Reason for Murder

by Jack Usher

  “Yeah, I know,” Romero said. “They weren’t supposed to. Just a good working over.” He hesitated, then added, “He was seen leaving the parking lot. At least, his car was seen. I can’t ask too many questions yet, but I’ll find out—”

  “You’ll find out nothing!” the man broke in nastily. “There’ll be enough people figure you for this now. Don’t ask anyone anything about Pelchek. Do you suppose you can obey orders this time?”

  “Okay, okay.”

  “While you were so busy getting to Pelchek, did you know he’s talked to Reyes? Twice?”

  “How do you know?”

  “Never mind how I know. He’s talked to him and I want to know what Reyes told him. Do you think you can question a brothel-keeper without getting in trouble?”

  “I’ll find out,” Romero muttered.

  “Do so. And try not to forget you’re a police officer. You’re supposed to be a good one.”

  “You don’t have to tell me how to do my job.”

  “Perhaps not, but you’ve run out of mistakes. Don’t make any more.” The man waved a hand of dismissal and the detective left the restaurant.

  CHAPTER 11

  MARY PERRINI let the Ford roll to a stop in the dark alley. Car headlights beaming in the cross street ahead caused her to switch off her lights and ignition hastily. A patrol car rolled across the intersection, visored occupants looking neither right nor left. She breathed a sigh, got out of the car.

  The first streaks of the false dawn were beginning to appear in the sky as she knocked on the wooden door. A dim-yellow night light was the only illumination. There was no answer and she knocked again. Louder and longer. Soon she heard the shuffle of slippered feet, the rattling of a night chain, and the door opened a bare crack. A tousle-headed woman peered from the dark hallway.

  “What you want?”

  “I want to see Al Reyes.”

  “Not here.” The door began to close.

  “Tell him Steve Pelchek sent me,” Mary broke in quickly. The woman took a longer look at her, then spoke. “You wait here.”

  The door closed, and seconds later the night light over the door went out, leaving her in gray darkness. When it seemed as though she had waited forever, the door reopened. The woman beckoned. “Come with me.”

  She was led down the long hallway to an open door. A man stood in it, tying a dressing gown about him. He looked down at her, unsmiling.

  “Who are you?”

  “Mary Perrini.”

  “What’s this about Pelchek?”

  “They clobbered him. He’s at the hospital. Look, Zapata, I’m just doing Steve a favor. If you’ve got any ideas—”

  “Sure, miss.” A flash of white teeth accompanied the words. “How come Zapata? Emiliano was a great general, but—”

  “He was also tough on the ladies,” Mary interrupted. “What do we do, stand out here in the hall the rest of the night?”

  “Come on in.” He stood back in the doorway to let her pass, then asked suddenly, “How’d you get here?”

  “In Steve’s car.”

  “Got the keys?”

  She held out her hand, palm up. He took the keys.

  “Lupe!” The woman had been leaning against the wall. Now she came up to them and stood waiting. “Go wake Benny and have him park the car out of sight.” He gave her the keys and she padded down the hallway. He turned back to the girl. “Go on in and sit down. I’ll be back in a minute.” She entered the room as he went down the hall and out of sight. By the time she’d seated herself on the serape-covered couch and lit a cigarette, he was back. He carried an electric coffee-maker, placed it on the safe, and plugged it in.

  “It works fast,” he explained. “You look like you could use some coffee, miss.”

  “I’ll inhale it. I got off at two, was in bed by two-thirty and up by three. I’m dead, and what’s all this ‘miss’ jazz. My name is Mary. Mary Perrini. Call me either one or both.”

  “You’re a friend of Pelchek’s, so I’ll call you Mary.” He smiled. “Now what’s this about him being in the hospital?” he asked seriously.

  She brought him up to date, explained what Pelchek wanted him to do.

  “Chelo, huh? There are lots of Chelos.”

  “That’s what Elena said.”

  “Yeah, but there’s something else. The chain. That might narrow it down some. Anyway, I’ll try to find out. If there were four of ’em they were hired.”

  “By Romero?”

