Reason for Murder

by Jack Usher

  “No, I’m not going to stop you!” the chief retorted angrily. “I’ve checked you out and you’re okay—so far. Just remember you’re a trucker, not a cop. Don’t go around trying to act like one, and don’t get rough with any of the citizens of this town.”

  “I’ll remember,” Pelchek said. “Now, what’s your opinion of this case?”

  “I’ve got no opinion.”

  “You think he did it?”

  “Look, boy, I’m a cop. There’s a crime committed, we investigate it. The D.A. brings us a complaint and warrant, we arrest the defendant. Then we gather evidence and turn it in. We don’t decide on guilt or innocence. That’s up to the jury or the court.”

  “Some jury!”

  “Art Waller was a popular man around here,” the chief said. “Commander of the American Legion, general manager of Baker Land and Mining for a long time. Was city manager one term. He and Baker were at outs for months, then when Baker threatened to kill him, well, it wasn’t hard for them to blame Baker.”

  “Why? Anyone with any sense knows he threatened him in a fit of anger.”

  “Do they? Baker walked up to Walker at the swimming pool out at the Casa. Witnesses say he started out quietly enough, but at the end he was shouting at Walker, saying he was going to kill him. Unquestionable witnesses.”

  “And biased.”

  “Maybe so. But there’s a line around here that’s pretty thin. People think Baker stepped over it and dumped his family and friends.”

  “Or vice versa.”

  “That may be, but around here they don’t feel that way. Baker claimed he and Walker argued mainly over the housing on Land Company property, but a lot of folks think it was over his wife.”

  “A lot of folks, or just the jury?”

  “Same thing.”

  “Did they think it up for themselves or was it suggested to them?”

  The chief shrugged.

  “Was it ever proven?” Pelchek asked obstinately.

  “No.”

  “These arguments he had with Walker about the housing. Was Walker right?”

  “The principal stockholders in the company thought he was right. At least, Allen Baker thought so. He held his sister’s proxy while she was in the East. You know it’s a closed family corporation?”

  “Yeah. Would it have hurt them much if they’d gone ahead with Cal’s ideas?”

  “Not much. At least, not financially. If the improvements had been made it would have meant taking a little less profit for a few years. I don’t believe it would have affected their way of living any. The way I look at it, Allen and Walker wanted to keep things the way they were. Allen has always kept himself apart from the Mexicans. Even as a kid. And, of course, Walker was their boss. I don’t know as they’re wrong, Pelchek. Things have run easy around here for years,” the chief said.

  “In other words, Baker was convicted because he threatened Walker in the heat of an argument, married a Mexican girl, refused to be a rubber stamp in the family business and was conveniently placed at the scene of the murder. This is what they called a crime of passion?”

  “There was more to it than that,” the chief said.

  “Yeah. I read it. About three hundred pages more. But it always comes back to that. Maybe Newell’s convinced that Baker is guilty, but I doubt even that. What a set of circumstances to parlay a man into the gas chamber,” Pelchek said bitterly. “What in hell did they show as a motive to trigger this crime of passion Baker’s supposed to have done?”

  “Baker’s wife was seen out in the country with Walker the day before he was killed. According to reliable witnesses, Baker was wild. Said he’d beat Walker half to death if he ever heard of it again.”

  “Sure he was wild. Walker was going behind his back. Trying to talk the girl into getting Baker to leave Las Milpas. He suggested they sell their stock in the company and move away from this part of the country. Told her they were making the family and company look bad.”

  “They didn’t have to go out in the hills for that kind of talk,” Mathewson said.

  “She had to meet him somewhere. She knew if Cal heard about it he’d blow his top.”

  “Some people believe he did. Figured they were out there for a different reason; Baker found out about it and did a job on Walker.”

  “Walker called him and asked him to come to his house. Said it was important.”

  “That’s Baker’s story. Folks figure it was the girl.”

  “How long have you known Elena Baker, Mathewson?” Pelchek stood up. “Twenty years? All her life? She’s a tramp, huh?”

