Free Chiefs by Stuart Woods Page B

there was a phone in the jail now. I’m so glad you was there.”
    “Yes, I’m here. Now what’s the matter? What’s wrong?”
    The woman continued in a loud whisper. “You’ve got to come over here quick. He’s going to kill her this time if you don’t get here quick! I can hear him now, and she’s crying again. I—”
    “Who is this speaking?”
    “I’m Mrs. Smith. My husband is James Smith. I’d send him over there to stop it, but he’s on the night shift at the mill. He’s stopped him before.”
    “Stopped who, Mrs. Smith?”
    “That Butts man next door. He’s beating her up again.”
    “I see. Now you’re on Maple Street, is that right? Where is Maple Street?”
    “On the corner. The corner of Poplar. They’re right next door, at number four. We’re number two. Can you come over here quick? He’s going to kill her—”
    “I’ll be right there, Mrs. Smith. Now, you stay away from their house until I get there, you hear? Don’t go in there” He hung up the phone and started to get into his coat. “Sounds like somebody’s beating up a woman over in Milltown,” he said to Holmes. Holmes reached for his coat.
    “I’ll come with you.”
    They started for the door. Will Henry stopped. He looked at the gun belt lying on his desk. He strapped it on and left the building.
    Will Henry drove as quickly as he could through the Saturday-night shopping traffic. “I’ve got to get a siren for this car,” he said, blowing his horn at a mule and wagon blocking his way.
    “Get it,” said Holmes grimly. “I’ll fix up the money.”
    “You know a man named Butts?”
    “Grady Butts? Works at the mill?”
    “I guess that’s the one.”
    “I know his wife, Mary. She saves a dollar a week at the bank. Never misses a week. Never met him. Don’t think he knows she’s putting the money away. She always comes in alone. Pretty, in a plump sort of way. She’s got forty-two dollars in her account. Forty-two weeks, forty-two dollars.”
    Will Henry wondered if Holmes had every account at the bank in his head. “A Mrs. Smith who lives next door to them says it’s happened before. The way she talks you’re going to lose a customer unless this damn mule and wagon gets out of the way.” He drove around the wagon, blowing his horn.
    As they pulled up in front of the house a woman stepped from behind a tree and ran to the car. “Oh, hurry! It’s getting worse! He’s going to kill her!” They heard the noise of something being knocked over, and the light against the shades on the front windows of the house changed its angle sharply.
    Will Henry ran up the front steps, closely followed by Holmes. He stopped at the front door. The noise inside had stopped. He banged on the door. “Open the door! This is the police.” Now he could hear a woman sobbing.
    “There’s no trouble here,” a man’s voice said. The words were slurred. “Go on away from here.”
    Will Henry turned the knob and pushed the door open. The room was surprisingly neat. Will Henry had expected a shambles. A worn three-piece living-room suite occupied most of the room. A cheerful little fire was burning in the fireplace. Through a door at the back of the living room, he could see a dining table set for supper, and there was food on the table. The only upset in the room was a tiny table which had held a lamp. The table and lamp were sprawled across the floor, but the bulb was still burning. A small, plump woman stood with her back to the wall next to the fireplace. She was crying, and with every sob a spurt of blood came from her nose. The front of her cotton dress was soaked in blood, and it had begun to drip onto the floor.
    Across the room from her stood a thin, wiry-looking man of medium height, dressed immaculately in a white shirt, necktie, and what must have been the trousers to his Sunday suit. His hair was slightly mussed, his face was red and twisted with anger, and he held a large lump of coal in his right hand. It