Cat and Mouse

by William Campbell Gault

  I nodded.

  The narrow hallway ran the length of the house. The small living room was on the left as we entered, a smaller guest room on the right. Nobody was in either room. The bathroom on the left farther down the hall was also vacant. The kitchen and a small breakfast nook were at the rear of the house. Nothing.

  There was another door at the left end of the kitchen. Harley opened it and we saw the steps going down. Basements are not common in Southern California. Harley flicked the light switch at the head of the stairs.

  It wasn’t a basement. It was a root cellar, an excavation about eight feet by eight feet with a dirt floor. Two large rats deserted the body they were feasting on and scurried into the area beneath the steps.

  A woman was lying there, a thin woman in a yellow kimono. I couldn’t guess her age by her face; her face was covered with blood.

  “Jesus!” Harley said.

  “We’d better phone the police,” I said.

  We were going down the hall toward the phone in the living room when the front door opened. A uniformed police officer stood in the doorway, a wide and swarthy man with a gun in his hand.

  “Stay right where you are,” he said, “both of you! Turn around and put your hands on the wall and don’t make any foolish moves. Put ’em up high.”

  A younger, thinner patrolman had followed him in. We did as requested as they frisked us.

  “Okay,” the swarthy officer said. “You can put your hands down now—but don’t turn around!”

  “We were heading for the phone when you came,” I said. “My name is Brock Callahan. You can confirm that by my driver’s license. You can also check me out with a phone call to Captain Aram Apoyan at your station. We were about to report to him that there is a dead woman in the root cellar. The doorway to it is in the kitchen.”

  “Phone the captain,” he told the other officer. “I’ll stay here.”

  I said, “If it was her neighbor who phoned you guys, he should have called last night when he heard her screaming.”

  “Did he tell you that?”

  “He did. That’s why we came in. The door wasn’t locked.”

  “We’ll get back to him,” he said.

  The younger man came back to tell his partner that Captain Apoyan had confirmed that he knew me and I was to report to him immediately.

  The old man wasn’t in front when we went out but four neighbors from across the street were standing on the walk, watching the house. Another police car pulled up as we drove away, plainclothesmen.

  “That old coot could have saved her life,” Harley said bitterly.

  I didn’t comment. It was a silent drive to the station.

  Aram smiled at me as we entered his office. “The odar is back to haunt us. And this time it’s breaking and entering.”

  Odar is the Armenian word for other, for the non-Armenian. I said, “Entering, but not breaking. The door wasn’t locked.”

  “A minor difference. And what is your interest in this woman who was killed, this Jane Meredith?”

  “We think she might have been living with the man who killed Jasper Belton in San Valdesto. This is Jasper’s father.”

  Aram’s broad face became more somber. “I read about what happened, Mr. Belton, but the San Valdesto police never notified us he was here. If he is, I assure you the full cooperation of this department.” He looked at me. “Is this the same man who threatened you?”

  I nodded.

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t even know who he is. I suspect it might be some man I put away when I was working down here.”

  He took a deep breath. “Wait here. I’ll see if any reports have come in to Homicide.”

  He came back five minutes later. Nothing, he told us. None of the neighbors knew the man’s name. He had been living, off and on, with Jane Meredith for the last month. Evidently, she wasn’t a socializer.

  “And,” he added, “the detective who frisked you both reported that neither of you was carrying a gun. Weren’t you taking a big risk?”

  “I guess,” I admitted. “I didn’t bring mine and I don’t think Harley has one. I rarely carry a gun, as you must remember.”

  “Well, that’s one plus for your side. What else have you learned while you were in town?”

  Harley put our list on Aram’s desk. “Here are some of the people who knew my son and also this man we’re looking for. You may copy it, if you wish.”

  “I wish,” Aram said. “I’ll be right back.”

  He came back about ten minutes later. “We’ll check out these names and I’ll also phone San Valdesto. Where are you two staying?”

  “At the Bayside Inn. If we’re not there, leave a message.”

  He promised us he would and warned us to be careful.

  It was a tedious and unproductive trip from then on. We were told what we already knew or told nothing by the resentful kids who probably considered us establishment citizens. Three of them weren’t home; they worked days.

  We stopped in to see Aram on the way back to the motel. I told him what I should have told him earlier, about the Corinth cigarettes. So far as I knew, I explained, they were a rare brand. If they were available in town, a stakeout of the stores that sold them might be a wise move.

  He agreed.

  In the car, Harley said, “Back to San Valdesto? I can’t believe that jerk would stay here when he’s as hot as he is now.”

  “We’ll stay over,” I said. “We still have three places to go tonight.”

  In the room, he said, “I’m going out for a run on the beach. The only thing we’ve been exercising is our mouths.”

  “Did you bring running shoes?”

  “Everywhere I go.”

  I was trying to find a pattern in all that I had learned since my trip to Tritown when Aram phoned around four o’clock. They had located a store that had sold Corinth cigarettes to a man that fit Big Bear’s description. “But we got there an hour late,” he said.

  “He’ll probably be back.”

  “Maybe not. He bought two cartons. And something else. We learned that Jane Meredith withdrew five hundred dollars from her savings account yesterday but we didn’t find a plugged nickel in the house. The man now has traveling money.”

