Brett Halliday - Black Mask Magazine (Vol. 27, No. 2 — September 1945)

“What’s your interest in this?” Deems asked suspiciously.

“The damned fool stuck his head in a frame that I only intended to frighten him with. The way things happened, I can’t retract now. If he’s innocent I’d like him to prove it by keeping the diary safe. If he’s guilty, he’d better get rid of that diary quick for the paper’s sake. There’ll be a hell of a lawsuit slapped on the Item if certain people can prove he kept possession of it for personal reasons.”

“What do you want me to do? He wouldn’t listen to me.”

“Can’t you send him a mouthpiece? Doesn’t the paper have a lawyer who can see him and find out where the diary is hidden?”

“We’ve got Andrew Drake on an annual retainer,” Deems said. “He represents any of the boys who get caught off base.”

“Get hold of Drake and explain how necessary it is to convince Cross he should take possession of the diary immediately — before the night’s over. It isn’t safe where Cross has it hidden.”

“You talk as if you’ve got inside information.”

“I have. I’m giving it to you straight.” Shayne’s voice was strained and urgent. He hung up and mopped sweat from his face. He thought for a moment, lifted the receiver and called a friend in charge of a local detective agency.

He said: “Ned? You got a man you can put on a tailing job fast. This is it. There’s a lawyer named Andrew Drake. I expect him to visit a prisoner in city jail sometime this evening — reporter — for the Item named Joel Cross. I want to know if and when Drake goes into his cell. Got that?”

Shayne took a deep breath as he listened. “That’s right,” he said. “Plant a man inside where he’ll know who sees Cross. Have him call me at this number the moment Drake shows.” He gave Ned his telephone number and hung up. Things were beginning to break.

He mopped his face again, strode into the kitchen and came back with a freshly opened bottle of brandy and a glass of ice water. After taking a long swig of both, he called Lucy Hamilton’s apartment.

“How’s Mrs. Groat holding up?”

“All right,” Lucy told him. “I’ve been in with her tonight.”

“Either of you had dinner?”

“No. I thought I’d fix something for both of us here.”

“You’re clairvoyant,” he applauded. “I want you both standing by for a call. Keep her in your apartment all evening, angel. I may want to pick both of you up in a hurry.”

“Why... what’s happened?” she asked breathlessly.

He said: “I dug a hole this afternoon and pitched head first into it. Now I’ve got to dig myself out.” He hung up.

Shayne suddenly realized he was very hungry. He went to the kitchen and hurriedly warmed a can of soup. He scrambled eggs while the soup heated and made coffee. After gulping down the food, he returned to the living room with a mug of coffee royal. He had scarcely seated himself when the telephone rang.

The voice at the other end said: “Ned said I was to call you soon as a mouthpiece named Drake came to see Joel Cross.”

“That’s right. Is he there?”

“Just went in Cross’ cell.”

“Hang around the entrance till I get there. If he leaves before I get there, tail him and call Ned first chance you get. Do you know me?”

“I’ve seen you.”

“Right.”

Shayne hung up, then called Lucy Hamilton. He said swiftly: “I’m picking you and Mrs. Groat up in front of your apartment in five minutes. Don’t keep me waiting.”

He drank his coffee royal, grabbed his hat and went out. He got in his car and drove to Lucy’s apartment building, pulled up to the curb as Lucy and Mrs. Groat hurried out.

The rear car door was open. “Get in the back, Mrs. Groat. Lucy, get up front with me. You may have to do some driving.” He pulled away and headed back toward the city jail.

“Where are we going, Mike? Why did you want Mrs. Groat?”

“Don’t ask questions now, angel. We’re headed for the city jail. We’re going to pick up a man there when he comes out and follow him. If he’s walking, I’ll get out and follow him. You follow me in the car. If he’s driving, we’ll all stay together.”

He pulled a hundred feet back of the main entrance to the jail and stepped out. He strolled forward and was met by a toothy man wearing a faded sweater and cap. The man said: “Aren’t you Shayne?”

“Right.”

“I’m Tinkham — with Ned Frazier. Your man’s still inside. He came in a cab and got out here at the main door.”

Shayne nodded. “We’ll move back here and you can point him out to me when he comes out.”

They moved back and stood inconspicuously beside Shayne’s car. Tinkham muttered: “Gray mustache, Panama hat. Blue serge suit and a pot belly. Five-feet-ten, about a hundred-eighty.”

Shayne lit a cigarette. A man came down the steps under a bright light. Tinkham nudged Shayne, whispered, “That’s him,” and walked quietly away.

Andrew Drake walked to the curb and stood looking up and down the street for a taxi. Shayne said to Lucy: “He’ll probably take a cab.”

A cruising taxi pulled up and the lawyer got in. Shayne got in his car and took the wheel. He let the cab get into the street before starting his motor. He followed along a full block behind until the taxi swung into the curb in from of the Item building.

He cruised past slowly as the lawyer got out, then pulled in between two parked cars, nodding with satisfaction when the cab did not pull away.

“I think Drake will be out in a minute,” he told Lucy. “I’m going back to the cab and wait. As soon as you see him come out, bring Mrs. Groat with you. I’m going to need her.”

“I wish you’d tell me...” Lucy began, but Shayne shook his head and got out.

“There’s no time now. Just follow my lead.”

He went back to the cab and asked the driver: “Want a fare?”

“Sorry, bo. I’m taken. Party just went into the newspaper office a minute and asked me to wait.”

Shayne casually took out a pack of cigarettes and offered the driver one. He struck a match for both and asked: “Gas rationing bother you guys much these days?”

“It ain’t too bad. Can’t do much — here he comes now.”

Shayne hurried forward and got in the lawyer’s way. He asked: “Are you Drake?”

“I am.” Drake looked Shayne over and said: “I’m sorry, but I don’t believe I know you.”

Shayne said: “You don’t.” He saw Lucy and Mrs. Groat coming toward them, said: “It’s about a little matter of stolen property.”

“Stolen property?” Drake drew himself up. “I don’t know...”

“Belonging to Mrs. Jasper Groat,” Shayne said harshly. “That diary you just picked up. Mrs. Groat is here and she wants it.”

Lucy and Mrs. Groat stood a little aside, watching them.

The lawyer wet his lips and looked at them, bewildered. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“It’s right here in your coat pocket,” Shayne snapped. He took a quick step forward and pinned Drake’s arms to his pouchy body with one hand, groped in his coat pocket and withdrew a leather-bound book which he tossed to Mrs. Groat. “Do you identify that as your dead husband’s property?”

“See here,” Drake wheezed indignantly, “you can’t get away with this. I’ll call an officer.”

“That’ll be just fine,” said Shayne, releasing him. “There’s nothing I’d like better than to call the police in on this. It’ll make a nice story — concealing stolen property and suppressing evidence in a murder case. Go right ahead. Is that it, Mrs. Groat?”

“Yes, oh, yes, This is Jasper’s.” Mrs. Groat was scanning the pages in the dim light, tears splashing her glasses.