Moment of Violence

by George Harmon Coxe

  They went that way along the coast, turning into St. Mary’s Gap and continuing on past Clydesdale. About a hundred yards beyond there was an open area which over-looked the beach, and across the street from this was a flat and level lot about the size of a small city block. Two tethered goats were grazing at the near end, and beyond them, it being Saturday, a sand-lot cricket game was in progress. At the next corner Dave turned and came back about half way along the field. When Brennan stopped behind him, he got out and went back.

  He pointed out the house to Brennan and was pleased that from this spot part of the veranda was visible as well as the gate. He described Alan Crawford, drawing the best picture his memory could supply. He had noticed that Crawford’s car was in the yard as they drove past and now he told Brennan what he wanted.

  “If anybody comes or goes,” he said, “you can keep track of them, but your job is to stay with Crawford. If he doesn’t come out at all I’ll be interested to know who goes in, but if he does come out follow him.”

  “Okay. But how do I get in touch with you?”

  It was a problem Dave had not considered before and after a bit of thought he knew there could be but one answer.

  “You’ll just have to wait. I’ll come back when I can. If you’re not here I’ll wait for you.”

  18

  DAVE PAYNE had not the slightest intention of taking a nap. When he left Sam Brennan he had driven his rented car to Goddard’s for a late lunch. He’d had nothing but a cup of coffee that day and he was hot and thirsty and empty. The two gin-and-tonics gave him a proper base for the three eggs and the crisp bacon he’d missed at breakfast, and when he reached the bungalow he got rid of his shoes, shirt, and tie and flopped down on the bed to rest a few minutes and do some thinking.

  He had done the thinking, or part of it, but the drinks apparently had betrayed him and now, coming awake with a start, he saw that it was nearly five o’clock. Swearing softly as he understood what had happened, he rose quickly. At that moment he would have liked a swim more than anything but, not wanting to take the time, he washed his face and neck, combed his hair, and put on the rest of his clothes. For he knew, before he had dropped off to sleep, that he wanted to see Joan and tell her the story he had postponed that noon.

  The clippings which gave some of the background to Tony Cruise, alias Alan Crawford, still bothered him and so did his decision to keep possession of them temporarily. The key argument in that decision and the one that influenced him most had been his concern for Gloria Ludlow. The fact that he had once been in love with her was no longer important. He knew that now. He had not even thought of her in that way in years and this new meeting had changed nothing. But he had been troubled by the things that had happened to her during her life with Mike Ludlow. She was an old friend and he felt sorry for her. He wanted to help her if he could but he had no way of telling whether she knew about Crawford’s past or not. Apparently she was prepared to share her future with him, but what would happen if the police had the clippings and knew the truth about his past?

  Was Tony Cruise still wanted in the States? Were his former superiors still a threat to his life? A cable or a call to the F.B.I, or the United States District Attorney in New York might answer the question and extradition should not be difficult. It would be tough on Gloria but it would be worse if Crawford was the one who had killed Ludlow and Sankar, and it began to look very much as if this might be the case. Yet before he committed himself he had to talk these things out with someone he could trust.

  He needed an objective sounding board. He was not sure Joan could be completely objective where Gloria was concerned but once she knew the facts she would be better able to understand the problem and give an honest opinion. He was not sure why it was so important to him that he have Joan’s approval but that’s the way he felt about it, and that’s why he drove to the Carib Club as soon as he had his jacket on.

  There were eight cars standing in the parking area when he arrived. Three of these were taxis and the drivers lounged in the shade of a near-by tree. The other five were smaller and although he did not think Joan’s was among them, he continued on to the coral-rock path and walked to the cottage at the end. There was no response to his knock but when he tried the door and found it unlocked, he stepped inside.

  The room was empty and in order. Indentations in the counterpane and one pillow told him that someone had stretched out on the bed, but this was no help to him now. A glance into the bathroom revealed a bathing suit hanging from the shower nozzle and now, accepting the fact that she was not here, he went into the main building and spoke to the clerk at the desk.

  The clerk could not help him. He remembered that Miss Allison had been here for lunch but he had not seen her since. She had left no message. He was sorry he could not be of more help.

  Dave thanked him and went back to the parking area, the disappointment riding him. He was thoroughly annoyed with himself for falling asleep and in his present state of mind he wanted more than ever to find her and confide in her. He had no way of telling when she would return. Under other circumstances he might have waited. The trouble was, he had already waited too long. He had to drive to Crawford’s place and find out what Sam Brennan had to report and he was nearly to his car when someone spoke to him.

  “Good evening, Mr. Payne.”

  The expression itself did not surprise him because he knew that here no one ever said good afternoon. After two or three o’clock the proper term was good evening and, glancing back, he saw that one of the lounging taxi drivers had stepped forward. He touched the brim of his hat and smiled broadly and now Dave knew this was Clarence Hayworth.

  “Good evening, Clarence,” he said. “Working today, I see.”

  “Oh, yes, sir. Got me a tourist couple. Had ’em all day.”