  “Maybe.” He shrugged, then looked at her sharply. “Did anyone see you come here?”

  “I don’t think so. I didn’t meet any cars on the way.”

  “Who else knows you came?”

  “Just Steve and Elena.”

  “Where do you fit in?” he asked.

  “Steve called me when he got hurt. I was available and know about the deal.” She looked at him. “He told me because I’m a stranger around here. Like him. And I don’t give a damn about your local problems. For some reason he thinks I don’t talk. I don’t.”

  Reyes glanced at his watch. “It’s only a little after five, and there isn’t much I can do until later this morning. Anyway, I won’t be able to let you know anything until later. How can I get in touch?”

  “I’ll be at the Casa. Sleeping most of the day, I guess. Tonight I play from eight until two.”

  “All right, I’ll phone you.” He examined the coffee-maker. “This’ll be ready in a couple of minutes. While we’re waiting I’ll put on some clothes.” He walked to a door in the rear of the room.

  “Why bother! I’ll be gone in a few minutes.”

  “I’m following you back to the Casa,” he called from the adjoining bedroom.

  “It’s not necessary, Zapata. I can find my way.”

  “From down here I follow you home,” he stated. “There are some cups and stuff in the cupboard next to the safe. How about setting us up?”

  She rose from the couch, tossed the coat over the back of it and went to the cupboard. After placing cups and saucers on the safe, she peered vainly inside the cabinet. “Hey!”

  “What is it?” He appeared in the doorway, dressed in slacks and T shirt.

  “We drink it black?”

  “How else?” He eyed her costume approvingly. “You’re a healthy girl, Mary.”

  “That comes from eight hours a day at the keyboard, plenty of sleep, and a long line of buxom Italian ladies on the maternal side of my family.” She grinned, poured the coffee.

  He took his cup and leaned against the safe. “You know Pelchek well?”

  “I guess so. Not long, but well. Well enough for him to trust me.” She sat on the couch, shapely legs sticking out of the brief shorts, and sipped her coffee.

  “He’s pretty stubborn,” Reyes mused. “Things were going along smoothly around here until he arrived. Now…” he blew in his coffee, “who knows? Everything’s getting stirred up”

  “You’re glad he came, aren’t you?”

  “Yeah, I guess so.”

  “How about getting me home?” She put her cup down and looked around the room. “It’s getting nervous in here.”

  “They told you about my place, huh?”

  “Yes, Zapata, they told me.”

  He nodded. “Okay, let’s get your car.”

  “… And so you see, this man must be found and found quick. I’ll be able to travel in a couple of days, but unless you help, I wouldn’t even know where to start looking.” Pelchek lay on a large leather-covered couch in the living room of the adobe ranch house. Propped up by pillows and drinking a cup of coffee, he regarded the girl and his host.

  “I will go, Mr. Pelchek. But first you must rest and heal some,” Aguilar said. He looked affectionately at the back of Elena’s head. She was sitting on the floor, legs tucked up under her, head on her grandfather’s knee. “This one has brought medicine and bandages and says you must stay down for a couple of days.” He looked at Pelchek, his sharp old eyes twinkling. “I
t’s a funny thing, my friend, but our women only get to boss us when we’re sick. The rest of the time it’s ‘Sí, mi abuelo,’ or, ‘Sí, sí, abuelito,’ or, ‘Of course, Grandfather.’ I imagine they wait for these times. Am I not speaking the truth, Elena Concepcion?”

  “Sí, mi abuelito.” The girl grinned into the faded jeans.

  “Elena Concepcion?”

  “Elena was my mother,” the girl explained, “and Concepcion my grandmother.”

  “Truly a woman, my wife,” Aguilar said. “Through good times and bad she held this little land together, loved us all, and made us whole people.” He laid a hand on Elena’s head. “My granddaughter is like her.”

  “Then you were lucky, sir.” Pelchek smiled at the seated girl.

  Elena got up to answer a scratching at the door. She pushed open the screen door and a large brown-and-white dog entered. He walked over to where Pelchek was lying, smelled his extended hand, gravely wagged his tail, then flopped noisily by Aguilar’s chair.

