Brett Halliday - Bodies Are Where You Find Them

After a brief wait lights glowed behind curtained windows upstairs. The curtains parted, and Burt Stallings’s resonant voice answered, “Who’s down there?”

“Mike Shayne.”

“Shayne? What are you doing here at this time of night?”

“Come down and open the door.”

“I have no intention of doing that,” Stallings retorted sharply. Then, with less assurance, “What is it? Have you news of Helen?”

“I’ve got a lead. But I’m not going to stand here and shout it up to you.”

“Very well. If it’s so important I suppose I can’t refuse.” Stallings withdrew his head from the window, and the curtains fell back into place. Shayne moved forward and leaned against the threshold.

The door opened after several minutes. Stallings wore a silk dressing-gown, and his bare feet were encased in leather slippers. His silvery hair was awry and he demanded in an outraged tone, “What is it that won’t wait until morning?”

“Just this.” Shayne brushed past him into the small anteroom where he had interviewed the housekeeper. He swung about to face Stallings and in clipped accents explained, “I’ve got a hot tip that your stepdaughter Helen is right here in this house.”

“That’s preposterous.”

“I’m not so sure of that. Your story of her disappearance could be a phony.”

“But that’s fantastic. She hasn’t been near the house since noon yesterday.”

“That’s what you say. Your story and that kidnap note put me on the spot. It could be a gag to put Marsh out of the running and swing votes to you.”

“But Mr. Painter was with me. He verified my story. Surely you don’t suspect him.”

“Painter was taking your word for everything. I’m not. I’m going to see for myself.”

“You’re at liberty to verify my daughter’s absence,” Stallings told him stiffly. He moved past Shayne. “I’ll take you up to her suite.”

Shayne followed him into a wide hall and up a winding stairway, then to the left along another hall to a door which he opened and gestured for Shayne to enter.

The detective lounged inside and made a pretense of investigating a luxurious suite consisting of a parlor, master bedroom, bath, and powder room. Stallings stayed back by the outer doorway, his features set in lines of grim disapproval.

When Shayne returned from his tour of inspection he asked icily, “Are you completely satisfied now?”

Shayne said, “No. I’ve only started. There are more rooms in this dump.”

He strode out the door, and Stallings followed him, fuming. “I certainly have no intention of conducting you on a tour of the whole house. This is the most outrageous demand—”

Shayne cut him short. “You don’t have to conduct the tour. I’ll find my way around. This must be the west wing.” He started along a wide hall.

Stallings stepped in front of him. He was breathing heavily. “I forbid it, Mr. Shayne. My wife has occupied this wing since her illness. She must not be disturbed.”

Shayne stared at him levelly. “Make it easy on yourself, Stallings. I can be back here in half an hour with a search warrant and I’ll turn the place inside out.”

“You wouldn’t dare go so far.”

Shayne said, “If you think I won’t, go ahead and stop me now.”

For a long moment their eyes interlocked. Stallings’s gaze dropped first. In a choked voice he said, “Very well. I have nothing to conceal. I must warn you, though, that Mrs. Stallings has not been told of Helen’s disappearance, on orders from her physician. She is critically ill, and a shock of that nature might be fatal.”

“It won’t be necessary to tell her why I’m snooping around,” Shayne told him. He followed Stallings down the hall to another upstairs living-room. The light revealed a studio lounge made into a bed with a woman asleep on it. Mrs. Briggs raised her head from the pillow and stared at them sleepily as they entered. Anger flickered in her eyes when she recognized Shayne.

Mr. Stallings cleared his throat. “Excuse us, Mrs. Briggs. Mr. Shayne insists on convincing himself that Miss Helen is not here tonight.” He explained to Shayne, “Mrs. Briggs sleeps here to attend Mrs. Stallings’s wants during the night. She has had nurse’s training and is devoted to her mistress.”

Shayne nodded casually to Mrs. Briggs. “I believe we’ve met before.” He went toward a closed door. “Is this the sickroom?”

Stallings said, “Yes; but I assure you—”

“No harm in being thorough.” Shayne opened the door of a large bedroom. He wrinkled his nose at the strong odor of disinfectants and medicine as he stepped inside. Moonlight filtered through lace curtains, faintly outlining a still form lying on a bed in the center of the room.

He hesitated just inside the doorway and felt along the wall for a light switch. Behind him, Stallings warned in a sharp undertone, “I’ll hold you responsible if she is awakened. She has a difficult time—”

Shayne found the light switch and pushed it. A ceiling fixture lighted the face of the woman. She breathed easily and did not move when light flooded the room. She had finely chiseled features, much the same as the features of the girl who had died in his office that afternoon. The woman had a look of bloodless fragility which often accompanies a long and serious illness.

She had not blinked her eyes or moved when Shayne switched off the light.

Stallings fumed. “Did you have to turn on the lights?”

Leaving the room, Shayne growled, “I’m not missing any bets. That might have been the girl in bed and I’d never have known if I hadn’t turned on the light.”

He went out of the suite followed by Stallings and by Mrs. Briggses accusing eyes.

“There’s no one else in this wing,” Stallings told him stiffly. “We’ve kept it as quiet as we could so that Mrs. Stallings would not be disturbed.”

A questioning gleam lighted Shayne’s gray eyes for a moment. He nodded and said, “All right. I’ll take a look in on the servants now.”

“They’re in the east wing. But surely you don’t think it necessary to look for Helen there?”

With restrained ferocity, Shayne said, “God damn it, Stallings, I’m not playing hide-and-seek for fun. I’m going to satisfy myself on one point before I leave here.” Stallings walked along behind him to the east wing without further remonstrance. He stopped at the first door of the servants’ quarters and said grimly, “The two maids sleep here, I believe.”

Shayne opened the door and switched on the light. A girl jumped up with an “E-e-k,” from one of the twin beds. She snatched the covers up about her throat and stared at him with frightened eyes. She had sharp features and straggly brown hair. The other bed was unoccupied.

Shayne turned out the light and shut the door. He said to Stallings, “I thought you had two maids.”

“I did. I forgot to mention that Mrs. Briggs discharged the girl called Lucile this evening.”

Shayne arched his eyebrows but said nothing. He nodded toward the last door in the wing. “Who’s in that room?”

“The chauffeur and his wife. She is the cook. That’s the complete staff.”

“I guess they wouldn’t have Helen in bed with them,” Shayne said, and turned away. When they reached the head of the stairs he stopped. “Lucile must be the girl I saw downstairs when I was here this afternoon. Do you know why Mrs. Briggs discharged her?”

“I didn’t inquire into the matter. Mrs. Briggs handles all such matters. I believe Lucile was very flighty and not dependable.”

Shayne rubbed his lean jaw. He muttered, “She looked like a girl who might comfort a man in his wife’s absence. I wonder if I could get her address from Mrs. Briggs?”