Ed Lacy - Shakedown for Murder

“So we have a lot of two-bit stores and competition for their trade, but for some reason Anderson is rolling in dough—the new truck, station wagon, top credit rating, well-kept house. I think he has too much money, more than his business can account for. In both his jobs, mailman and trucker, he gets around. Could he and Pops be in some kind of racket, like the numbers, or making a book?”

She smiled. “You don't know Larry.”

“That's why I need your help, I want to know all about him. I don't seem to know anybody in the Harbor. Yesterday you told me he'd made some... passes at you. Yet now you're defending him.”

“Not defending him but trying to have you understand how wrong you are about him. Larry was always a mama's boy. His father died when he was about eleven or twelve and Larry....”

“How did he die?”

“Heart attack while clamming in the winter. They found his frozen body in the boat. I was just a kid then, but I think Edward was starting his practice and Larry's father was his first real case. I remember he had him stretched out on the dock, trying everything to revive him. You see, up until before the war, when factories started springing up in Hampton, and even in the Harbor, this was a very poor town. Everybody was on short rations. They clammed, fished, rented rooms, picked potatoes—in addition to whatever regular jobs they might have. My dad used to go out in his old leaky boat over the week ends at low tide and bring in a dozen bushels of clams. It's hard work and in those days brought in about ten dollars a weekend, more in the winter. Of course now they get as much as five dollars and six dollars a bushel, but the bay is pretty well cleaned out It takes over fifteen years for a clam to grow and....” She shook her head, as if scolding herself. “I'm talking all around what you want to know—about Larry. He just lived to make money for his mother. Always was a hard worker; delivered papers, peddled berries in the summer, any odd job he could get. And of course he worked hard on their farm. He never had time for girls. Although he's about eight years older than I am, since there's only one school here, we knew each other—a little. Larry never had time for school games either. He was even deferred from the army on account of his mother being sickly and he was her sole support, but he was drafted when she died in '43. It was just before he went into the army he began seeing me.”

“What does 'seeing me' mean exactly?”

“Not what you think,” she said quickly. “We saw each other for a few weeks. He would take me driving—at sight, to a movie—in some other town... always careful we weren't seen together in the Harbor. One night he tried to paw me and that was the end of it. He even apologized afterwards, but I never saw him again, except on the street, of course. I imagine he was very lonesome. It was hard for the single men who weren't in the army, what with fathers being taken. I never cared for him and I resented his thinking he could... you know... just because I'm an Indian.”

“Why hasn't Anderson married since his mother died? Has he any girl friends?”

“None that I know of. I suppose he's married to his business, he works very hard at it. If you really think Pops and Larry are mixed up in this, that Pops is gone, why not ask Chief Roberts to look into it?”

“I don't trust him. Frankly, I don't trust anybody in the Harbor—except you. Everybody seems to be working hand in hand to cover up this mess.”

“Why do you trust me, Mr. Lund?”

“I don't know why. I just do. When are you going back to work?”

“In a day or two. Fm still pretty jittery, even though I had a restful day, today.”

“The main thing Fm lacking is the motive, the why, to all this. Anderson was around the house today, which means he should be out on his vegetable route tomorrow. I have this... hunch, I guess, that his traveling around the countryside is the key to everything. It's the only thing he does different from anybody else in the Harbor. Maybe he has a couple of wives or gal friends stashed away, maybe he's peddling dope—that would tie him in with the doc. Most likely he has Pops hiding out someplace around here. I'd like to tail him tomorrow and I need a car. I busted up my son's. Can I borrow yours?”

“If he had anything to do with Edward's death, M not only let you have the car, I'll go along with you.”

“I don't want to put you out,” I said, full of suspicion again.

“I haven't anything else to do, and I know the countryside. But there's one condition: if you don't find anything to definitely prove mat Pops is gone, what I mean is, if you're not absolutely sure, one way or the other, I want you to go to Chief Roberts, have him ask to see Pops.”

“I'll buy that,” I said, my suspicions melting—a little. “What time do we start?”

“Larry is usually at Patchogue by five a.m. Sometimes when I'm too nervous to sleep I take long rides during the early morning hours, before going to work. I enjoy driving in the dawn fogs. I often see him leave his house at four A.M. That's when we should start, too.”

“Good,” I said, getting up, thinking of the dizzy young thing in the Hampton watch factory. Driving seemed to be a psychiatrist's couch out here. “I'll call for you at three-thirty.”

Jane got up slowly, seemed to stretch. “It will save time if I pick you up in front of your cottage.”

“Okay. I live at—”

“I know where you live, Mr. Lund.”

I said that would be fine and stopped to look at her painting again. Standing beside me, she asked, “Would you like to have it?”

“Well... I'd like to buy it,” I said as if I bought paintings every day. “How much?”

“That's being silly. If you want it, I'll give it to you.”

“I do want it. Thank you.”

“It should be dry in a day or two. I'll have it framed and ready before you leave the Harbor. I'm glad you want one of my works.”

Walking back to the cottage I was confused. For no reason except my instinct, which I didn't trust, I was taking Jane into my confidence. But I didn't like the business of her going with me, began to doubt who was actually tailing who. And it was odd she knew where I lived. Still, it was a small village, she would know... maybe.

It was after eleven and I stopped at the Johnsons to tell Bessie I'd spend the night in her cottage. Mr. Johnson was playing solitaire on the kitchen table, said, “Bessie and Andy went home about an hour ago. It's all right, their....”

I ran out of the house and sprinted for the cottage as if I were a kid. I came busting into the place, puffing like a whale and there was Danny grinning nervously at me. I fell into a chair as I tried to ask, “What are you doing here?”

“Take it slow, Matt. Man your age shouldn't be racing down the street. Anybody chasing you?” I noticed he had the kid's baseball bat leaning against a chain.

I shook my head. “Where's Bessie and Andy?”

“Sleeping. They've had a big day. I happened to got some time off, thought I'd make it a long week end, be with you.”

“Cut the slop, Danny, Bessie phoned you to come.”

He came over and sat on the arm of my chair. “Yes. She's worried about you, Matt. Dad, I've always looked up to you as a man with plenty of good old common sense— so tell me one thing and I'll be quiet—are you sure you're not going off the deep end on Matty's death?”

“Matty's death got me angry but it didn't make me hysterical, if that's what you mean. I'm not going off half-cocked. Before I was kind of playing at solving this murder, now I'm serious. I think I know what I'm doing.”

He slapped me on the back lightly. “Okay, Dad. What can I do to help you?”

“Stay with Bessie and Andy every minute of the day tomorrow. Don't frighten them, go to the beach and all the other things you usually do, but don't let them out of your sight. Having that bat around isn't a bad idea, either. I'm going to set the alarm and sleep on the porch because I have to be up in a few hours. I'll be gone most of tomorrow.”