  “This is Nueve,” the old man said. “Eight others before him and each one a good friend.” He stroked the dog’s head. “No luck, eh, my toothless one?” He smiled and explained. “He still thinks he should hunt the rabbits and fight the coyotes.”

  Elena looked at her watch and went to the small kitchen, returned with a glass of water. She handed the water and two tablets to Pelchek.

  “Take these now,” she ordered. “They’ll make you sleep and that’s what you need.” Turning to her grandfather she said, “Don’t let him move around any more than necessary. The doctor said he should remain quiet for at least forty-eight hours.”

  “Do you think it was the policeman that had this thing done?” Aguilar asked.

  “Maybe,” Pelchek answered. “I hurt him bad.”

  “I wish I could have seen it, Steven,” the girl said vehemently. “If I could only have been there when you kicked him, I would—”

  “Softly, softly, little savage,” the old man admonished. “Perhaps Mr. Pelchek punished this man too much. Maybe a slap was not so important. You see what has happened. Maybe—”

  “A slap!” Elena turned to Steve. “He still doesn’t think these people are murdering my husband.” She whirled on her grandfather. “Can’t you see it? Romero didn’t get rough with me just because I’m a Mexican the same as he, or because Steven is interfering with police business. He’s afraid of what will be found out. Until Steven came no one questioned anything about this case, but now someone is frightened… Wait!” She looked at both men. “You are my brother, Steven, and you are my grandfather. There is no shame in this. Look, Grandfather, here is your slap!” She turned her back and unbuttoned her blouse. She impatiently threw it off, unhooked her brassiere and let it fall to the floor. She turned around, chin raised. She stood quietly under their gaze, arms at her sides.

  “Ai!” the old man breathed.

  Pelchek’s lips thinned and his eyes narrowed.

  One of the full breasts that jutted from her chest was covered with yellow and brown discolorations, indelible spots of deep purple and blue showing where bruising fingers had squeezed.

  “That’s enough, Elena. We see.” Aguilar turned to Pelchek. In a choked voice, eyes glittering with tears, he asked, “Did you know this, boy?”

  “She told me he roughed her up. I’m glad she didn’t tell me all of it. I’d probably have stomped him to death.” He lifted his gaze to the girl’s face. “Don’t tell Cal, honey.”

  “No.” She turned and quickly dressed herself, turning back to them as she buttoned her blouse. “No one must ever tell him.” She walked to a table and picked up her purse. “I’ll just be able to make it in time to go on duty, Steven. Is there anything else you want me to do?”

  “No. You have the note for the car and the check I gave you. Be sure and make that call, and when you come back be sure and bring the cash with you. We’ll need it.”

  “I’ll take care of everything and will try to come back tonight. In the meantime, get plenty of rest.” She bent and kissed each of them on the cheek. “What woman in the world has two such men?” She smiled and left the house.

  They were silent until the sound of the car faded completely away. Then the old man spoke, clearing his throat noisily.

  “It is wise not to tell the girl’s husband. If he doesn’t die in the prison he would have to kill that dog Romero.”

  “You could bet your life that’s what he’d do,” Pelchek said.

  The old man nodded, came to the foot of the couch. “I have things to do away from the place and will be gone for a while, Mr. Pelchek. The dog will stay with you and waken you if anyone comes near.”

  “Do me a favor, Mr. Aguilar?” Pelchek said drowsily, the sedative beginning to take effect. “Just call me Steve. Okay?”

  “Of course, boy,” Aguilar said as he went out, quietly closing the front door behind him.

  In the semidarkness Pelchek heard Nueve get to his feet and pad towards him. He felt a moist nose against his hand, then vaguely felt the dog settle himself close by.

  Pete Romero parked the car, started to get out. His movements stopped abruptly as he saw the Ford come out of the alley and head down Birch Street toward the center of town. Another car followed. Al Reyes’ yellow Cadillac. Romero sat quietly until both were out of sight, then started his car. He drove directly to the police station.

