“Do you recall if she willed her husband any money?” Clay said.
“I think there was a fair amount of insurance, about $100,000. She also owned a bit of property in the county which was willed to Mallory. They had no children. I’m guessing all total he might have made close to $200,000 from his wife’s unfortunate accident. Obviously, the matter could not be mentioned at the Mallory trial, but I’d thought I tell you about it.”
“Thanks. I’m glad you did.”
Clay believed the information was valuable but wasn’t sure how he could use it. But he found it hard to believe Mallory had lost two wives due to natural causes. More like due to unnatural causes. Yost took another long puff on his cigarette.
“Clay, usually detectives do not like amateurs, even talented amateurs, messing up investigations. That goes for the Winter Springs Sheriff’s Department too. But a few of us were impressed with you in regard to the Jerry Barton case. Without you, we might have pursued the wrong man in the case. You carry some credibility with us.”
“I appreciate that. But I credit my partner, April Longmont, for her help with the case. I wouldn’t have found the killer without her.”
Yost nodded and puffed again on his cigarette. “When I investigated this case, I became convinced Mallory was a conniving, murderous piece of scum. I was angry that he only got six years. Better than acquittal, but not what he deserved. Since Judge Trulock was killed over in Green Cove, our department isn’t involved. But if I can do anything to help you in your case and cause more trouble for Mallory, I will. Just let me know what I can do.”
“There is something I would like to ask you. Do you recall if Mallory had a best friend or, shall we say, a partner in crime? Someone he could count on to commit some extra-illegal act for him? Probably for money,” Clay said.
“Off the top of my head, I can’t think of any name. Tell you what, let me go over the file, and I can nose around a little for you. I’ll get back to you.”
“Thanks. I appreciate it.”
Yost stood up and mashed out his cigarette in an orange ashtray.
“Grab one of the McGee books when you go, Larry. Grab two of them. You’ll really like them.”
The detective strolled to the bookcase. “Which ones do you recommend?”
“All are good, but two of my favorites are A Deadly Shade of Good and The Girl in the Plain Brown Wrapper.
Yost reached toward the bookcase and pulled out two paperbacks, then slipped them into his coat pocket.
“Thanks. I’ll bring them back.”
“No hurry,” Clay said.
8
When she covered the court beat, April had met, and immediately liked, Jack Boyston, the supervisor of the parole and probation agency in the county. “Smiling Jack” had an infectious laugh, and he laughed often--even though most people didn’t see a great deal of humor in his job. The medium-height, cigar-smoking redhead, was one of the finest professionals in the state. The rate of recidivism among parolees was in high double figures in North Carolina. Smiling Jack’s rate was less than 10 percent. The state acknowledged his accomplishments with a number of plaques that hung on his office wall. Although he had an incredibly messy desk, and violated the codes on smoking in offices, both the state and the local inspectors pretty much left him alone to do his job.
Working in a parole and probation agency ran in his family. His father was a skilled carpenter in the building trades, but his grandfather had also been a probation supervisor. The grandfather was the author of what Smiling Jack thought was a classic response to a job interview question. During the late 1950s interview, two earnest state officials said, “Mr Boyston, you are a Southerner, your father is a Southerner, and your grandfather was a Southerner, so of course you hate black people.” “I don’t follow your logic,” his grandfather replied. “There’s a lot of white people I hate too.” His grandfather got the job.
Smiling Jack almost yelled with joy when he picked up the phone and heard the familiar voice.
“April! How have you been? Haven’t seen you around much lately. Still ferreting out corruption?”
“Yes and no, Jack. I’m investigating Judge Trulock’s murder with a friend, Clay Augustine.”
“I was astounded and mad when I heard about that. I liked the judge. He was an easy man to work with. One of the best judges we've ever had in this district. He laid the law down in the courtroom and carried a pistol, too. He would have been a great judge back in Tombstone in the Wild West. So you’re investigating his murder?”