  Dave said he was glad to hear it. He turned away and then a new thought came to him and he stopped. There was, he saw, a chance that Clarence could help him and as he started back the driver came to meet him.

  “You remember Miss Allison, don’t you, Clarence?” he asked. “She was at the Seaside the other morning and we rode down to police headquarters.”

  “Oh, yes, sir. I remember her well.”

  “Have you seen her this afternoon?”

  “Oh, yes. She spoke to me.”

  “You wouldn’t by any chance know where she went?” Dave said hopefully as he mentally crossed his fingers.

  “Not exactly, sir. But she did ask me a question.”

  “Oh?”

  “She wanted to know if I could tell her where Mrs. Ludlow lived.”

  “Ahh! And could you?”

  “Yes indeed. I told her I would be very happy to give her directions to Mrs. Ludlow’s place.”

  “Good,” Dave said. “Now give them to me, will you?”

  Clarence used the palm of his hand for a map and his finger for a pointer. He indicated the coastal road and the point of departure. He was explicit about three turns that had to be made after this.

  “Then you turn at this corner,” he said, “and you’re there. First there’s this big old house with a wall around it. It has a lot of ground to it and it looks deserted but it isn’t. Next is this small square house and next to this you’ll see a gray stone church. Not a big one but you’ll know it’s a church. Well, Mrs. Ludlow lives in the square house between the church and the big one on the corner.”

  He found the big old house that Clarence Hayworth had described, without difficulty, and as he turned the corner and passed the gateway he agreed that it had an abandoned look. It stood well back on a large lot, the area in front was knee high in grass and weeds, and only the open shutters on the second floor indicated that anyone was in residence. The small, square, gray house adjoining it also had its own wall and what he saw when he stopped opposite the gateway was not encouraging.

  A veranda ran along the front of the house and part way down each side. Both the front doors and the shuttered windows were closed and t
here was no car in sight. From his angle of vision he could see part of the garage and knew that the doors were closed, and as he swallowed his disappointment he glanced up and down the road to see if Joan’s car was parked anywhere nearby. When he was sure, he shifted and tried to focus his thoughts on Sam Brennan.

  The sun was nearly down as he turned into St. Mary’s Gap and drove along the narrow road parallel with the shore. He was barely moving as he came to the wall which belonged to Clydesdale and even from here he could look up ahead and see that no car was parked on the edge of the open lot on the left. As he came to the gateway he could see that a small sedan had been pulled up near the rear of the house, but it was not Joan’s car. He did not think it was Crawford’s car either. It might, he knew, be Gloria Ludlow’s but he did not particularly care at the moment, so he continued on to the second corner, turned, and came back to park on the edge of the lot where he had left Brennan.

  The two goats were still tethered here but the cricket players had called it a day. On the other side he could see out across the water where the sun had just dipped below the distant horizon, leaving almost no afterglow. He found himself wishing that there was a phone available so that he could call the Carib Club and find out if Joan had returned. But there was no phone, nor was there anything he could do about it. Crawford had gone somewhere and Brennan had followed, and there was nothing to do but wait and see what Brennan had to report.

  He got a cigarette going and stretched his legs as best he could, his gaze fastened on the road ahead of him. Presently a car made the turn about two hundred yards ahead and he sat up a little until he saw it pass Clydesdale and continue on. Two or three minutes later another car did the same thing and now, as the light faded and the impatience grew inside him, he began to have some doubts about things he had done. He was more disappointed and concerned in his failure to locate Joan than anything else and he was still wondering about her when the next car came into view.

  This time his patience was rewarded and he watched it swing wide and make the turn into Clydesdale. Even as it disappeared a second car came in sight and this one rolled past the gateway and slowed down as it came abreast so that he could see Sam Brennan behind the wheel. Brennan went on to the corner and made his turn and came up behind him. The door opened and the rangy figure appeared and climbed in beside Dave.

  “There’s another car in there,” Dave said.

  “I saw it,” Brennan said. “It must have come while I was following Crawford. It wasn’t there when I left.”

  “How long have you been gone?”

  “For an hour and a half maybe.”

  “Where did he go?”

  “A couple of places.” Brennan found a cigarette and waited until Dave gave him a light. “He went first to that village center there in Hastings. He went into that grocery store and he was gone quite a while. When he finished he had four big cartons of stuff.” He indicated the size and shape of the boxes by his hands and arms. “Couldn’t get it all in the rear deck. Had to load the back seat.”

  “Then what?”

  “He drove down to the Aquatic Club and parked as close as he could to the beach. He walked to the end of the pier and whistled between his teeth. Kind of a special whistle, I guess. I didn’t follow him out but I was watching which way he looked. There was a smart-looking ketch moored offshore. A big black man had been doing a little painting topside and he paid attention to the whistle. He had a dinghy tied up at the stern and he climbed in and rowed to the beach. He and Crawford loaded the supplies and the black man rowed them out. He had to make two trips and Crawford took a ride on the last one.”

  He put his arm out the window and flicked ashes onto the ground. “He was out there maybe fifteen or twenty minutes—they were below most of the time, probably stowing stuff around—and then he had himself rowed ashore. He went up to an inn there on the Aquatic Club street and had himself a drink and then he drove here. It looks like he might be thinking of taking a trip.”