  Mathewson slammed his hand down on the desk. “I didn’t say that, dammit! Don’t you be putting words in my mouth, mister!” he said angrily. “Go on out and find out what you can.”

  “All right,” Pelchek said. “All I have to do is find an unknown person in a town where no one will talk to me.”

  “If you need any real help, call me.” Mathewson hesitated a moment, then added gruffly, “And stay away from Pete Romero.”

  “About that. When I—”

  “Never mind,” the chief interrupted. “I don’t want to know about it. Someday someone will come in here with something I can use on that man. In the meantime, stay away from him. You’re too quick with your hands, Pelchek. And your feet.”

  Pelchek was silent.

  The chief nodded briefly to indicate the visit was over and Pelchek left the office. He retrieved his car from the municipal parking lot and headed for the motel. The sun was still high; the air seeming to come straight from an open hearth furnace.

  Back at the Casa Camino, he changed into swimming trunks and made his way to the pool. After placing his cigarettes, towel, and lighter by an empty deck chair, he dived into the cool water and lazily swam the length of the pool. At the other end he pulled himself up, sat on the edge. Almost immediately he could feel himself drying out in the hot air. He moved to the deck chair, sprawled out.

  The tables surrounding the pool were nearly all occupied. Semiclad bathers and loungers sipped cooling drinks, exhibited varying expanses of anatomy, and chattered. There were no women in the open chairs. All were under brightly colored umbrellas that shaded the tables from the still-hot evening sun.

  The beginning of a breeze could be felt coming in from the desert. It was warm but it stirred the still, flat air and caused a slight whispering in the cottonwood trees.

  Pelchek felt a million miles away from poolrooms, death cells and hot, tight little towns. He had just about succumbed to this drowsy lethargy when he saw her. She was sitting at one of the tables, sipping a tall drink and talking with two men. It was Christine Baker.

  Her eyes were on him as she talked. When she noticed he was watching, she leaned forward and said something to one of the men. He looked toward Pelchek. She rose and started for his chair.

  Two streaks of brilliant red material proved she was wearing a bathing costume. It would have gone well in Cannes or Nice; on any one of the Italian beaches. In Las Milpas, it made her look naked. She walked as though she were the only person present. When she got to his chair, she half-leaned over him, thighs pressing against his upper arm. Nearly everyone at the pool was watching her.

  “I talked to my brother Allen this afternoon and he wants you to get out of Las Milpas,” she said carefully and quietly. She was tight.

  “We went through all that the first time we—”

  “I hope you know what you’re doing, Mr. Pelchek. About the stay and all. I told Allen you weren’t going and if you could find a loophole for Cal, to go ahead and find it. Allen was drunk,” she said. He felt finger tips on his shoulder as she steadied herself. He sighed, pushed her hand away.

  “Thanks, Miss Baker. Now why don’t you go back to your friends?”

  “You don’t like me.”

  “I’ve already told you that.”

  “There are a lot of men who do like me.” Her eyes narrowed.

  “All right.” Pelchek rose, picki
ng up his towel, cigarettes, and lighter. “Let’s leave it that way.” He brushed by the standing girl and started for his cottage. He glanced back as he turned up the walk leading to his door. One of her escorts had brought her a white robe and she was savagely tying it about her, still staring in his direction.

  Inside, he put in a call to Milwaukee and found his secretary at home. Miss Gray informed him the company was still in operation, none of the drivers had smashed any of the equipment, the office manager had landed a new hauling contract, they were hoping he would take a vacation more often. He hung up after listening to her wish him luck. He was still smiling when he answered the soft knock on the door.

  “Cold drink sir?”

  Mary Perrini stood in the doorway, holding two tall drinks. She was hopping from one bare foot to the other. “Let me in, Steve. My feet are cooking.”

  He pulled her inside, shut the door. She handed him one of the drinks, then sat primly on the edge of a chair, sipping the drink she’d retained. She was wearing a scrap of black bathing suit and a short white cape. She looked at him over the rim of her glass.

