until he disappeared through the door.
Ann Cornell watched him, an amused smile on her full, un-rouged lips. “He gets touchy as hell with strangers. Almost time for him to have a shot,” she added softly, like a young mother announcing that it was nearly time for her baby to have his bottle.
“He’s jealous,” Shayne warned her. He was leaning forward, his gray eyes very bright. “One of these days he’ll blow up higher than a kite.”
“Angus jealous?” She threw her head back and laughed heartily. “Just about like a stray pup. Say, in this hot weather a gal needs somebody to wash dishes and clean up.” She stopped laughing and stared at the strange expression in Shayne’s eyes. “God,” she breathed, “you don’t think I sleep with the guy, do you?”
Shayne settled back, tugging at his left earlobe with right thumb and forefinger. “I guess you can handle him, at that,” he muttered. He picked up the glass of corn and drained it, turned it around in his hand for a moment, set it down with a thump and said:
“About last night. If you did know anything you didn’t tell the police, how much would I have to pay for it.”
“Look, none of this is any good,” she said wearily. “If I swore in court that Brand was in bed with me when it happened, they’d still convict him.”
“Was he?” Shayne asked lazily.
“No.” Her voice was quiet, without emphasis.
“If Brand is telling the truth…”
“No one will ever know what the truth is,” she interrupted casually. “Charles Roche is dead, and whoever killed him isn’t going to talk.”
“You don’t believe it was Brand?” Shayne got up with his glass in his hand, went over and poured a couple of inches into it from the jug.
“Of course it wasn’t. Nobody believes that. But they’ll stretch him for it.” Her voice was getting thick.
“What about the three witnesses who claim they were playing poker with him?” He was standing before her, looking down at her thickly coiled braids.
“Them?” She didn’t look at him. “How long do you think they’ll stick to their stories. Just about this long.” She snapped her fingers contemptuously. “After Elwood gets to work on them.” She lifted her eyes and added, “This is Centerville, Mister.”
Shayne took a couple of steps backward, felt for his chair, and sank into it. “Was Roche making a deal with Brand to end the strike?” he asked.
She nodded. “But no one will ever be able to prove it.”
“You sound very sure.”
The calm, indifferent, and casual manner she had maintained during their conversation left her. Her full upper lip curled back and her blue eyes flashed angrily. “Brand boasted about it to me, and Jimmy suspected his brother was going to give in, too. That worried Jimmy. That horrible old man should have left control in Jimmy’s hands… if he wanted the world kept safe for capitalism.” She spat the words out, leaning tensely forward.
Shayne sat very still, kept his eyes half-closed, his face expressionless. He said, “I take it Jimmy Roche likes your corn, too.”
“That… and other things.”
“But you were in sympathy with the strikers?” Shayne probed.
“Look, Mister… I take care of number one. That’s all I’ve got to worry about. Anybody fool enough to dig coal for a few lousy bucks a day is welcome to do it.”
“Did you know the men are going back to work tomorrow?”
“I hadn’t heard, but it was in the cards. George Brand is the only man with enough guts to come in here and stir ’em up. With him out of the picture, what else would they do?” Ann Cornell tipped her glass and drank from it as though it contained only water, then lolled back in her chair.
“So, Roche’s death actually broke the strike?” mused Shayne.
“In more ways than one, brother. Hanging it on Brand was the way to speed things up. Charles Roche was their only chance to win, and Brand knew it. That’s why he’s the last man on earth to’ve killed Charles.” She spoke slowly. The natural up-curve of her full mouth drooped and her deep blue eyes were dull.
Shayne said, “You’re a smart woman, Mrs. Cornell.”
Her mouth twisted ironically and her gaze brooded across the room, then she twitched her shoulders impatiently, emptied her glass and said, “I’ve lived in Centerville all my life. I’ve seen other labor organizers come… and go. This time they had a chance. George Brand had the guts, and he had Charles Roche convinced.”
“Who did kill Charles Roche?” Shayne asked abruptly.
“What d’you care?” she said dully. “Doesn’t Brand suit you for a fall guy?”
Shayne made an impatient gesture. “Maybe I don’t like the idea of a fall guy.”
“You’re working for the mine operators,” she accused.
“That doesn’t mean I’ve sold out to them,” Shayne growled. He got up and poured more into her glass, went back and sat down and muttered, “Roche had been receiving threatening letters.”
She nodded slowly. “Jimmy told me about ’em.”
“What did he tell you?”
“Not much. All he knew, I guess,” she said carelessly. “I don’t think he saw one, but he seemed to think they had something to do with the strike… and Charles wanting to give the men a union contract.”
“You’ve seen a lot of Jimmy?”
“All of ’em,” she said thickly. “Him… and others. Ask around town and they’ll tell you Ann Cornell don’t play favourites. They tell a lot of goddam lies about me, too.” She didn’t sound bitter. Just passive and weary and drunk.
“What about Charles?” Shayne demanded bluntly. “Did he ever drink out of your jug?”
“I wouldn’t tell you… if he had. Every married man comes here is plenty safe.”
“Charles wouldn’t have,” Shayne suggested, as though he argued the point with himself. “Not married to that hot little sketch I met tonight. She’d keep a man busy.”
“I expect you’re right.” She was not drunk enough to be trapped. “You’re not drinking much,” she complained.
“I’m working,” Shayne reminded her again. He drained his glass and set it down. “I guess I’d better get at it.” He stood up. He had tossed his hat on the floor beside his chair, and stooped over to pick it up. His head reeled dizzily. Straightening slowly, he asked, “What proof is that stuff I’ve been drinking?”
She giggled. “I don’t know exactly. Lafe Heddon don’t bother with any of them gadgets when he runs off a batch. Three times through the coils and whatever comes out the last time is what you get in one of Lafe’s jugs.” She had grown careless of her grammar. She giggled again and said, “’Nother short one’ll take the edge off what you’ve got.”
“Not for me.” Shayne shook his head angrily, then asked, “If you saw Brand had a chance… would you help me clear him?”
She said, “Don’t be a fool. No need for you to waste any effort on Brand. You can figure his chances by the men going back to work. They’d stay out if he had a nigger’s chance.”
Shayne hesitated, studying her face. “You don’t look like a girl who’d scare easy.”
“I don’t.” She was looking up at him, trying to focus her eyes on his. When she succeeded, she held his gaze levelly and said, “I know what you’re up against in this town.”
“But the police would give you protection if…”
“The police?” She laughed. “Are you joking? Those crummy bastards! If I knew anything to help Brand I’d forget it. If you run across anything, you’d better forget it, too.”
Shayne said, “I’m not very good at taking advice. Thanks for the drinks.” He turned and stalked through the door.
He got in his car, started the motor and turned on the headlights. As he pulled onto the pavement, lights showed in the rear-view mirror from a car behind him. They appeared to come from a car waiting at the intersection where Charles Roche had left his car parked last night while he kept a date with death.
The car gained on him slowly as he drove straight ahead, down the slope toward the east-west highway through Centerville. He vividly recalled the incident on the highway earlier as he and Lucy were driving into town. A
