Brett Halliday - Blue Murder

“Then you tailed him to the Everglades,” Shayne said. “You saw where he ditched her personal belongings, including the key to her car and motel room, and recovered those later. Then you got back to town fast, and grabbed the film.”

“Gretchen did that — I phoned ahead.”

“I was having my first meeting with Tucker just about then,” Shayne said. He took out the photographs Tucker had given him. “These were all I had to go on. In the slides he showed me, the woman was either pretending to be in an advanced state of sex, or her face was partially blocked. But he was careful, so he could move either way. Unless he could persuade me that the woman in the slides was his wife, he’d have to tell me what they were blackmailing him with, and he didn’t want to do that. Now let’s shift to his wife. She knew there was a good chance he could outmaneuver her. He’s an incumbent, with money and press support, important people committed to him, and all she had was the film. That’s why she waited till Peter came out on parole — she needed an actor she could trust. He’s the one who played Tucker, in the scene in the shopping center.”

“I’m glad to see you aren’t totally gullible,” Tucker said.

“I recognized her by her walk,” Shayne said. “The girl who told me she was Maureen Neal moved the same way. Naturally I thought it was a film of Maureen acting Gretchen, which meant that Baruch had to be part of it because he knew both women.”

Gentry said, “You lost me, Mike.”

“It was a simple reverse,” Shayne explained. “Maureen Neal acted the part of Gretchen Tucker in the movie we just saw. At the motel last night, Gretchen turned it around and acted Maureen. Why? Because if Tucker could talk Baruch into selling out for a simple sum of money and the quashing of those subpoenas, all her effort would have gone for nothing. But if Baruch thought she’d been murdered—”

“Wait a minute,” Gentry said. “The letter at the airport. The kidnapping out there. What was that all about?”

“Tucker wrote the letter,” Shayne said. “Gretchen was still alive, but he planned to do something about that promptly at nine thirty this morning. We don’t know what the plans were, because she was smart enough not to show up. But somebody would have to take the heat for the murder he was planning, and from Tucker’s point of view, Capp was the ideal man. Tucker’s going to deny some of this—”

“I deny it all,” Tucker said.

“He wouldn’t have time to fake anything afterward. It had to be done before. That airport scene looked fairly elaborate to us, but it was actually simple. He wrote the letter at home, on his wife’s portable. And it was an ingenious letter. He even included something about his own sexual difficulties. The attitude was right, but the facts were wrong. She hadn’t been sleeping with Capp, she’d been sleeping with Armand, but we wouldn’t believe Armand in the role of a Mafia killer.”

“Thanks, if that’s a compliment,” Baruch said. “Tucker made a reservation in her name on an eleven o’clock plane, and packed one of her suitcases. He took the typewriter, the suitcase and the letter to the motel and walked into the first vacated room. Two minutes later he walked out, leaving a sign on the door, and made the anonymous phone call.

Rourke said, “I knew one of these scenes had to be faked. But both!”

“Everybody’s been making movies,” Shayne said. “Gretchen wanted to make us think she’d been murdered. Her husband had a strong motive, and no alibi for nine thirty, when Baruch was filming the scene at the shopping center. That was your blood in the car, wasn’t it, Peter?”

“We have the same type,” Peter said. “We had to do it beforehand, and it had to be my wrist, because that’s what she decided. It came out like champagne.”

“So that would give us a fair case against Tucker, but with no body. So they drove out to the road where Capp disposed of Maureen and staged a final episode. The body of Maureen Neal would be dragged up, with no identifying papers and without much face. Sooner or later Tucker would be able to establish that it wasn’t his wife, but by that time he’d be under arrest and Domestic Relations would be playing to standing room. And the story would be out. Tucker and Pomeroy would be finished in politics. Don’t sue anybody, Congressman,” he advised Pomeroy. “That would be your worst possible move. Act amused, if you can do it in a wheelchair. Don’t run for reelection, either.”

“That may be good advice,” Pomeroy said agreeably. “Luckily I’ve been skimming a little over the years, according to my enemies. I won’t go on welfare.”

“I’m still confused,” Gentry said. “I thought you were telling us there were two women in the water.”

“There has to be another woman in there,” Shayne said. “That’s the only way to explain Peter’s behavior the last hour or two.”

He looked at the boy, who drew a deep breath. “Of course I knew I’d be going back for something worse than violating parole.”

“Murder takes precedence,” Shayne said.

Gentry moved out quickly from the wall. “He killed his sister?”

“He’s going to make us prove it. The fact that he tried to sell the film to Pomeroy will count against him, but you never know with a jury.”

“But why?” Gentry asked.

Peter stirred, looked at Shayne and then looked quickly away. Rourke and most of the police in the room knew how Shayne worked, and they cleared the side to let him go one-on-one.

“Why?” Shayne repeated. “Because unlike his sister, Peter doesn’t believe everything has to be black or white. Will it really matter if Tucker gets to be president?”

“He believes in dropping the hydrogen bomb, for Christ’s sake,” Peter said. “Of course it matters. It just doesn’t matter to me.”

“Did you always feel this way, or did you change in jail?”

“She had illusions about me. She thought I wanted to be the Count of Monte Cristo or somebody.” He raised a fist. “Revenge!”

“It started as a semijoke,” Shayne said to Gentry, without looking away from Peter. “I think he likes to dress up — another actor. But when Maureen was killed it gave him a scare. Frankie Capp doesn’t fool around, as the rest of us have known all along. It didn’t bother Gretchen. She went right to work thinking of ways she could use it.” Suddenly: “Are you gay, Peter?”

“I swing both ways, but don’t tell Gretchen. Well, you can’t, can you?”

“What I have to say next may embarrass you. Last night” — he was still talking to Gentry — “Gretchen decided to make things confusing for us by using Maureen Neal’s motel room and checking out in the morning in the usual way. Remember — she wanted us to think the dead girl in the water was Gretchen herself, not Maureen, and she wanted the identification to stand up for at least a day. Peter was with her. I happened to coincide with them at the motel.”

“I spotted your car,” Peter said. “I wanted to get the hell out, but to Gretch it was some kind of goddamn challenge.”

“And a funny thing happened.”

“You thought it was funny, did you?”

“Brother and sister had sex,” Shayne said. “I was on the other side of the connecting door.”

“I had to,” Peter said, almost whispering.

“She told you you had to. As Maureen Neal, she could tell me things that would head me the wrong way and keep me busy. She didn’t know I’d never seen a good picture of her. If Tucker had shown me the slides in the right order, I’d know that Gretchen Tucker had a brother. The sex was to make sure I didn’t make the connection. That’s what she told you, anyway.”