Reason for Murder Read online

  “Okay. She’ll be there.” The tall man replaced the phone, stared a moment at the floor. He left the office, went down a long hallway and entered a small room.

  The girl in the bed was awake and looking at him.

  “What is it?”

  “I’ve got a job for you.”

  They both spoke in Spanish.

  “At this time of day?” she asked.

  “Yeah. You’ve got to take a cab ride.”

  “Business?”

  “You can call it that. No money. Just business.”

  “Oh.” She started to say something more, then stopped.

  “Get dressed. I’ll call a cab.”

  Pelchek drove the rented car up the palm-lined approach to the prison. The yellow walls rose blankly, harshness softened by shimmering heat waves rising from the silent desert. He parked the car by the earthen bank that fronted the penitentiary, made his way up a short flight of steps leading to the massive gates. Between the air-conditioned car and the entry gate there was time for the perspiration to form under his arms and trickle down his sides.

  They escorted him to the visiting compound, told him to wait while they went for Baker. He stood at the end of a wooden table, impatiently drummed on the scarred top. He started to reach for a cigarette, then stopped. Two guards had brought a man into the compound, left him, and locked the door as they left. It was Cal Baker.

  Pelchek saw him start visibly, then remain impassive until the guards were gone. Baker walked slowly to the table, silently shook hands. They sat down.

  “I don’t believe it, Steve,” he said wonderingly. He was dressed in blue chambray shirt and denim trousers, his face showing the pallor and slight puffiness that go with close confinement. “How’d you find out?” he asked.

  “What difference does it make?” Pelchek said tightly.

  “Yeah. I guess you’re right.” Baker shrugged. “Only I didn’t want anyone to see me here. I figured—”

  “I know how you figured!” Pelchek interrupted. “You’re so goddam afraid someone is going to do something for you! I know you’ve always been independent, but this is stupid. It’s a good thing your wife used some sense or you’d probably have to walk bravely and independently into the gas chamber—” He broke off suddenly. “You know I don’t mean that, Cal. But dammit, you should have let me know sooner!”

  “Elena, huh? I never told her—”

  “Let’s knock it off,” Pelchek cut in. “Right now you’re in a boss jackpot and we’ve got to get you out of it.” He pulled a package of cigarettes from his shirt pocket and offered them to Baker. “Can you smoke out here?”

  “Sure, but just shake one out and toss it to me.” Baker indicated a guard in the wheelhouse, almost directly above them. “No use giving him any ideas.”

  Baker leaned his elbows on the table after both men had lit up, said matter-of-factly, “It’s only four days, now. Not even that… three days and about sixteen hours.”

  “We’re trying for a stay,” Pelchek said.

  “Elman’s already tried.”

  “I hired Bartlett. Ernest Bartlett.”

  Baker whistled soundlessly, eyes lighting up briefly. “He’s big, Steve. He’ll cost a bundle.”

  “I’ve got a bundle.”

  The condemned man looked down at the table silently. He took a deep drag on his cigarette, finally asked unevenly, “Do you think Bartlett can swing it?”

  “Elman thinks he can.”

  “When will you find out?”

  “Whenever Bartlett can get to the trial judge. Today, maybe.”

  “All right, Steve, that’ll hold me.” Baker smiled grimly, dropped his cigarette and ground it out under his foot.

  The men sat quietly for a moment, then Baker asked suddenly: “How’s Elena holding up?”

  “She’s all right,” Pelchek said. “Fighting this thing shows some, but this girl will make it.”

  “Did she write you?”

  “Nope. She climbed on a bus and came to Milwaukee,” Pelchek replied, adding, “she’s a doll, Cal.”

  “She’s beautiful. I guess they hate her as much for that as for anything else,” Baker said bitterly. “Until I get back there…” he paused momentarily, “or don’t get back, look out for her. Will you, Steve?”

  “It’s a promise. I should be in Las Milpas tomorrow and I’ll keep an eye on her. Now, what about you?” Pelchek tossed his cigarette on the concrete floor.

