Read Online A Taste for Violence by Brett Halliday - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Brett Halliday
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me, darling.”
He picked up his highball glass from the end table beside his chair and drew an occasional chair close to her. He asked Shayne, “Did Charles send you those letters?”
Shayne said, “What Charles sent or said to me is private.”
The Negro maid came in with a tray holding a bottle of cognac, an empty glass, and another clinking with ice water. She looked inquiringly at her mistress, then placed the tray on the table at Shayne’s right.
Shayne said, “Thanks, Emma,” and she said, “Yessuh,” and went away. He poured three inches in the bottom of the empty glass and said, “This will help to wash the taste of some execrable Portuguese brandy out of my mouth… Centerville’s finest, I understand.” He drank half the contents and settled back with a sigh of pleasure.
“Charles never showed those letters to anybody,” Jimmy said, breaking the silence of a full minute.
Gerald frowned at Jimmy Roche and his smooth voice roughened a trifle when he asked, “Did Charles send you those letters, Shayne?”
Shayne studied the glowing end of a freshly lit cigarette and said, “I understand they’ve been turned over to the police.”
“Only one of them,” Elsa said throatily. “The only one Charles showed me. He was very secretive about the others.” She picked up her cocktail glass and took a long drink.
“Was it signed by Brand?” Shayne asked casually.
“It was not signed at all,” she said shortly, slid down in the chair and toed the footstool over to rest her feet.
“I’ve told Mr. Shayne that even though his services aren’t needed here,” Gerald said silkily, “I feel sure you would want him to keep the check Charles sent him as a retainer… to cover the expense of his trip up here, if nothing else. I’m sure you agree.”
“Of course,” she said listlessly. “If he hasn’t any further evidence against Brand he may as well go back to Miami.”
Shayne tossed off the rest of his drink, set the glass down on the tray, asked, “And if I could prove George Brand is being railroaded for a crime committed by someone else? What then?” He cast a quick glance at the three faces, leaned his head back, and watched a cloud of smoke roll toward the ceiling.
The silence in the room was thicker than the clouds of smoke Shayne puffed toward the gold and rose ceiling. A dead silence. Shayne saw them looking at each other; Gerald’s black eyes disturbed; Elsa’s fringed with her long lashes, green and inscrutable; Jimmy’s naked and dull.
The faint laboring of a car beginning the steep climb below sounded through the quiet, growing louder as it came nearer. Gerald and Elsa bent tensely forward. Jimmy uncrossed his ankles and stood up straight. The car stopped in front of the house, and there were firm, confident footsteps on the concrete steps. The doorbell rang.
Shayne heard Emma’s flat shuffling feet carrying her weighty body through the hall, and turned to get a glimpse of her as she passed the archway leading into the living room. The front door opened.
Shayne poured himself another drink of cognac, drank half of it, chased it with ice water, and waited.
6
THE man who came in was short and bulky, bull-necked and swarthy. His feet were small, and he took short steps, but there was aggression in his whole manner and an air of triumphant excitement which he tried decorously to hide by the solemnity of his light brown eyes and a drooping black mustache.
“Mrs. Roche,” he said gravely, and crossed the room with both hands outstretched. “I can’t express my sorrow of your bereavement. Believe me, my dear. Your husband’s death is a great loss to the state of Kentucky and the mining industry. You must try to forget your personal grief and think of their loss. He was a forward-thinking man… the type of new blood we needed. The entire South is mourning his loss tonight.”
Elsa lifted her right hand languidly and said, “Thank you, Mr. Persona,” and he took
He picked up his highball glass from the end table beside his chair and drew an occasional chair close to her. He asked Shayne, “Did Charles send you those letters?”
Shayne said, “What Charles sent or said to me is private.”
The Negro maid came in with a tray holding a bottle of cognac, an empty glass, and another clinking with ice water. She looked inquiringly at her mistress, then placed the tray on the table at Shayne’s right.
Shayne said, “Thanks, Emma,” and she said, “Yessuh,” and went away. He poured three inches in the bottom of the empty glass and said, “This will help to wash the taste of some execrable Portuguese brandy out of my mouth… Centerville’s finest, I understand.” He drank half the contents and settled back with a sigh of pleasure.
“Charles never showed those letters to anybody,” Jimmy said, breaking the silence of a full minute.
Gerald frowned at Jimmy Roche and his smooth voice roughened a trifle when he asked, “Did Charles send you those letters, Shayne?”
Shayne studied the glowing end of a freshly lit cigarette and said, “I understand they’ve been turned over to the police.”
“Only one of them,” Elsa said throatily. “The only one Charles showed me. He was very secretive about the others.” She picked up her cocktail glass and took a long drink.
“Was it signed by Brand?” Shayne asked casually.
“It was not signed at all,” she said shortly, slid down in the chair and toed the footstool over to rest her feet.
“I’ve told Mr. Shayne that even though his services aren’t needed here,” Gerald said silkily, “I feel sure you would want him to keep the check Charles sent him as a retainer… to cover the expense of his trip up here, if nothing else. I’m sure you agree.”
“Of course,” she said listlessly. “If he hasn’t any further evidence against Brand he may as well go back to Miami.”
Shayne tossed off the rest of his drink, set the glass down on the tray, asked, “And if I could prove George Brand is being railroaded for a crime committed by someone else? What then?” He cast a quick glance at the three faces, leaned his head back, and watched a cloud of smoke roll toward the ceiling.
The silence in the room was thicker than the clouds of smoke Shayne puffed toward the gold and rose ceiling. A dead silence. Shayne saw them looking at each other; Gerald’s black eyes disturbed; Elsa’s fringed with her long lashes, green and inscrutable; Jimmy’s naked and dull.
The faint laboring of a car beginning the steep climb below sounded through the quiet, growing louder as it came nearer. Gerald and Elsa bent tensely forward. Jimmy uncrossed his ankles and stood up straight. The car stopped in front of the house, and there were firm, confident footsteps on the concrete steps. The doorbell rang.
Shayne heard Emma’s flat shuffling feet carrying her weighty body through the hall, and turned to get a glimpse of her as she passed the archway leading into the living room. The front door opened.
Shayne poured himself another drink of cognac, drank half of it, chased it with ice water, and waited.
6
THE man who came in was short and bulky, bull-necked and swarthy. His feet were small, and he took short steps, but there was aggression in his whole manner and an air of triumphant excitement which he tried decorously to hide by the solemnity of his light brown eyes and a drooping black mustache.
“Mrs. Roche,” he said gravely, and crossed the room with both hands outstretched. “I can’t express my sorrow of your bereavement. Believe me, my dear. Your husband’s death is a great loss to the state of Kentucky and the mining industry. You must try to forget your personal grief and think of their loss. He was a forward-thinking man… the type of new blood we needed. The entire South is mourning his loss tonight.”
Elsa lifted her right hand languidly and said, “Thank you, Mr. Persona,” and he took
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