Read Online The Anatomy of Violence by Charles Runyon - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Charles Runyon
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sure Ben will understand that, but I can.” She stopped kneading suddenly. “If you’re looking for Ben, Mister Curtright, he’s not—”
“I didn’t come to see Ben,” said a liquid voice.
I twisted my head and looked up at Jules Curtright. Black hair curled from the open neck of his knit shirt. His tanned neck gleamed with sweat. “I tried to call but couldn’t get through,” he said. “Are you ready?”
“Ready?” I realized I was still doubled over and straightened. “You haven’t heard … anything?”
He spread his fingers over his forehead. “I went to the State Line Club after you left. I just got up an hour ago.”
Gwen had begun spraying the lawn with gentle, silent mist a few feet away. I stood up. “Come in the house, Jules.”
Walking into the air-conditioned living room was like entering a cool lake. Jules folded himself onto the sofa and looked at me. “Now, what haven’t I heard?”
I felt silly to ask, but I had to assure myself. “You said you went to the State Line Club after I left. Could you … prove it?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Well, I’m sure the bartender—” His eyes widened. “My God! What happened to your jaw?”
A knot of tension uncoiled inside me. Only a skilled actor could have faked surprise so well. “Right after I left the club I … was raped, Jules.”
His expression didn’t change for a moment, then his eyes narrowed and seemed to grow darker. “Who was it, Laurie?”
“I can’t remember—but the doctor said I might later. It happened under—”
“I’ll get the story from someone else, Laurie. Just promise me one thing.” He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and stroked his heavy forearm. Behind his hand, the black curly hair sprang into place over corded muscle. “When you remember, tell me first.”
The phone started ringing then and didn’t stop. I stood up. “That’s probably daddy.”
But it was a high adolescent voice quavering with held-in laughter. “Laurie?”
“Who’s this?”
“An admirer.” I heard a boy giggle in the background. “I’ve got something for you.” I heard a different giggle, and pictured a large group jammed into the phone booth. “Something I know you’ll like. It’s big and—”
I dropped the phone onto its cradle. My face must have showed disgust because Jules said: “Have the telephone company give you an unlisted number. No, I’ll do it—tonight.” He stood up and walked to the door. “Anything else I can do?”
“Yes.” I picked up the heavy purse. “Take me for that drive now—if you don’t mind a couple of stops.”
His grin broke out like the sun coming from behind a cloud. He waved me through the door. “My car is yours.”
His car was long and black and he put the top down. I tied a ribbon around my hair and let the breeze caress my neck while Jules threaded through elm-shaded streets, then stopped in front of the police station. “Be right back,” I said, getting out.
Inside, I leaned against the waist-high counter separating visitors from the office area. It contained a desk, a radio, and five policemen. “I’m Laura Crewes. Is my father here?”
Four policemen turned and looked without speaking. The fifth man spoke without turning from the set. “Your poppa’s busy in the back room, little lady. They’re interrogating people. You can’t go in.”
Good.
I’d asked only to make sure he wouldn’t find me here. “I want to see Richard Farham.”
He stood up and walked over, leaning his elbows on the counter. It was the sergeant I’d seen last night—a thin, bald man. “Farham!” He twisted his mouth and scratched his cheek. “The name doesn’t ring a bell.”
“You arrested him this morning.”
He walked to a door and opened it a crack. “Hey, Lieutenant, we holding anyone named Farham? Richard Farham?”
“Who’s there?” The door opened and Koch filled it, hiding the room behind. His right eye was black and a strip of tape
“I didn’t come to see Ben,” said a liquid voice.
I twisted my head and looked up at Jules Curtright. Black hair curled from the open neck of his knit shirt. His tanned neck gleamed with sweat. “I tried to call but couldn’t get through,” he said. “Are you ready?”
“Ready?” I realized I was still doubled over and straightened. “You haven’t heard … anything?”
He spread his fingers over his forehead. “I went to the State Line Club after you left. I just got up an hour ago.”
Gwen had begun spraying the lawn with gentle, silent mist a few feet away. I stood up. “Come in the house, Jules.”
Walking into the air-conditioned living room was like entering a cool lake. Jules folded himself onto the sofa and looked at me. “Now, what haven’t I heard?”
I felt silly to ask, but I had to assure myself. “You said you went to the State Line Club after I left. Could you … prove it?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Well, I’m sure the bartender—” His eyes widened. “My God! What happened to your jaw?”
A knot of tension uncoiled inside me. Only a skilled actor could have faked surprise so well. “Right after I left the club I … was raped, Jules.”
His expression didn’t change for a moment, then his eyes narrowed and seemed to grow darker. “Who was it, Laurie?”
“I can’t remember—but the doctor said I might later. It happened under—”
“I’ll get the story from someone else, Laurie. Just promise me one thing.” He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and stroked his heavy forearm. Behind his hand, the black curly hair sprang into place over corded muscle. “When you remember, tell me first.”
The phone started ringing then and didn’t stop. I stood up. “That’s probably daddy.”
But it was a high adolescent voice quavering with held-in laughter. “Laurie?”
“Who’s this?”
“An admirer.” I heard a boy giggle in the background. “I’ve got something for you.” I heard a different giggle, and pictured a large group jammed into the phone booth. “Something I know you’ll like. It’s big and—”
I dropped the phone onto its cradle. My face must have showed disgust because Jules said: “Have the telephone company give you an unlisted number. No, I’ll do it—tonight.” He stood up and walked to the door. “Anything else I can do?”
“Yes.” I picked up the heavy purse. “Take me for that drive now—if you don’t mind a couple of stops.”
His grin broke out like the sun coming from behind a cloud. He waved me through the door. “My car is yours.”
His car was long and black and he put the top down. I tied a ribbon around my hair and let the breeze caress my neck while Jules threaded through elm-shaded streets, then stopped in front of the police station. “Be right back,” I said, getting out.
Inside, I leaned against the waist-high counter separating visitors from the office area. It contained a desk, a radio, and five policemen. “I’m Laura Crewes. Is my father here?”
Four policemen turned and looked without speaking. The fifth man spoke without turning from the set. “Your poppa’s busy in the back room, little lady. They’re interrogating people. You can’t go in.”
Good.
I’d asked only to make sure he wouldn’t find me here. “I want to see Richard Farham.”
He stood up and walked over, leaning his elbows on the counter. It was the sergeant I’d seen last night—a thin, bald man. “Farham!” He twisted his mouth and scratched his cheek. “The name doesn’t ring a bell.”
“You arrested him this morning.”
He walked to a door and opened it a crack. “Hey, Lieutenant, we holding anyone named Farham? Richard Farham?”
“Who’s there?” The door opened and Koch filled it, hiding the room behind. His right eye was black and a strip of tape
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