  “I’m still in the dark, Steve. No matter what—”

  “Not the case,” Pelchek broke in. “Your wife gave me the details on the plane coming down, and the rest I can get from Elman. That is…” he looked at Baker questioningly, “unless you’ve held something back.”

  “Nothing!” the condemned man said intensely. “I’ve gone over the thing a thousand times to see if I’ve missed something. It all comes back to the same thing. About four hours after the argument, Walker called me and said he wanted to see me. When I arrived at his place he was on the front lawn. He was dead.”

  “What about the witness you talked about?”

  “Someone was running down the street when I drove up, Steve. It didn’t register with me then. I was too upset about the argument I’d had with Walker. After I discovered he was dead, it was too late to catch the guy. But I know I saw a man running. We just couldn’t come up with him.”

  “If there is such a man, we’ll find him,” Pelchek said shortly. “In the meantime, I may run into your brother. If he gives me any trouble I’m going to push him out of the way. Any objections?”

  The smaller man raised his eyes until they met Pelchek’s. The blue eyes had turned glacial and dead, and under the blond crew cut, the face tightened into a mask. “I don’t give a goddam how much you push him. Just forget I have a brother… or a sister,” Baker said without expression.

  “That does it, then. You need anything here? Money? Smokes?”

  “Nothing. At this point they’re taking real good care of me,” Baker stated quietly. Both men stood, Baker signaling to the wheelhouse guard.

  “There’ll be a guy to let you out in a minute,” he said. He dropped his eyes to the table, then looked up. “If this doesn’t come off, you’ll be back?”

  “It’ll come off.”

  “Yeah, but if it doesn’t…” He paused helplessly. “Don’t let Elena come out again, Steve. There’s nothing more she can do now and it’s too damn rough on her.”

  “You know she won’t hold still for that.”

  “Try, anyway.” Baker leaned forward, hands resting on the top of the rough table. “Tell me one thing. You must have tossed everything up in the air to come down here. Why?”

  “You have to ask?”

  “No, I guess I don’t. But you never even asked if I killed the guy.”

  “Didn’t I? Well, did you?”

  “No.”

  “That’s it, then. Anyway—” Pelchek heard the grating of a key, the sound of a door opening—“anyway, what difference would it make?”

  He walked through the open gate.

  CHAPTER 3

  THE man rang the doorbell and waited. He rang it again. After a time he took out a key case, selected a key and opened the door. He passed through the dark entryway and silently mounted the wide stairs.

  Upstairs Allen Baker sat on the edge of a mussed bed, amusing himself by pouring whiskey on the dark girl. He filled the shot glass, drank the contents, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, then let the dregs drip on her bare stomach. She made no move to avoid the whiskey but lay sullen and supine, face toward the wall.

  “What’s the matter, angel, don’t you feel like playing?” He grabbed a handful of black hair and jerked her around to face him. He mashed loose lips down on hers, pulling away after a moment.

  “What did he tell you?” he asked, still holding her hair, forcing her to face him.

  “To come up here,” she said harshly, refusing to meet his eyes.

  “What else?”


  “To do what you said.”

  “Maybe he and I should have a talk, huh?”

  She shook her head.

  “No? Well, supposing we try it again.”

  “All right,” she whispered. She licked her lips and her mouth parted as he bent over her. There was a knock on the door.

  “Who is it?” he called, cursing under his breath.

  “Open the door,” a voice ordered.

  Allen Baker muttered an obscenity, pushed the girl away and went to the door. Opening it slightly, he looked into the dim hallway.

  “Why didn’t you answer the front door?” the man said.

  “I didn’t hear the bell. I was busy.”

  “So I see.” He peered over Baker’s shoulder into the room. “Can’t you take care of that somewhere else?”

  “I like it better here. How’d you get in?”

  “With a key. I had one made.”

  “See here! You can’t—”

  “Did you find out why she went to Milwaukee?” the man interrupted.

  “Yeah, I think so. He had a friend in the Army from up there. A Polack truck driver or something. I can’t remember his name.”

