by Jack Usher
Mathewson grunted, waved a broad hand and turned to go. He grasped the knob and turned. “All of you be ready,” he said shortly, and left the office.
Aguilar broke the silence that followed the chief’s departure. “I’ll take a drink now, Alfredo,” he said, limping slowly to the divan. “Next Sunday at Mass I’ll ask Saint Joseph to tell Aurelio Reyes that his son may become a man like his father was before him.” He sat down next to Chris Baker, turned to Mary Perrini. “Ride this one like a horse, my child. With spurs.”
She grinned at him. “Big spurs, Grandpa Aguilar.”
The old man chuckled as he accepted the whiskey, looked around. “Ai, but this town will boil,” he said. “A Hungarian truck driver—”
“Operator, Grandfather.”
“Driver,” he repeated, waving Elena’s explanation to one side, “a Mexican keeper of a bad house, an old piece of leather like me, and three women. They’ll boil, all right!”
“You sound as though it’s all settled,” Pelchek said.
“Only the cleaning up remains, Steven,” Aguilar said. “I feel it. The Blessed Mother will talk for you, boy. You will not fail now,” he stated emphatically. “Another drink, Alfredo, and give the rest of these sour faces one. Yes sir, children, I feel it! My girl will get her man back and—” he looked at Mary and Reyes, “it looks like an old man will be going to a wedding.”
“You’ll be the biggest man at my wedding, viejo,” Al said. Chris Baker rose abruptly and went to the dark window, to stare at the barren side of the building next door.
The man stood at the foot of the bed, stared at Allen Baker. Baker glared back defiantly.
“I will like hell leave town!” he said. “Why should I? You said yourself no one knows anything. If that’s the case why should anyone leave?”
“I’ll tell you again,” the man said patiently. “If they want to question you I don’t want you to be here. And they might. Romero isn’t back yet, and it worries me. I have no idea of what Pelchek is up to, and I don’t want you in a position to be grilled.”
“Won’t it look funny if I leave now?”
“To whom? Pelchek? So far, he’s the only one who’s been asking questions.”
“What about Chris?”
“She went to the prison to see your brother. She probably stayed up in Capital City to be near him.”
“Well, I don’t like the idea of leaving. If I do go, when can I come back?”
“Soon,” the man said soothingly. “Just as soon as things are cleared away.” He crossed the bedroom and adjusted the blinds to let in the early-morning light.
Still grumbling, Baker got out of bed, went to the bathroom. “Where do I go?” he called out.
“San Francisco. There’s a flight out of Capital City at four this afternoon and you’ve plenty of time to make it. The ticket is in the name of Roberts. Phillip Roberts.”
“Won’t Newell or Mathewson think it’s funny if I run out now?”
“Maybe. What’s the difference? You never showed any brotherly affection before, and you were never even called as a witness at the trial.”
“What about money?”
“I brought a thousand dollars in cash with me,” the man said. “And made out a check for five thousand. You can sign it and cash it on your way out of town. That should be enough. Even for you.”
“All right,” Baker said, coming out of the bathroom. He opened a closet door and began throwing clothing on the bed. “Help me pack.”
Twenty minutes later the man watched Baker pull out of the driveway and start for town. He let the curtain fall back into place, a small smile on his face.
CHAPTER 18
PELCHEK looked around the familiar office. Elena and Chris stood close together, freshened after six hours sleep. Aguilar was behind them, shaved and combed. The old man looked ready for anything.
Mathewson had called and told Pelchek to meet him in front of the bank building at two o’clock. It was almost one-thirty.
Al Reyes came in, closely followed by Mary Perrini. He spoke to Pelchek. “The cars are ready, Steve. I’ll use yours and you take Benny Esparza’s. More room in his.”
Pelchek nodded. “You and Mary do your best to get to the sixth floor without being seen. Go to Room 648. Mathewson has it open for you. It joins McCreery’s office and the connecting door will be unlocked. You’ll be able to hear through it. Got it?”
“Right.”
“Remember this,” Pelchek continued. “You and Mary don’t know who it was that kidnaped you, but when you come through that door into the office, act as though you know. Both of you. Okay?” Pelchek waved a finger at the pair. “Don’t forget to give us fifteen minutes’ start.”