  “Am I taking something for granted, Steve?”

  “Hell, no,” he grinned, sitting on the side of the bed, holding his drink. “Why didn’t you put on some shoes?”

  “I left ’em at the pool,” she said, then smiled at him. “Did you do any good today?”

  He shook his head.

  “Do you need a sounding board?”

  “Like you?”

  “If you want.”

  He left the bed and sat on the floor by her feet, leaning the back of his head against her knees. She put one hand on his shoulder, adjusting her position more comfortably.

  “There’s nothing clear-cut about any of it,” he said. “It’s like trying to grab a blown-up beach ball with one hand. Nothing to get hold of. Usually in a deal like this there are some angry people showing. Or someone with a crooked deal going on. Something that will give you a reason to look somewhere. Here? Nothing.”

  “No money angle?”

  “Not that I can see. But someone wanted Baker out of the way. Who?”

  “His brother?”

  “What for? Cal’s death wouldn’t help him financially. He’s left his part of the business to his wife. Sure, the brother was unhappy about his marriage, but you don’t set up a murder for that.”

  “Maybe he had it done.”

  “Same thing.”

  “How about the sister?”

  “I don’t think so. She was in New York when it happened.”

  “I saw you talking with her at the pool.”

  “She puts on quite a performance. She was loaded.”

  “I think she’s afraid to get sober, Steve.” Mary put her drink down, began massaging his temples with soft fingers.

  “She’s a tramp.”

  “No, I don’t think so.” She kissed the back of his neck lightly. “It’s more than that. She’s pretty mixed up.”

  “She’s a spoiled slob. Not mixed up,” Pelchek said.

  “I thing you’re wrong,” Mary said. “And don’t ask me to explain why.”

  “Anyway, the case isn’t simple. There’s something going on and I’ll have to find out what it is.” He got to his feet and turned to her. “What time do you start playing?”

  “Not until nine, tonight. Sunday. Less hours and more people. I only work until midnight.”

  “Want to eat with me?”

  “Sure.” She stood up and stretched. “I’ll dress for work before dinner and be all ready for the paying customers when we finish.”

  They walked to the door together. As she was leaving he tousled her hair with one hand.

  “I’ll meet you in the lobby at eight. Okay?”

  “Fine,” she said, flashed him a quick smile and walked toward the main building.

  “Hey!” he called. “You forgot your shoes.”

  Mary Perrini was hopping gingerly on the glazed concrete sidewalk. She jumped to the nearby lawn, turned to him. “Now you tell me!”

  CHAPTER 8

  THEY ate a leisurely dinner in the dining room, then moved to the Highway Room for a drink before Mary went on duty at the piano.

  “You’ll be back later, Steve?” She was in another sheath-type gown. Turquoise and tight. A light touch of theatrical makeup to accommodate the baby spotlight that pinpointed her place at the piano, made her dark attractiveness exotic.

  “I’ll pick you up at twelve,” he said. He looked at her closely and grinned. “You’re damn near out of that dress.”

  “Show business wardrobe, Steve. I had six of these made in New York. Easy to get in and out of, and—” she hunched her shoulders, doing things to the front of the gown—“complimentary to the figger. If they get tired of listening to the music they can drool a little.”

  “Yeah, but what about—”

  “Mr. Pelchek?” A bellboy stood by the booth.

  “That’s me, son. What is it?”

  “Someone to see you, sir,” the boy answered.

  “Well, send ’em in here,” Pelchek said.

  “He won’t come in, sir. Said he’d see you outside. By the parking lot.”

  “Who is it?” Pelchek asked.

  “I don’t know, sir.”

  “I’ll be back in a minute,” Pelchek told Mary. He followed the boy out of the hotel to the parking area. It was Reyes.

  The tall Mexican sat at the wheel of an immense convertible. Canary yellow, with the top down. Pelchek grinned when he saw the car, tossed the boy a quarter.

  “This part of the treatment?” His eyes indicated the length of the Cadillac.