  “His name is Steven Pelchek, and he’s a trucking operator, not a driver,” the man said precisely. “He may have enough money to become a nuisance.”

  “What’s he doing?” Allen Baker asked.

  “He’s been to the prison. That’s all I know now, but the girl may be back in town by now. If she went to Capital City with him, he may have sent her home from there. Perhaps she knows. At any rate, find out.” The man paused. “You know who to send.”

  “Why don’t you tell him?”

  “Because I have other things to do. You haven’t.”

  “Okay. I’ll get hold of him sometime this evening and have him talk to her.”

  The man looked at him. “You’ll do it now. Get rid of that woman in there and go find him.”

  The unkempt blond man started to remonstrate, then dropped his eyes and nodded. “Okay,” he said, shutting the door hard. He savagely kicked a shoe out of his way as he crossed the room to the bed. The girl had pulled the bedspread over herself, lay watching him. He snatched it off, stood staring at her body. She blushed.

  “A dozen slobs buy you every night. You shy or something?”

  “Only when you look at me,” she whispered.

  He looked at her for a moment, walked to a chair and picked up her clothes. He threw them at her.

  “Get dressed and get out.” He ignored the hastily dressing girl, and went to the adjoining bathroom, slamming the door.

  “A friend of yours?” The guard pushed his large hat on the back of his head, looked through the bars at Cal Baker. The condemned man raised his eyes from the book he was reading, nodded.

  “He must be a wheel,” the guard continued. “I hear he got Bartlett for you.”

  “Yes, he did, Jim.” Baker let his head rest against the hard cell wall. “What time is it?”

  The big man pulled a watch from his shirt pocket. “Four-thirty, boy. Shank of the afternoon. Don’t worry, there’s plenty of time.” He let the timepiece fall back.

  “Maybe.” Baker shrugged. “Anyway, I feel better about it. Someone’s working out there.” He looked up. “He’d better hurry.”

  “He will, boy. He looks like a rough one. You know him in the Army or something?”

  Baker smiled slightly. “Yeah. I knew him in the Army.”

  Pelchek stared unseeingly at the ceiling. He had been back from the prison an hour or more, had showered, and was waiting for a call from Elman. Although at five o’clock in the evening the summer sun was still high, automatic switches had activated street lights and advertising neon to paint the city in evening attire. Traffic noises filtered into the sixth-floor room, now and then an impatient auto horn punctuating the insistent hum.

  What can I tell these people? he wondered. What’ll I say to them when they put on that questioning look? The raised eyebrow. The “what’s in it for you?” expression. Even Elena Baker doesn’t get it. She accepts the help and she’s grateful. But she doesn’t really understand. Maybe Elman had it figured. He’d been there. But not the rest of ’em. Maybe I could tell ’em about forty-three days on the line. He stirred restlessly.

  Forty-three days on the line. A month and a half of repelling daily counterattacks and going out nightly on harassing patrols; every day and night of it wet, muddy, and scared. Solid days and nights of active combat. After a week of it you’re a professional.

  You learn about loyalty and preservation. And the buddy system. You accept the chances of getting hurt by shell fragmentation or small-arms fire from the front. You take care of one side by yourself. It’s the other side you must think about. The blind side. The one part of you that’s usually vulnerable.

  Baker took care of that. For forty-three days and nights you didn’t have to look over your left shoulder. The rich boy was there in the hole with you. He’d have to be dead before you worried. And on one of those days he kept a screaming, bayonet-happy Red from spitting you. That’s the way it worked.

  You had little in common, couldn’t establish much of a rapport; didn’t even like one another very much. But for a while you didn’t want to be with anyone else. You took your leave in Tokyo together, shared your liquor, your fights, and usually ended up sharing your women. And you would never forget this man. No matter who you were or what you were, never in your whole life would you forget this man. Not for a single minute.

  So there it is. You go to a stupid war and incur a debt. Simple. Maybe too simple.

  The soft whir of the telephone interrupted his reverie. He sat up abruptly, swinging both feet to the floor.