Ten minutes later Pelchek parked the car on Elm Street near the corner of Fourth, and the four of them walked around to the entrance of the First National Bank building. On the sixth floor they passed the double doors marking the entrance of Baker Land and Mining Corporation, went on to an office further down the long corridor. Chris Baker knocked and a voice called from within.
“Come in!”
The gray man stood up as they came into the office, face set and eyes betraying nothing until they rested on Pelchek. Then only annoyance. He silently indicated chairs and the four sat down. Mathewson was already seated, hands folded across his stomach, hat riding squarely on his head. He said nothing.
“Chief Mathewson says you have something, Pelchek,” McCreery said icily. “You know my feelings on the subject, and it is only because of him that I’m listening to you.”
“Perhaps I have something to say about that,” Christine Baker said coolly.
“Perhaps you have, Miss Baker.” The man turned to her. “But not now. Your father engaged me, and since Walker’s death, I have a contract. Only a majority of the stockholders can dismiss me.”
“That might be done,” she snapped. “There have been—”
“Hold it, Chris!” Pelchek said. “We’re not here for a dogfight. Let’s everyone remember that.”
At that moment the door to the outer office opened and George Marlin came in. He looked about the room, then crossed quickly and leaned over Chris Baker’s chair, whispering urgently in her ear. Her face grew taut and she looked helplessly at Pelchek.
“Steve,” she said. “Allen’s gone.”
“Gone?” Pelchek said.
“Yes, Mr. Pelchek,” the accountant said. “When Chris asked me to locate her brother I went to his apartment in town, then to the home place. His car is gone and so are some of his clothes and luggage.”
“Maybe he just went out of town for the day,” Elena said hopefully.
“I’m afraid not, Elena,” Marlin said regretfully. “I checked around and found he’d cashed a check for five thousand dollars at the bank early this morning. The manager tells me Allen was waiting in front of the bank at eight o’clock.”
“Well, that tears it,” Pelchek said disgustedly, looked at the fidgeting Marlin. “For Christ’s sake, sit down, Marlin! You may as well listen to this, too.”
Marlin sat on the edge of an office chair, looking nervously at McCreery.
“It isn’t very easy to start,” Pelchek said. “It looks as though our luck may have run out. I don’t even know how we found out what we did. Look at us! Four people who believed Cal Baker was innocent. The rest of the town doesn’t even know an investigation has been going on… such as it’s been.”
“Then what’s the purpose of this?” McCreery said impatiently.
“I’ll get to it, McCreery. Just take it easy. In the first place,” he continued, “if Elena Baker hadn’t come to Milwaukee after me nothing would have happened in this case. No questions would have been asked, and Cal would have been executed. For nothing! People around here would have forgotten it. Quick. But I came and started asking questions. Got some answers, too. Funny answers. So I looked around. Who would benefit the most by Cal Baker’s death or removal. Allen Baker?” He paused and lit a cigarette
, looked around the room. They were all watching him intently. All but Mathewson. He watched everyone else.
“Allen Baker?” he repeated. “Well, he was prime. You all know how his brother’s marriage affected him. How he resented Cal’s interference in the housing situation. Besides, he had a personal life to hide. Maybe Cal was getting close to it.” He exhaled a cloud of smoke. “Also, with Cal’s stock back in the corporation and his sister’s proxy, Allen would be Baker Land and Mining.” Pelchek paused. “Unless someone else was doing his thinking for him.”
There was a stirring of movement and he let the last remark hang in the air a moment, before continuing.
“Then we learned about a man named Orrosco… Never mind how we found out about him, but he probably was the missing witness Cal kept claiming. We’ll never know for sure, now. He’s dead. Murdered.” He put his cigarette out, looked at the man behind the desk. “I thought about you, too, McCreery. I still think about you.”
The general manager leaned back in his chair, fingers forming a steeple under his chin. He stared silently at Pelchek.
