stem of his pipe.

  ‘Go on,’ he said. ‘When did all this happen?’

  ‘Earlier tonight,’ I said.

  Macklehenny glanced up at the wall clock. ‘How early?’ he said.

  ‘About two hours ago,’ I said. I looked back at Clark. He rubbed his nose with the edge of his forefinger.

  ‘You took your time about reporting it,’ he said mildly.

  ‘I drove around to think things out,’ I said. ‘It didn’t look good two nights in a row.’

  Clark smiled thinly. ‘You got a point there. Question is, where?’

  ‘I was afraid you’d ask that,’ I said. ‘This one is out at General Diaz’ place. Looks like she’s been dead ever since she disappeared.’

  I thought Clark was going to blow up then but he kept his rising anger bottled in.

  ‘General Diaz?’ he said. ‘Well, well, Faraday, you sure know how to pick’em. I think you’d better start at the beginning.’

  He turned to Macklehenny. ‘Roust out Doc Ellsworth, before he turns in.’

  He glanced back at me and added out of the corner of his mouth, ‘Unless this one’s disappeared too.’

  I ignored the irony. ‘My secretary rang in this evening,’ I told Clark. ‘She’d checked on Holgren and found he was a lawyer in L.A. acting for General Diaz.’ Clark put another match to his pipe, which had gone out.

  ‘I could have told you that,’ he said calmly.

  ‘Well, you didn’t,’ I said, ‘and as I have to make my living by getting my information the best way I can, I asked her to see what she could dig up. I’d come to a dead end for the moment in the Benson business, so I thought I’d have a run out there. I had a hunch the girl’s disappearance and Holgren’s murder might be connected — and I hit the jackpot.’

  Clark smoked moodily on; in the background I could hear Macklehenny on the phone. He seemed to be having trouble convincing the doc it was urgent.

  ‘The General’s place didn’t look too hospitable,’ I said.

  ‘So you got in over the wall,’ he finished for me.

  I must have looked surprised for he went on, ‘The General has a good reason for not wanting visitors. So then?’

  ‘I hung about decorating the bushes,’ I said, ‘and an oversized Airedale took a bite at my rear end and I had to lay him out. That stirred the place up. Someone else was up there too. I don’t think he had anything to do with the house. He hit me over the head.’

  I looked at the Sheriff; it may have been my imagination but I thought he seemed uncomfortable. Macklehenny put the phone down. I glanced at Clark’s boots again. He only puffed on his pipe and faced me squarely.

  ‘So?’

  ‘I crawled away,’ I said. ‘I must have been half-dazed. When I came to I was lying on a compost heap. I uncovered a woman’s skirt. It was the Benson girl — buried.’

  ‘You know how she got killed?’ said Macklehenny.

  ‘She didn’t tell me,’ I said. ‘I didn’t have time for a post mortem. I went over the wall pretty quick.’

  Macklehenny cleared his throat derisively.

  ‘Seems to me General Diaz has a lot of explaining to do,’ I said.

  ‘Never mind about that,’ said Clark with surprising sharpness. ‘For a stranger around here you turn up with some incredible information.’

  ‘Here we go,’ I said. ‘While we sit chewing the fat the evidence may have disappeared again.’

  ‘Private property,’ he said. ‘Can’t go on private property without a warrant.’

  ‘Jeezechrise,’ I said. ‘Who is this General Diaz? Does he own the whole town?’

  ‘Just about,’ said Macklehenny. He didn’t sound like he was joking either.

  A spark of humour came into Clark’s frosty eyes. He grinned at my expression.

  ‘Simmer down,’ he said. ‘We’re waiting for the doc. Then we’ll take a look out there.’

  ‘In the meantime I should get the town signboard changed,’ I said.

  Macklehenny chuckled softly behind me, ‘You’re all right, Faraday,’ he said.

  Clark got up and strapped on his Colt again. Macklehenny put on a black and white checked lumber jacket and sat down at his desk. Clark came back and resumed his seat. He looked at me searchingly.

  ‘Feel this,’ I said. I got hold of his fingers and put his hand on the side of my head. There was a big lump coming up there. He jumped like he’d been electrocuted.

  ‘O.K.’, he said, taking his hand away in a hurry. ‘I didn’t say I disbelieved you. We’re going out there, aren’t we?’

  ‘So you say,’ I said. ‘Or are we waiting to give time for General Diaz to clear up his garden?’

  ‘You’re stepping over the line there, Mr Faraday,’ said Macklehenny. He sounded aggrieved.

  ‘Sorry, Sheriff,’ I told Clark. ‘I’ve had a rough couple of evenings since I hit town.’

  ‘No offence,’ said Clark. ‘You just don’t know the setup, that’s all.’

  ‘You calling in the County boys?’

  He shook his head. ‘This is my town and my jurisdiction,’ he said. ‘Ain’t nothing we can’t handle right here. I had two killings on my patch before.’

  ‘You know your own business best,’ I said.

  ‘Too right he does,’ said Macklehenny. He got up and went over to the hat-stand and buckled on his own revolver belt. The sound of a car-horn came from outside.

  ‘That’ll be the doc,’ said Clark. ‘Let’s go. You ask him to pick up the others?’

  The last question was to the deputy; Macklehenny nodded. We went out down the corridor. Clark loc
ked the door behind us. The square was empty except for a large black sedan and an inconspicuous-looking truck with a canvas hood. I found out later it contained a generator, another two deputies and a police photographer. Clark could do things quietly when he had a mind to. The Sheriff went over to the sedan. The doctor was an elderly man with a thatch of grey hair and a twisted, melancholy face. He jerked his head briefly in our direction. Clark came back and joined us.

  ‘We’ll take your car,’ he said. ‘And remember this, Faraday. If it is the Benson girl, we’re sitting on this for a day or two. That’s why I only got a handful of people along. There’ll be enough about Holgren in the paper tomorrow morning. O.K.?’

  ‘O.K.’, I said. ‘Publicity won’t help me much, either.’

  He smiled. I got in the driving seat of the Buick, Clark got in beside me and Macklehenny in the rear. The doctor started his engine and drove off, I pulled in behind him and the truck followed us. We sneaked out of town nice and quiet.

  *

  The generator throbbed and vibrated in the darkness, an occasional spat of rain sizzled on the arc lamps and we stood in a semi-circle and watched the doctor at work where the arcs cut a white hole in the dark. What was left of Carmen Benson lay on a tarpaulin and little white-haired Doc Ellsworth grunted and wheezed to himself as he rooted among the sodden clothing. He took a sharp knife from one of the deputies and started cutting cloth away. There was a heavy, pungent odour on the night air.

  ‘Jeeze,’ said one of the deputies; he was standing down-wind. He shifted away and came up towards us. He looked white.

  Clark stood near me with his windcheater zipped up and a grim expression on his face. We stood near the wall of the Diaz place, not far from where I’d found the girl. Cables snaked over the wall to the truck outside. Apart from the Doc, there was just Clark, Macklehenny, a deputy called Flinton, the photographer and myself. The other deputy was at the lodge.

  It was two a.m. I lit another cigarette and stood back in the shadow of the wall. I couldn’t understand why Clark didn’t knock up the Diaz household and start taking the place apart. I was finding this a bit different from L.A. But maybe Clark had his own reasons for what he did. I looked at him sharply. He stood quite at ease, one arm hooked over the low branch of an apple-tree, and smoked his pipe. The glow from the bowl gave his face a sardonic quality it didn’t have in daylight.