  “Mr. Pelchek?”

  “Speaking.”

  “This is Dave Elman.”

  “Right, Elman.” Pelchek reached for a cigarette on the night stand. “How’d you make out?”

  “I’m not sure.” The attorney sounded nervous. “Bartlett didn’t give me any guarantee.”

  “Maybe we’d better get someone else.”

  “No, if Bartlett can’t do it, it can’t be done. Anyway, he’s trying to locate the trial judge now.”

  “In Las Milpas?”

  “No. The judge is on vacation. His office says he’s in the northern part of the state.”

  “Bartlett had better hurry up and find him.”

  “He will, Pelchek. He’s got his entire staff on it now.”

  “What did he say about our chances?”

  “He says if he’s able to swing the judge we’ll have to come up with some new evidence. He looked you up. Says you’re okay in the credit department.”

  “I’ll make him out a check for the retainer right away.”

  “Never mind. He says to hold it until he’s had a chance to see the judge. Maybe you’ll only owe him expenses and a small fee.”

  “That’s fair enough,” Pelchek stated. “Now, how about the transcript and clippings?”

  “I’ll bring them over myself. Will you meet me in the Miner’s Bar in an hour?”

  “Will do.”

  “You’d better eat with me, too. We’ve a lot to talk about and a few plans to make.”

  “Good idea. In an hour, then.” He replaced the phone and mashed out his cigarette.

  Elena Baker was unpacking in her room at the Nurse’s Home. She had just finished putting her suitcase on the top closet shelf when the door opened and a young woman entered. She was plain, disheveled, and wearing a white uniform.

  “Hi, Baker! When did you get back?” The newcomer flopped on the bed with a sigh.

  “Oh, hello, Wilson.” Elena smiled. “I just got in.”

  “Well, I saw your door open and didn’t figure I could make it upstairs. Boy, am I beat!”

  “You look it. Been busy?”

  “Busy as hell,” the nurse replied. “Both wards full and I’m trying to work two specials at the same time. It’s murder.”
/>   “I guess I’d better check in with the superintendent right away.” Elena looked at her watch, saw it was just past noon. “She may want me to work this afternoon.”

  “Yeah, you’d better. Two of the regulars are off sick, and the boss is starting to call in some of the aides around town.” She paused for a moment. “How’d you make out, honey?”

  “I’ve got some hope, Betty,” Elena replied, sitting on the edge of the bed. “The man I went to see is at Capital City now. He came down with me and wants to help. It’s terribly late to do anything,” she said, eyes filling, “but I think he may be able to help us.”

  “Sure he will, honey.” The nurse reached over and patted Elena’s hand. “Don’t even think about giving up yet.”

  Elena smiled uncertainly and got up.

  “What’s been going on around here?” she asked, untying the terry-cloth robe she’d put on.

  “For one thing,” the other girl explained, “it seems as though every damned woman in town had a baby last week…”

  Elena listened to the hospital gossip as she started getting ready to go on duty. She sat before her dressing table, combed out the luxuriant black hair, quickly braiding it with practiced hands, putting it into the heavy coronet. She briefly studied her face, decided it needed no attention. She rose, tossing the robe over a chair. She brought out a white nylon uniform from the closet, pulled it over her slip and buttoned it up the front.

  “… and we’ve got a hernia in fifteen that’ll drive you crazy. Oh, and there’s a new intern who believes nurses are supposed to teach him advanced female anatomy,” the nurse concluded.

  “How about your specials?” Elena took a quick glance in the mirror to see if she’d mussed her hair, smiled at Betty Wilson, then bent to tie the white, crepe-soled oxfords.

  “Ask the super about that. If she gives you your choice, take the old guy in twenty-seven.”

  “All right, Betty.” Elena placed her fountain pen in the breast pocket of her uniform, affixed her pin, adjusted her cap as she went to the door. “Will I see you later?”

  “Sure.” Wilson got to her feet. “If she puts you to work, come up to my room when you get off duty. If I’m asleep, wake me. I want to hear all about your trip.” The women left the room together.