“You’re a cold and remote man, McCreery. Couldn’t be bothered by anything as sordid as a murder case A crime of passion. Passion!” He spat the word out, rose and went to the window overlooking Elm Street. He turned. “One word from you, McCreery. Or just a little support from either you or Allen Baker. Either of those things and Cal wouldn’t be sitting in the death house.” He turned to the others. “You know why this pillar of respectability could sit by and watch a man die for something he didn’t do? Oh yeah, McCreery’s like us. He doesn’t really think Cal would murder a man. But he would have let him die. You know why?” Pelchek crossed the room, leaned on the desk with both hands, stared at the man behind it.
“See here, Pelchek,” McCreery said. “I did nothing to hurt Baker. I just—”
“You just went around looking as though you believed him guilty,” Pelchek broke in. “The town watched you. And Allen. That meant the jury members watched you, too. It was easy for them to go along with that line of thought. But I think the people here are interested in why you would let such a thing happen. I know why, McCreery, and like I told you before, you’re sick. Real sick.”
“You can’t talk—” McCreery began. His face had turned a dull red, mahogany-colored skin mottled.
“Maybe it’s more than sickness,” Pelchek interrupted. “You may be a little crazy.”
“Steven!” Elena said. “What in the—”
“I told you no one asked anything around here. I did. Walker and McCreery fought the housing improvements. Walker wanted to keep Mexican labor in its place and didn’t want to expend the money. Not McCreery. His reasons were a lot more personal.” He looked at the staring man. “With this sickness about Mexicans you just couldn’t stomach Cal’s marriage, could you? Or the housing improvements.” Pelchek reached in his pocket, looked at the others. “Here are some notes I made from Elman’s report.” He read from a small piece of paper.
“Came to Las Milpas in 1925. Went to work for Hunk Baker as irrigation foreman. Night school and correspondence courses for five years. Made assistant superintendent under Walker in 1936. Born in Columbus, New Mexico. Father’s name was Edward McCreery, cattle rancher; mother was Ellen McCreery—”
“And a sister,” McCreery broke in harshly, then slumped in his chair.
“And a sister,” Pelchek repeated, looked briefly at the man. “Elman called Columbus, McCreery. Some of the old-timers still remember you and your family.” He returned to the notes. “You and your father went on a cattle-buying trip in the early part of 1916, left your mother and baby sister at the ranch. I don’t suppose your father was very happy about leaving them with all the unrest on the Border.”
“My mother talked him into it,” McCreery said dully. Pelchek nodded. He stuffed the notepaper into a pocket, faced the others. “This man was about eighteen then. His sister came along late to his folks and young Frank must’ve worshiped her. Anyway, he and his father returned from their buying trip late at night. March 9, 1916.” He hesitated a moment, then continued. “Pancho Villa and his men had just ridden off from their raid on Columbus. McCreery’s ranch house was in flames.”
“Ai!” old man Aguilar breathed.
McCreery, twisted in his chair, ignoring the others. “She was just a little girl,” he said in a low voice. “Four. They brained her against the hitching post in the ranch yard.”
“Your mother?” It was Elena, stark-eyed.
McCreery shook his head. “My father found her by the horse barn, but he wouldn’t let me near. He dug a grave and buried both of them then and there. In six months he was dead.” McCreery fell silent, stared out of the window.
“I thought a lot about this man,” Pelchek said, after a short silence. “He’s allowed this hatred of all things Mexican to build up in him until it’s almost a disease. He didn’t want any changes, and would have gone to almost any lengths to keep things the way they were. However, for different reasons, Walker thought along the same lines. With Cal inactive in the business, there wouldn’t have been much reason for McCreery to kill anyone. I’m afraid all we can do is feel sorry for this man.”
“Then what are you going to do, Mr. Pelchek?” Marlin asked. “With your witness dead, Sergeant Romero out of town and all?” The blond man’s round face was set and serious.
Mathewson coughed and shifted his weight. Pelchek smiled at Marlin.
“The chief will want to ask you something a little later, George.”
“Yeah,” Mathewson grunted.
Marlin looked from one to the other with quick, birdlike glances. Pelchek moved to the corner of the desk and rested a hip on it, partially shielding McCreery from the other’s view. He folded his arms and leaned forward.
