Бретт Холлидей - Mike Shayne Mystery Magazine, Vol. 34, No. 3, February 1974

“It isn’t the first time you’ve made yourself a target,” Will Gentry was saying, “and I don’t suppose it’ll be the last. I wish you’d let me assign a couple of my boys to tail you, just in case.”

“I’ve got to go back to the Beach,” Shayne said. “That’s out of your jurisdiction. Besides you know if somebody does come after me and spots your boys, it would blow the whole thing higher than the One Biscayne Tower. I know what I’m doing, Will.”

“I guess you think you do,” the Chief said and lit one of his famous long black cigars. “One of these days you’re going to stretch that luck of yours a little too thin. You’ve been taking long chances all these years and getting away with it. Sooner or later the law of averages is going to catch up with you, Mike. Sooner or later.”

“Let’s make it later, Will,” Shayne told his friend. “I know what I’m doing, and I don’t think I’m in any real danger right now.”

Then the Chief’s big black car pulled up to the curb and the two friends patted.

Mike Shayne got his own car and drove back to the Barker home on Miami Beach. By now the sun was well up. It was one of those brilliant, clear mornings for which South Florida had long been famous. Workbound traffic was heavy in both directions on the causeway. Shayne tried to spot a small black bug tailing his own car, but could see no sign of it.

He was sure though that the killer of Adele Miller would make inquiries at the hospital and be told that he, Shayne, had heard the woman’s last words.

As Will Gentry had assumed, so long as the killer could think his or her name had been spoken by Adele Miller with her dying gasp, it made Shayne a target.

On the other hand there were some aspects of the matter that Mike Shayne had chosen not to discuss with his friend the Chief of Police.

Presumably this was an intelligent killer, capable of thinking up and putting into operation an elaborate scheme to provide Ellen Barker with a substitute sister. Unlike a thug, such a killer wouldn’t go for Shayne in a blind panic. He would know there would have to be proof to convict anyone the dying woman had named, and he might be sure there was no hard evidence to be found.

He would also know that any name spoken had probably been passed on by Shayne to Gentry. Possibly it had even been overheard by the doctor and the nurse who were also in the elevator at the time. To kill Mike Shayne under those circumstances would merely tend to confirm the killer’s identity as named by Adele Miller in the minds of Gentry and the others. A thug might not think of that. If the killer was the person Mike Shayne had begun to suspect, he would.

No, the redhead didn’t think that he himself was in any immediate danger. The elaborate charade he had had staged at the hospital had an entirely different object.

Mike Shayne gave the killer credit for being smart enough to think as he himself would in similar circumstances.

If he was in the killer’s boots on this fine bright morning, he knew that he wouldn’t let himself be diverted from the main chance which had brought about the shooting of Adele Miller in the first place. Adele had died because she knew who was trying to bring about the accidental death of Ellen Barker. That seemed obvious to Shayne.

The killer had everything to gain if he carried out his original plot to a successful conclusion, and everything to lose if he did not.

With a trap about to close about him, he’d bend every effort to eliminate Ellen Barker first of all.

Shayne counted on the fact that this would take some time, at least time enough for him to get back to Ellen Barker and protect her. It had been almost an hour from the time of the fake death in the elevator before Shayne and Gentry had left the hospital. The drive to the Barker home would take another forty minutes, give or take a few.

Even if the killer had an informant who could tip him within minutes of Adele’s announced death, Shayne was sure he couldn’t reach Ellen Barker and kill her in that short time. The whole success of the murder would depend on its seeming to be an accident. Accidents aren’t that easy to improvise and put into action. Besides Tim Rourke and Lucy Hamilton were at the home and on guard to protect Ellen Barker until Shayne got there.

Mike Shayne thought he had plenty of time to prepare for any eventuality. Nevertheless he railed at the morning traffic which slowed his trip and cut his margin of safety by precious additional minutes.

When he pulled his car into the driveway at the Barker house Mike Shayne was still at ease in his mind.

When Tim Rourke opened the door for his friend and the big man saw the shocked look on the lanky newsman’s face, he realized at once that something very serious indeed had gone wrong.

“Thank God you’re here, Mike,” Rourke greeted him. “I called Will Gentry and he said you were on the way over.”

“What’s wrong?” Shayne demanded.

“It’s Ellen Barker, Mike. She’s missing. Kidnaped.”

“What do you mean kidnaped? I left you and Lucy to watch her. Is Lucy okay?”

“Lucy’s fine,” Tim Rourke said. “She and Ellen slept late. They came downstairs half an hour ago. The cook was fixing breakfast and Ellen must have — walked down to the summer house for a minute. She can’t have been gone more than five minutes before Lucy and I went looking for her. All we found was this.”

Tim Rourke held out a sheet of paper, and Mike Shayne took it grimly.

When Mike Shayne read the note that had been left on the table in the Barker summer house by the water he realized how smart the killer in this case really was. The man or woman had been smart enough to think and act faster than the big detective had expected.

In effect he’d trumped the ace Mike Shayne had up his sleeve and Very nearly won the game.

It took Shayne only a moment to tell that the note would be impossible to trace. The paper was cheap dime store stationary and the message composed of words and letters clipped from the newspaper and pasted on. He was absolutely sure that there wouldn’t be any fingerprints.

“You haven’t got much time,” the note read, “so you do exactly what I say. Follow directions exactly. I have Mrs. Barker and I will kill her if you don’t do just what I say.

“First you get two hundred thousand dollars in small bills and put it in the blue travel bag you find in Mrs. B’s bedroom closet. That bag and no other.

“Don’t worry about getting the money. Mrs. B’s lawyers have her power of attorney for emergencies. They can give you the money when you show this note. This is an emergency okay.

“At exactly one o’clock this afternoon you have the bag in your car. Drive to Haulover Park and park your car near the fishing pier. Put the bag on the first bench as you walk out on the fishing pier. Then you walk all the way out to the end and wait exactly five minutes. When you are at the end of the fishing pier the bag will be picked up by a paid messenger who will not know what is in it, but will bring it to me.

“Then I will release Mrs. Barker.

“If you bring police or interfere or chase the messenger, a watcher will call me and I will kill Mrs. Barker. I mean it. Do exactly what this note says.”

That was all.

“What are we going to do?” Tim Rourke asked. “We can’t let him get away with this.”

“I’m going to do exactly what this note says,” Mike Shayne told his lanky friend. “I don’t see that I’ve got any choice.”

“Of all the things to have happen, this is about the worst. A kidnaping on top of all the rest of this case. Isn’t one case at a time enough.” Tim Rourke sounded rattled.