“Yes, I was writing a biography of him. Clay and I found him dead. I’m mad at his murderer, too. I want to find out who killed him.”
“So how can I help you?” Smiling Jack asked.
“I got a list of three men who were paroled recently, three men that Judge Trulock sent to prison. I just wondered if there might be any hard feelings. You have two of them on supervision. The first one is Dale Curruthers.”
Smiling Jack flicked a lighter and held the flame to the cigar he had just stuck into his mouth.
“I think you can strike him off your list.”
“Really? He did shoot a man.”
“He did. Dale had a temper eight years ago. Had a fight at a party. Went and got a gun, came back, and aimed at another man. He was grabbed by some other men at the party, but not before he got a shot off. Hit the man in the leg. Got eight years for it.”
“Does he still have a temper and a gun?” April asked.
“No, he’s very mild mannered now. He became a born-again Christian about three years after he entered prison. It doesn’t appear to be a jailhouse conversion. For the next three years, he was a model prisoner and attended Bible studies. He even wrote a letter to his victim apologizing for what he did. The other man still walks with a slight limp but was kind enough to forgive him. Dale was always a good mechanic, and after he was released, he got a job with an auto repair shop in the county. I check with his employer constantly, and Dale has been an excellent employee. Besides, I don’t think he ever blamed Judge Trulock for his sentence. The jury said he was guilty and he was. He doesn’t want revenge or any more trouble. He has turned his life around. I think if you'll check his work records, you’ll find he was at the repair shop when Judge Trulock was shot.” He laughed. “You’re not the only person to ask about him. The Winter Springs Sheriff’s Department made an inquiry two days ago, at the request of the Green Cove County Sheriff’s Office. I told them the same thing I told you. They’ve probably already checked his alibi and found it solid.”
“Nice to know they’re working on the case, too,” April said.
“Law enforcement liked Trulock. They are active on the case.”
“Did they ask you about the second man on my list, Averill Durance?”
Smiling Jack blew out some smoke. “They did. Durance is not as pleasant as Dale is. He still blames society for his problems and his manslaughter conviction, but he also recognizes the judge could have been harsher. He could have gotten fifteen years. The judge gave him ten. He got out in eight with good behavior, and he doesn’t want to go back. He’s got a chip on his shoulder the size of a boulder, but he doesn’t want any more trouble. He’s got family here and is adjusting back into society. He claimed he killed the guy in a fight and it was self-defense. There was a grain of truth in that. The guy he killed was known to be a bully and had a prior arrest, but Durance was still culpable. But he knew he didn’t get as tough a sentence as he could have. I’m sure the sheriff’s department checked his work alibi, too. If he’s not in jail by now, he was on the job when Trulock was killed.”
April sighed. “Thanks for the information.”
“Who is the third guy?”
“He was released, not paroled. But he was way down on my list. He was involved in a few petty thefts before joining a gang that held up a bank in another county. He had a gun during the robbery, but he didn’t use it.”
“You can check him out, but he doesn’t seem to be
a good candidate for a murderer.”
“No, he doesn't,” April admitted.
Peter Gunn.
That was the perfect name for a tough detective. And he never had to do any desk work, Clay remembered. Plus, the television show had a great theme, a pounding; resonating piece of music that fit the series perfectly. Of course, many detectives nowadays wouldn’t remember the guy. But Clay liked reading detective novels and viewing old television series about detectives. It was something of a hobby. The “Peter Gunn” television series only lasted a couple of years after it started broadcasting in the early 1960s. Craig Stevens had been perfect as the sophisticated, laconic private detective.
Mike Hammer. There’s another great name for a fictional detective, Clay thought. If he recalled correctly, the New American Library had reissued versions of the classic Mickey Spillane novels, including his Mike Hammer series. I’ve been meaning to buy those, he thought.
Gunn and Hammer never read transcripts. They were out knocking bad guys around and shooting people. Private detecting was more exciting back then in the mid-twentieth century. Both Gunn and Hammer just never had much desk work.