  “If he got it from her, why would he kill her?”

  “Our best guess is that she learned his real name, somehow. Are you staying in town?”

  “At least for tonight. We still have to talk to three people who weren’t home today.”

  “We can handle that. What are their names?”

  “Aram, you know what we both think of your night watch!”

  “Shit, yes! Okay. But report to me tomorrow.”

  “Of course.”

  Harley came in five minutes later, soaked in sweat. I relayed the information Aram had given me. “They were twenty minutes from catching him in San Valdesto,” I pointed out, “and missed him by an hour here.”

  “The bastard can’t stay lucky forever,” he said. “I think I’ll call my wife after I take a shower.”

  “Do that. I’m going down and have a poolside drink and study the girls in their bikinis.”

  There were no girls in the pool. That wasn’t the reason I sat there with a bottle of Beck’s. Harley Davidson Belton, I was sure, would not be as sentimental as he should be if I had stayed to overhear his conversation.

  All that I had learned since Tritown should be enough to convince Tom Mallory and Chief Harris that they had a very doubtful case on Corey. But nothing I had learned was going to divert Big Bear from his mission. Maybe, as Harley had said, he couldn’t stay lucky forever. Neither could I. I had learned with the Rams that the best defense is a strong offense.

  Harley brought a Manhattan from the bar with him when he came out to join me. “Where are the girls?” he asked.

  “I scared them all away.”

  He took a sip of his drink and stared out at the pool. “There were plenty on the beach. And too man
y in my Marine years. That’s not the kind of training that builds a faithful husband, is it?”

  “Nope.”

  “Maybe the kids are right. Try before you buy is the way they go these days.”

  “We did, too. At least I did. But we never called our prenuptial pussy a meaningful relationship.”

  “An adulterous husband and a bad father, that’s what I’ve been. I’m going to make it up to her, Brock.”

  “Did you tell her that on the phone?”

  “I did.”

  “I’m glad you did,” I said. “Welcome to the club.”

  He smiled. “You must have some wife!”

  “More than I can handle,” I admitted.

  I phoned her before dinner and told her I wouldn’t be home tonight. She told me that Corey was still being held but Nowicki was sure he would soon be released on minimum bail. Otherwise, all was quiet on the San Valdesto front.

  Nowicki must have learned from Harris or McClune what Aram had told them about Big Bear’s most recent kill. Neither Harris nor Mallory was likely to want his public image tarnished by jailing an innocent young man who had been framed. They could reasonably assume that what I had learned could be disputed successfully in court. But never the word of a fellow officer with Aram’s reputation.

  We started with the farthest address after dinner, a duplex outside of Santa Monica on National Boulevard, near the old Douglas aircraft plant.

  This was the address of the poet on the list, a name I’ve forgotten now. When he invited us into his living room, there were four other youths there who retreated to the kitchen. They could have been fellow poets; they were all thin and looked hungry.

  The remaining bard had little to tell us. He, like Fernando, did not have a high opinion of Big Bear, nor of Duane. The only reason, he explained, that he had gone to Duane’s parties had been economic; he stuffed himself there and his host had let him take leftovers home. It was his devout belief that Duane’s mother’s money could be put to better use by supporting the arts.

  In the car, Harley asked, “Do you read much poetry?”

  “Not often.”

  “My wife does,” he said. “I’d better bone up on it.”

  “Don’t go too far, Harley. One step at a time.”

  Nobody answered the bell at our second address.

  The third was a small building in Venice. An outside stairway led to the second-floor entrance. We could hear an argument going on inside before Harley knocked on the door.

  When the door opened, a short but very wide and ugly man in a tan jacket and maroon slacks glared at us. “What the hell do you want?” he asked.

  “A lad named Deke Bishop,” Harley answered. “Is he in?”

  “Get lost!”

  “I’m here,” a voice from behind him said.

  The man turned and said, “Shut up, punk!”

  The turn had been his error; Harley put a hand on his back and sent him stumbling into the room. When he turned around again, Harley grabbed him by the throat with his left hand and was about to land a right-hand haymaker.

  “Don’t!” I said.

  He shoved the man against the wall. “You stay right there, Shorty,” he said, “or I’ll throw you down those steps outside.”

  I asked young Bishop, “What’s all the fuss about?”

  “I owe him some money.”

  “For what”

  “I don’t want to say.”

  “Drugs?”

  He looked at Shorty and back at me. “Are you guys cops?”

  “We’re working with them,” I said. “But we don’t always work the same way they do, as you must have noticed. My impetuous partner is Jasper Belton’s father and that is why we are here.”

  He said nothing. He looked at Shorty and Harley and back at me.

  “How much do you owe him?” I asked.

  “Thirty dollars.”

  I took a ten and a twenty from my wallet and showed them to Shorty. “Come with me,” I said, “and this will be yours. My friend and I prefer to talk in private.”

  He nodded.

  I walked down the steps with him to his car at the curb in front of mine. His was a green Pontiac Grand Prix. I told him, “Stay away from that kid. You came awful close to winding up in intensive care tonight. I can’t always control my partner.”