  Reyes smiled. “Yeah. They hate this, too.” He stopped smiling. “How come you didn’t tell me about Romero?”

  “Why should I? Anyway, I thought it was all over town. Who told you?”

  “Elena. She phoned me. First time in years.”

  “What did she tell you?”

  “That you straightened him out.”

  “We had some words. Why? He a friend of yours?”

  “Romero has no friends. At least, not on my side of town.” Reyes’ eyes held no expression. “Watch out for him, Pelchek. He’s a dog and he doesn’t forget things.”

  “He won’t forget this for a few days,” Pelchek commented dryly.

  “Yeah. I heard about that, too. You hit him where he lives.”

  “I hope so.” Pelchek leaned against the car. “You didn’t come all the way out here to tell me that, did you?”

  “No.” Reyes looked at Pelchek, then said quietly, “Maybe I can help you.”

  “How?”

  “I’m not sure, but there’s a chance I can help you out with that missing man Cal kept talking about at the trial. I’ll have someone at my place in about an hour that should be able to tell you something.”

  “I’ll be there, Reyes. And thanks.” Pelchek stepped back.

  “I’m probably a damned fool,” Reyes said, “but if you’re big enough to nose around I guess I can help you do it. I’ll see you in an hour.” He drove off.

  Pelchek rejoined Mary in the booth and picked up his drink. “Maybe I’ve just gotten my first break,” he said.

  “Some luck?”

  “I have a date in an hour,” he replied, added matter-of-factly, “at a whorehouse.”

  “Oh, my God!” she said, putting both hands to her face. “Oh, the shame of it all! I thought you’d wait for me! What’ll I tell my agent? How can I ever face—”

  “Shut up, Mary, and drink your drink,” he said.

  She stuck her tongue out, did as she was told.

  “And if I’m not back by twelve, just skip it. I don’t know what will happen.”

  The girl Lupe ushered him into the now-familiar office, closed the door behind him. From a seat atop the safe Reyes grinned at him.

  “Sit down. The guy’ll be here in a few minutes.”

  “What does he know?” Pelchek straddled a convenient chair, looked up at
his host.

  “I’m not sure. Maybe nothing. About a week before the trial started a man named Pablo Orrosco came in here one night and tossed a little money around.”

  “So?”

  “This guy never had any money. A part-time lush. Stays out in the hills with the sheep for six months, then comes into town and has a couple of big nights. Rest of his time in town he’s a bar-fly. Broke. This night he came in and dropped about twenty dollars out front before he came back to see the girls. Wound up giving one of them fifty bucks for an all-night deal.”

  “Is this the man I’m going to meet?”

  “No. His brother. Enrique Orrosco.”

  “Where is Pablo?”

  “That’s what bothers me. Romero pulled him out of the girl’s room about four o’clock in the morning. At first I thought Pablo may have rolled someone for the dough, but he didn’t end up in jail. He hasn’t been around since.”

  “Maybe he went across the border.”

  “I don’t think so. He’s a wetback.”

  “He’s in this country illegally?”

  Reyes smiled. “For ten years. Everyone knows it but the Immigration people. That’s why I don’t believe he’s in Mexico. If someone wanted him out of the way they wouldn’t let him go back.”

  “Why not?”

  “The first thing he’d try would be to come across again. Probably out near the coast. Maybe Tecate, on the California line. There’s a good chance he’d be picked up out there where he isn’t known. No, if someone paid him to stay out of the way he’s probably up in the hills. Trouble is, there are plenty of hills.”

  “You think his brother knows where he is?” Pelchek asked.

  “I don’t suppose he does,” Reyes said, then shrugged. “But he may know if it’s worth while looking for the guy… Come in!” he called in answer to a knock on the door.

  A heavy-set man, about forty, came into the room, looked around expectantly. Reyes pointed a dangling foot at him and said to Pelchek: “This is Enrique Orrosco.”

  Pelchek rose, walked over and shook hands with the man, then resumed his position on the chair.

  “Sit down, Enrique,” Reyes directed.