As Clay read over the transcripts, he realized that the prosecution’s case was undercut by two defense witnesses, a man named Eric McLarty and a woman named Addie Hopkins. They testified that Mallory and his wife had a volatile marriage with shouting, yelling and occasional physical bouts. Both told the jury that Mallory's wife had slapped him a few times. McLarty said the defendant had countered with a blow, but it “was kind of a half-slap, trying to get her attention. Like in the old movies when a woman is hysterical, and a man slaps her to calm her down.”
The allegations of physical attacks by the dead wife were denied by the prosecution's witnesses, but the testimony by McLarty and Hopkins was evidence on which Brazen built his defense.
If Clay had been on the jury, he would have voted for the maximum sentence because it was a clear case of second-degree murder. He had seen juries do strange things, but it was still a shock that they had come back with a lesser verdict. He sighed and tossed the manuscripts aside. He had read enough for a while.
April and Clay sat at one of the outside tables at the Orange Reef Restaurant. Tonight the white caps of the waves flashed starkly against the deep blue sea. A crescent orange moon stood like a sideways smile in the sky. The wind whistled and flopped the red table cloth against the table legs. April lifted her tall, thin wine glass.
“Did you have a Eureka moment today?” she asked.
“No, I had an ouch moment. I bumped my foot as I was leaving the office,” Clay said.
“Shucks, I was hoping you’d say you had solved the case.”
“No, that’s what I have you for, honey. You’re the brains of the outfit. I just go around slugging people and shooting guys occasionally.”
“And that’s not fair. I want to shoot people, too,” April said.
A waitress brought the shrimp appetizer to the table. A dozen large shrimp circled the cup of red sauce in the middle of the plate. April picked up a toothpick and stabbed a shrimp.
“I’m beginning to think this case is going to take a bit of time. It’s not easy,” she said.
“Well, we have a theory about the crime; we just have to prove it.”
She nodded. “Why don’t we ditch the shop talk tonight. Just tell me I’m beautiful and that you’ve never met anyone like me.”
“You’re beautiful, and I’ve never met anyone like you,” Clay said. “You’re also sexy, smart, witty, friendly, tenacious, and you have a great rear end.”
“I’m glad you added a few items in instead of just repeating what I said. And you’re pretty hunky handsome yourself.”
Clay also grabbed a shrimp and popped it into his mouth.
April said, “Want to take in a movie tonight? “La La Land” is playing down at the
5th Street Cinema. It’s a musical romance. Very sweet.”
“Do they sing bad music?” Clay asked.
“No, they sing good music. It will give us a chance to unwind from the case.”
“Let’s go back to my place and unwind from the case.”
He sipped more of her wine. “We can do both. One does not negate the other. And after watching the musical, we’ll be in the mood.”
“Just looking at you gets me in the mood, but I’m sure the movie will help, too,” he said.
She smiled. “Good. I like watching romantic movies with a guy. At home, I’ve also recorded “To Have and Have Not.” Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall. It was her first film. She did the famous whistle line in it.” She twisted her lips as if whistling. “You know how to whistle don’t you? You just put your lips together…and blow.”
Clay forked another shrimp. “A memorable line, but one that was not in the Hemingway novel.”
April laughed. “Actually nothing in the movie was in the Hemingway novel. Except for the name of the captain was the same. Harry Morgan. Hemingway must have freaked out when he saw it.”
“He was probably too drunk to care.”
Clay took a sip of his wine. “Actually, Ernest was an excellent writer in his younger years. Not just good, but great. A few good novels and some excellent short stories. Then I think his ego and the need for publicity got to him.”
“But his women don’t leap off the page at you. He was certainly not lonely in life, but he never could, at least in my opinion, create a three-dimensional lady in his works.” She raised her finger. “But I do admit he was a good writer. I wouldn’t want to date him, but I’ll read his works.”