  He walked through the almost deserted front office to the squad room in the rear of the building. It was empty, littered desks contrasting oddly with the almost hygienic floor. He picked up a phone, got an outside line from the switchboard operator, and dialed a number. His call was answered immediately.

  “Hello?”

  “This is Romero.”

  “All right. Go ahead.”

  “I couldn’t talk to Reyes.”

  “Why?”

  “Just as I got there, a car left the back of his place. He followed it.”

  “Who was it?”

  “It was Pelchek’s car. The piano player from the Casa was driving it.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Positive. Pelchek’s been out with her, and I recognized her.”

  “All right, I’ll take care of it.” There was a pause. “There’s something you have to do, Romero. And right away. Can anyone listen in on this line?”

  Romero leaned back in his chair, peered down the long corridor. The switchboard man was reading a magazine.

  “No. Go ahead.”

  “You’ve got to go out and take care of the man in the hills.”

  “Why? Pelchek isn’t going to be moving around for—”

  “Shut up, and listen to me! You’ve got to do it. He’s the only one who can tie us into anything. There’s no use taking any chances, is there? Can’t you understand that?”

  “Yeah, I understand,” Romero said bitterly, then asked, “What about the lush?”

  “I’ll take care of him.”

  “How?”

  “That’s my affair,” the voice answered coldly. “When are you going out there?”

  “I can’t go before Friday or Saturday. They’re my regular days off and I’m supposed to be going to Capital City.”

  “What for?”

  “No special reason. Just taking the old lady up for a good time. She’s been jumpy lately.”

  “Will she cover for you?”

  “You’re damn right she’ll cover for me. She’ll do any—”

  “Then have her do it,” the clipped voice ordered.

  “Right,” Romero said wearily, and hung up the phone.

  “Christine?”

  “Yes?” The voice sounded sleepy.

  “This is Elena.” She was at her desk in the hospital ward, telephone cradled next to her ear. There was a short silence. “Elena?”

  “Yes. Steven Pelchek asked me to call you. He was hurt last night after leaving you.” She could hear a sibilant intake of breath through the receiver. “Four men were waiting for him when he arrived at the
Casa. Mexicans,” she said shortly.

  “Was he badly hurt, Elena?” The voice sounded collected, but strained. “Is he in the hospital? Where can I—”

  “Just a minute, Christine,” Elena broke in coldly. “He was struck several times with a length of heavy chain, severely beaten by someone’s fists, suffered a seven-inch knife wound in the side,” she said clinically. “He is also likely to have a severe concussion.” She paused, then relented. “He’ll be all right. The knife wound wasn’t deep.”

  “When can I see him?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Isn’t he there?”

  “No.”

  “But if he’s hurt that badly, how can he—”

  “I’m a nurse, Christine. A regis—” Elena stopped abruptly. “I don’t know where he is,” she concluded sharply.

  “Very well.” There was another short pause. “Elena, how is Cal?”

  Christine Baker heard a click as the connection was broken. She stared at the phone a moment before replacing it, then got slowly to her feet, pulling a robe closely about her. She took a cigarette from a box on the nearby table and lit it, smoking reflectively for a few minutes. Then she picked up the phone and walked to her dressing table, trailing the extension cord behind. She placed the phone on the corner of the table, shrugged off her robe. In the mirror she could see the dark circles under her eyes and the reddish blotches on her shoulders where his beard had rubbed. She picked up the phone and dialed a number.

  “Baker Land and Mining.”

  “This is Chris Baker. Let me speak to George.”

  “Certainly, Miss Baker.”

  She heard the connection being made and the buzzer sound on Marlin’s desk.

  “Chris? You’re up early. I thought you and Mr.—”

  “Never mind, George,” she interrupted. “Is Allen there?”

  “He was here, Chris, but left. He may be back, although I think he just dropped in to pick up his mail. Is there something I can do?”

  “Yes. Have Allen in his office in an hour. I’m coming in and I want him there. McCreery, too.”

  “Certainly, Chris, but I’m not sure I can locate him. Why don’t you let me—”