“And that brings us to you, George. Faithful George.”
“See here, Mr. Pelchek, there’s no—”
“Yes, Steve,” Christine interrupted, “I can see no reason to drag this out any further.” She started to rise, was halted abruptly by a huge forefinger. She glanced at Mathewson’s face, sat back down, her eyes wide.
“I thought about everyone, George. Even you. Thought about you early, then discarded you. A mistake, boy. But then, you made a couple, so we’re even. What happened, George? Did Orrosco see you kill Walker, or did he come along right after?”
There was stunned silence. Elena, a knuckle jammed between her teeth, stared blankly at Pelchek. Aguilar absently reached for his tobacco and began making a cigarette. Even McCreery moved, turning in his chair so he could see the accountant.
“That’s a foolish question, Pelchek, and doesn’t deserve any consideration.” A mask had dropped over the blond man’s moonlike features and he leaned back, crossing his short legs.
“George?” Christine breathed, staring as though she’d never seen him before.
“You’re right, Marlin,” Pelchek said. “It doesn’t deserve an answer and I didn’t expect one. But listen a minute and see if any of this fits. And don’t give me any credit,” he said to the others. “If anyone had given this blank little man any thought they could have found out as much as I have.” He turned back to the accountant. “The first time I started thinking about you was that night at Chris Baker’s house. You told me you helped Cal with his marriage to Elena. Why? You also claim to have supported him in his housing plan. Why? Those things seem innocent enough, unless someone wanted to alienate him with his family and with the town.” Pelchek paused. “See what I mean?”
“That’s not true,” Marlin said coldly.
“All right, we’ll let that go. What about Allen?”
“What about him?”
“You’ve been pandering to his stinking habits ever since Cal went into the Army. Liquor and women, George. How long has he been that way? What’ve you got on him?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Marlin said.
“I can get Carmen Valdez, George. She won’t be afraid t
o talk now. Neither will Reyes when he gets back to town.”
“A pimp and a prostitute,” Marlin said disdainfully.
“You don’t like pimps and prostitutes, do you, George? Except to deliver to Allen,” Pelchek said.
“If Baker wanted that sort of entertainment and asked me to provide it for him, well… he’s my boss,” Marlin said calmly.
“You provided that sort of entertainment for free? I know Romero allowed Reyes to keep the Mazatlan open, but what could you give Romero so he’d put you on a free list with Reyes? Money? Maybe, but I don’t think so. Power? That’s more like it. Power. Maybe you’d put Romero in the chief’s job when you controlled Baker Land, huh?”
“That’s ridiculous,” Marlin said.
“Is it? Here”—Pelchek fished in his coat pocket—“I’ve a few more notes, Marlin. About you. No one’s ever looked you up. Just your job application, and that was clean.” He consulted the scrap of paper. “Ten years ago you left Brown & Streeter. You were a senior accountant in New York, and were making five hundred and fifty dollars a month. Resigned. Came here, ostensibly for your health, and took a job with Baker Land at the same money. Before Brown & Streeter, you attended N.Y.U. Graduated with a degree in accounting.”
“That is absolutely correct,” Marlin said.
“So it is. Here’s something else, although I don’t see how Elman uncovered it in two days.” He read from the paper. “Subject was asked to resign for playing office politics. No details.” Pelchek put the paper in his pocket. “Sounds innocent enough. Nothing too dangerous about office politics. Only, I’ll bet you played ’em every day you worked there, George.”
Marlin stared at him coldly, and Pelchek turned to Mathewson. “I think I can make a case, Chief. Want to listen?”
“Go ahead,” Mathewson said.
“This funny little man wanted to be Baker Land, Chief,” Pelchek began. “He tried Chris first.” He smiled crookedly at Marlin. “Oh, yeah, I heard about your inept proposal. I guess you never had much time for women. Anyway,” he said, turning back to Mathewson, “when that didn’t work, he got something on Allen. Finally had him taking orders. He helped Cal alienate himself to the point where he withdrew from active participation in the business. Then he sat back and was willing to wait until Walker retired.” He turned to Chris Baker. “When was that going to take place?”