Clay grinned. “April, getting serious for a moment, you already have two jobs. You’re writing the biography, and your editor still expects you to drop by the newspaper office from time to time. You can withdraw from the case if you want. I can handle it. Three jobs is a lot for anyone.”
She shook her head. “No. Remember how you felt when Jerry Barton died? You took it personally.”
“I did.”
“That’s the way I feel about Judge Trulock. I had many sessions with him. Each went for more than an hour. He told me about his life. I got to know him. Granted, I knew him only a short time, but I feel like he was a friend. A good friend. I want to help find his killer, no matter what.”
“No matter if you lose sleep, or lose weight because you don’t have time to eat?”
“That’s fine.”
“No matter if you lose your job?”
“My editor knows I’m working the case. He’s giving me lots of leeway.”
“No matter if you’re too tired for romantic evenings?”
April gave a shy smile. “There we draw the line.”
Charlotte Harris ran a small but very expensive dress shop on the beach side of the city. A few customers browsed through the shop as April and Clay walked in. Harris gave the two a look that said, “The shop is too expensive for you.” Clay had to agree.
Harris also sold high quality, equally expensive jewelry. A turquoise necklace caught April’s attention. Beautiful work. An emerald necklace with matching earrings also caught her attention, but she thought the seven-thousand-dollar price tag was a bit excessive.
The shop owner was in her mid-thirties, and, as described, was a statuesque redhead with lipstick matching her hair. Although she moved gracefully, Clay had a sense that Harris had a dynamo personality. The two talked to her at a small table in a back room. She mixed herself coffee with sugar and milk and stirred it with a thin pink straw.
“I remember the case. It’s the only jury I’ve ever served on. It was an interesting experience, but I wouldn’t look forward to doing it again. It took up a week or more of my time, and I don’t have time to waste nowadays. The business keeps me busy.” She sat down across from them and sipped her tea.
“I understand you were one of two jurors who believed the defendant was innocent and that the death of his wife was accidental,” April said.
For a moment, April thought the redhead
had an ominous look. Then she shrugged.
“I’ve known women who’ve become physically violent with men, more than one. There’s a great deal of that going on today, more than, say, fifty years ago. Women are more aggressive nowadays--or haven’t you noticed?”
“I’ve never hit a guy.”
“Perhaps all your fellows are like the handsome, tan gentleman sitting beside you.
I doubt he’s ever hit a woman.”
“I haven’t,” Clay said.
“And that’s wonderful. But I’ve known women, and some men, who came to their jobs with bruises and red marks on their face. Personally, I have smacked a few men myself. So I certainly didn’t think it unusual for a wife to exchange blows with her husband. The defendant and his wife had a plate-throwing relationship.”
“If so, Mrs Mallory was at a distinct disadvantage. Her husband was much bigger and stronger than she was,” April said.
“The guys I smacked were bigger than me, too.”
“Did they hit back?”
“No.”
“Then you had the advantage. I understand you effectively argued for the defendant. Why so passionate?”
“I didn’t think he should go to prison for something that wasn’t his fault. He slapped her, and she hit back. And sometimes she slapped him, and he hit back. It’s sad she slipped and fell down the stairs during the last fight, but his actions were not criminal. Not to me.”
“The other jurors didn’t agree,” April said.
She sniffed as if a bad smell was in the office. “An old fogie and a snotty youngster. The young chick was deep in her feminism and thought every man was oppressing every woman. If you can’t take the heat, get out of the kitchen and go back home to momma. The old guy, Jones, was aghast that any man would slap a woman. In my younger years, I had men take advantage of me, both sexually and financially, so I’m not inclined to give any empty suit a break, but Alden Mallory didn’t deserve to be hit with a murder charge, so I said not guilty. I’d do the same thing today. As I said, it’s a different time than when Jones was young. That was a different age.”
A Sea Oak Mystery Boxed Set Page 6