Read Online A Taste for Violence by Brett Halliday - Free Book Online

verandah’s low concrete enclosure. “I’ve heard the name, if I recall correctly.”
    Shayne didn’t say anything. He put his hat back on his head and took out a pack of cigarettes. He lit one and puffed on it.
    After a time, Gerald asked, “Exactly how much did Mr. Roche confide in his communication?”
    “Enough to bring me up here as fast as I could come by car.”
    “Would not the check have produced the same result?” Gerald’s tone was suave, but Shayne got the impression that he bared his upper teeth to ask the question.
    Shayne said, “No,” and puffed on his cigarette.
    “What do you want of Elsa… Mrs. Roche… now?”
    “To decide whether to return the five grand retainer or keep it,” Shayne said bluntly.
    “Indeed? And on what will your decision depend?”
    “Several things.”
    Seth Gerald stopped drumming on the concrete and strutted a few steps toward Shayne. He said, “Shall we stop fencing? As I understand it, you are a private detective from Miami who was called here by a letter from Mr. Roche written several days ago.”
    “That’s correct.”
    “And you arrived too late to be of any aid. Charles had discussed with me the advisability of calling in a private detective when he received those threatening letters, but I don’t recall that your name was mentioned. I don’t believe you need to bother Mrs. Roche with this matter, Mr. Shayne. I appreciate the ethics which caused you to consider returning the money, but I’m confident I can speak for Mrs. Roche in asking you to keep the money, since it was not your fault that you arrived too late to prevent what he feared. I feel quite certain Charles would wish it.”
    Shayne was not more than a couple of inches taller than Seth Gerald’s six feet. They were standing close together. Shayne lowered his eyes to look into Gerald’s through a cloud of cigarette smoke. He said, “You’re missing the point completely. If I keep Roche’s retainer, I’ll feel morally bound to find his murderer.”
    Seth Gerald took a short turn on the verandah, came back to face Shayne and asked, “Have you read the Centerville Gazette?”
    “That’s why I’m here.”
    “Perhaps you don’t fully understand the last-minute headline,” said Gerald stiffly. “The case against George Brand is complete.”
    “What about his alibi?”
    Gerald dismissed the question with an eloquent shrug. “Contemplating murder, Brand naturally prepared an alibi in advance. You can trust Chief Elwood not to be misled.”
    Shayne took a final drag on his cigarette and spun it over the concrete enclosure at his right. “This has been very interesting, Gerald. But not informative. I’ll have a talk with Mrs. Roche now.” He went to the double doors and turned a knob.
    Seth Gerald was quick. His hand gripped Shayne’s arm and he said harshly, “You can’t force yourself on a grieving widow.”
    Shayne shook his hand off and pushed the door open. “Can’t I?” he growled, and put a number twelve shoe over the threshold.
    Gerald grabbed him again before he reached the wide arch leading into the softly lighted and enormous living room which John Roche had designed for the wife of his eldest son. He snapped, “I warn you, Shayne…” then let his hand fall to his side when Shayne kept going.
    A young man was leaning over a cabinet radio. He was thin and colorless and his eyes were murky. He wore fawn-colored slacks and a tan sports shirt with the tail hanging out.
    Elsa Roche was relaxed in a deep chair, her small feet resting on an upholstered footstool matching the chair. She held a cocktail in her left hand and a long jewelled cigarette holder in the other. Black hair was brushed smoothly back from her low forehead, outlining the widow’s peak centering it. She wore a sheer black dress with a sweetheart neckline that revealed the beginning contours of youthfully pointed breasts. Long black lashes were lowered to half-close her eyes, and she did not raise them when