  Recalling what Frank Morgan had told him, Dave said he had heard that Crawford sometimes chartered the ketch, that he occasionally took people out on two or three day fishing trips, but he did not really believe that this was happening now. The clippings he had locked in his car about Tony Cruise suggested that Crawford was provisioning the ketch for an entirely different reason.

  “Would he have any trouble getting out of here at night?” he said.

  “Not from where he’s moored,” Brennan said, “but there might be trouble waiting for him when he got back. The authorities might want to know why he took off without clearing things with customs and immigration.”

  19

  FOR THE NEXT several seconds they sat there smoking, eyes fixed on the empty darkening surface of the sea, the silence lengthening as their thoughts turned inward. Neither moved or seemed aware of the other’s presence until Brennan flipped the stub of his cigarette from the lowered window. For him this broke the spell and he glanced at Dave.

  “You figure Crawford for the job?”

  Dave took his time answering. It was not that he was trying to avoid the issue; it was simply a matter of focusing all his thoughts on one specific conclusion. Heretofore he had been more concerned with people than he had in trying to identify the murderer. He had considered such things as motive and opportunity and applied them to the individuals involved, but he had made no attempt to decide who was guilty and his interest had not been directed in trying to solve the murder as such. He had been worried and apprehensive about Gloria and Joan, not because he thought either was guilty but because he was afraid they might be hurt in some way. Now, weighing Sam Brennan’s question, he realized he could no longer avoid the problem. He not only had to make up his mind, he had to do something about it.

  He could not overlook Roger Eustis’s motive. A man threatened with the loss of a wealthy wife and a much desired way of life might well reach a point of desperation where he would kill to preserve his standing. A man like Richard Dunning might kill his wife’s lover rather than have her leave him; such a man might even be motivated more by some twisted sense of honor than by jealousy. But now that he knew about Crawford’s past and understood what he had to lose if that past was disclosed, he saw that the odds had to point in that direction.

  Until now Crawford had never seemed to be a top suspect, at least to him. Crawford had appeared after Dave had discovered the murder. Prior to that he had been at the airport. The combination of these two facts had suggested that the opportunity to kill was lacking, but Dave was now ready to admit that this conclusion was specious. Crawford, once he had made up his mind to act, could have gambled that this assumption would be made.

  Dave had seen him at the airport but Crawford had left before he had finished with customs. After that he had to negotiate for a car, and on the way to the bungalow Clarence Hayworth had broken no speed laws. Crawford could have had a fifteen-minute start which would have been ample to drive to the bungalow, take care of Mike Ludlow, and get away before Dave appeared. After that all he had to do was wait until he felt sure the body had been discovered and then walk in. This would not only supply him with an acceptable story but also give him a chance to observe at close hand how the investigation was going.

  And Sankar. Joan had seen him that night but he obviously had not seen her or she could not have played the part of a local newspaperwoman yesterday noon. But he could have seen Crawford. That might explain their meeting at the Club Morgan; if a second and later meeting had been necessary it would be logical for Crawford to follow Sankar, and he still believed this was what had happened the night before.…

  “Yes,” he said. “It looks that way to me. If he took off in that ketch what chance would he have of getting away?”

  “A pretty good one,” Brennan said. “There’s a lot of water out there. A lot of islands, too, not all of them British. Even back in the States where they have helicopters and search planes and things like that it wouldn’t be easy to find a small bo
at unless someone had a pretty good fix on it and knew where it was headed. No helicopters around here. There might be one at the Naval Base at Chaugaramas in Trinidad but I doubt it. Between there and Puerto Rico I doubt if there are more than a half dozen private planes and none of them’ve got much range.

  “No.” He shook his head. “If he pulled out of here after dark and got a good start he’d be tough to find. Because you wouldn’t know which way he was headed. He could make Martinique easy and the French are not too fussy about extradition. The Grenadines would be a cinch and some of them are uninhabited; he could try for Venezuela or the Guianas. If he had enough supplies aboard—and it looks to me like he might have—he could get to Brazil without any trouble and then he wouldn’t have to worry about extradition.… What do you want to do?”

  This time Dave was ready with an answer. He saw no point in telling Brennan about the clippings he had that concerned Tony Cruise, so he said: “I think I’d better go down to Headquarters and have a talk with Major Fleming or Inspector Gomes.”

  “What about me?”

  “Just keep doing what you’re doing. If Crawford shows, stay with him. We’ll catch up with you in one place or another.”

  There was a hotel up near the end of St. Mary’s Gap and Dave pulled into the parking lot and went inside in search of a telephone. He still felt no great concern about Joan Allison but the thought of her was persistent and kept demanding some attention. He still felt guilty about the unwanted nap that had prevented him from seeing her, and he wanted to be reassured that she was all right and that she would understand what had happened. When he got his number the clerk at the Carib Club desk said Miss Allison was not there at the moment but he would ring her cottage. There was a wait of another half minute or so and then the clerk gave him the news.