  He nodded again.

  I jotted down his license number on the back of our list. “I have your number now. My name is Brock Callahan. You can check me out with Captain Aram Apoyan at the Santa Monica station.” I gave him the thirty dollars. “Now go!”

  He left. I went back up the steps. Deke Bishop was sitting on his bed at the far end of the room.

  Harley said, “Nothing new here. And Deke doesn’t want to tell me that man’s name. He’s a pusher.”

  “I have his license number. What is he selling you, Deke?”

  “Nothing. I quit a month ago. But I still owed him.”

  “Not any more. I’m sure he won’t be back.”

  “If you’d give me your address,” Deke said, “I could pay you off at ten bucks a week. I’m working now.”

  “No need, son. You stay clean and I’ll be more than repaid.”

  “I promise,” he said.

  Back in the car, Harley said, “Thanks for stopping me. That’s all I need, to wind up in the can for assault.”

  “You’re welcome. I was almost as wild when I worked down here.”

  “And then you moved to San Valdesto and I to Sun City. That should have cured us.”

  “Not in San Valdesto, as you have reason to know.”

  “Jesus, yes! What’s happening to this country, Brock?”

  “A national epidemic of self-interest.”

  “Whatever. We’re nowhere, aren’t we? Only one name left and I’ll give you ten to one it’s another dead end.”

  “Probably. I may as well go home and wait for him to call.”

  “Your case is different. He’s out to get you. But I’m out to get him. I don’t want to wait.”

  We were getting out of the car on the parking lot when a green Pontiac Grand Prix pulled in.

  “If that’s Shorty’s car,” I said, “I hope he’s not armed.”

  CHAPTER 10

  IT WAS SHORTY. HIS HANDS WERE VISIBLE AND neither one held a gun. “Could I talk with you guys?” he asked.

  I nodded. “What’s your name?”

  “If you got my license number you can get my name. Do you want to see my driver’s license?”

  “We do.”

  He took out his wallet and handed it to me. His name was Leonard Pelch.

  “How did you know we were staying here?” I asked.

  “I followed you. How else? Look, I’ve already had three raps and I’m out on probation now. You give my name to Apoyan and I’m right back where I don’t want to be. I knew you son, Mr. Belton. But I never sold him anything. I’m a dealer, not a pusher. All I do is supply the demand.”

  “We’ll buy that for now,” Harley said. “What do you want from us?”

  “I thought maybe I could help you. I’ve been working this town for twenty years. I’ve seen that creep the kids call Big Bear, the guy your son left town with. I don’t know his real name, but I have friends who might. They figure this is their turf. That’s probably why he took off for San Valdesto.”

  I shook my head. “He came up there to kill me. I think he killed Jasper because Jasper was going to inform on him. Apoyan thinks that’s the same reason he killed that woman he was living with, Jane Meredith.”

  Pelch stared at me. “Christ! Maybe I’d be better off if you finked to Apoyan. I didn’t know the guy was that heavy!”

  “If you can help, Lenny, neither Apoyan nor Big Bear will learn anything from us.”

  “What if I try and can’t deliver?”

  “Then we’ll give you an E for effort. You know our names.”

  “Are you the Callahan who played for the Rams?”

  “One and the same.
”

  “Your word’s good enough for me,” he said. “That goes for you, too, Mr. Belton.”

  “That’s a sweet thought, Lenny,” I said. “But if we find out that you’re conning us—”

  “I should live so long!”

  “It wouldn’t be long,” Harley assured him.

  Lenny left. Harley said, “I think I understand now what you meant about self-interest. But we have to have some of that in us, don’t we?”

  “If we want to survive,” I admitted. “Should we have a nightcap?”

  “Why not? We earned it today. Maybe even two?”

  We had one. The bar was full of loud men and middle-aged women. “I wasn’t planning any moves,” Harley said, “but I thought we could at least look at some of the young ones. Let’s go up and see what’s on the tube.”

  There was, as usual, nothing worth watching on the tube. We went to bed, each in his own.

  Jan phoned before breakfast. She gave me the good news that Corey was out on bail and living at our house. She had paid the five hundred dollars for a five-thousand-dollar bond and Corey was working it off. We were also saving two-thirds of what the guards had been costing us; she had retained only one watch, from eleven at night to seven in the morning. And she was back at work.

  “Don’t you think that’s risky?”

  “No. Bernie drives me down every morning on his way to the station and brings me home every afternoon.”

  “Considering how much you like Bernie,” I said, “I’m not sure I approve.”

  “We have kept our relationship on a high intellectual plane, sir,” she said. And added, “So far. Anything new down there?”

  I told her I had planned to come home this morning but we had received some information last night that might help us here.

  “Luck,” she said. “Don’t you worry about Bernie. And I won’t worry about all those girls you used to court down there.”

  “Until I met you. Remember that!”

  “That’s what I’m remembering.”

  Harley suggested at breakfast that I stay in the hotel in case Pelch called. He would try to learn something from the neighbors about the resident of the third house—the unanswered ring.

  I wanted to suggest that we switch roles. But it had been his idea. “Drive carefully,” I cautioned him.