Brett Halliday - Shoot the Works

When he finished with the bottom drawer, he straightened up and told Donovan sourly, “I know this is nuts, but it’s a job. Will’s boys don’t miss anything on a job like this.”

Donovan said, “That’s what I told Wallace’s partners when they were fooling around that bureau this morning. I always did wonder why people put out good money to a private dick for a job the cops do better for free. I guess it’s just human nature, huh? To think something you get free isn’t as good as what you pay out dough for. Damned good dough, too, from what I hear about the fees you charge, Mr. Shayne. I wouldn’t mind being in your racket myself.”

Shayne said, “It’s a living, Ed, but there’s times I wouldn’t mind having a steady salary coming in.” He looked around the bedroom with a shrug. “Let’s try the kitchen?”

Donovan brightened as he looked down at his empty glass. “Why not? There’s some imported cognac along with the scotch.”

He led the way out and down a short hallway to a small but pleasant kitchen with sunlight streaming in through ruffled red and yellow curtains. It was neat and clean with nothing disarranged or out of place, and he squatted down in front of the sink to open a drawer and gesture inside. “I’m surprised there’s anything left after last night, but I guess the chief hung around until most of the boys left.” He chuckled and lifted out a squat bottle of scotch and hesitated. “Cognac for you? Or is that just newspaper talk that you’re always swilling it?”

Shayne said, “I’ll have a small one just to keep you company.” He stood quietly while Donovan got ice cubes from the refrigerator and a clean glass. He poured brandy over two ice cubes while Donovan sweetened his drink with three fingers of liqueur scotch and added a dollop of tap water, and then they drank companionably.

Shayne rinsed out his glass, dried and replaced it and said, “Much as I hate to leave good company, Ed, I don’t believe there’s anything here for me.”

He started out briskly, paused and stepped aside as the telephone rang in the living room. “You’d better take that.”

Donovan lumbered past him to the telephone and lifted it. Shayne stood behind him and listened, fingering the folded sheet of paper in his pocket.

The detective said, “Yes? Who is this speaking?” and then the change of expression that came over his face was ludicrous. He squared his shoulders and stiffened his body and his features tightened and he said, “Yes, Chief. Donovan here.”

He listened some thirty seconds, turning his head slowly to look at Shayne while he hastily set down the highball glass he still held in his right hand. He had a stricken look as he said smartly, his voice practically making a snappy salute: “Yes, sir, Chief. I certainly do understand. You can definitely count on me, Chief. And I’ll report it to you immediately if he does show up.”

He listened a second and shorter period, and said, “Yes, sir. You’ve made it very clear.”

He hung up the telephone and reached down to pick up his drink. His broad face was mottled and his voice sounded hollow, as he took a long swallow, and then turned slowly to face the redheaded detective.

“That was Chief Gentry on the phone,” he announced unnecessarily.

Shayne said, “I gathered it was.”

“He said that if you showed up here and tried to get in the apartment that I was to kick you in the teeth, Mr. Shayne. I swear those were his very words. And I always thought you and the chief was like that.” His voice became accusatory as he held up his right hand with the first two fingers tightly crossed.

Shayne grinned and said lightly, “Will Gentry and I have our differences sometimes. Did he say why he didn’t want me in here?”

“No, sir, he didn’t. And I didn’t know what to say when he jumped in like that, Mr. Shayne. I don’t know what he would’ve done if I’d told him you were here right now and I’d already let you go through the joint. I’ll be in one hell of a mess if he ever finds out.”

Shayne said warmly, “He won’t find out from me, Ed. I’ll beat it and you forget I was here. There’s no real harm done.”

“That’s real swell of you, Mr. Shayne,” said Donovan eagerly. “I sure won’t forget it. Like you say, there’s no real harm done and what’s the use of both of us getting in Dutch, if we don’t have to?”

Shayne said, “I’ll get away from here before anyone sees me. Watch the scotch and don’t let it creep up on you.”

He hurried out the door and down in the elevator. He got in his car and pulled away from the curb, drove several blocks before he parked again and took the folded sheet of paper from his pocket.

It was a heavy, square sheet of plain, white notepaper, with no address or date at the top. The message was written in green ink in flowing feminine handwriting:

Darling:

I can’t stand this silence. Don’t get the idea you can walk out on me without even a word of explanation. I’ll expect you tonight at the regular time… or else.

Shayne sat in the car and read the brief note several times. The single sheet of notepaper had been folded and refolded so the creases in the paper were quite heavy, but the handwriting looked fresh to him.

His face was deeply trenched as he refolded it on the same creases and put it in the inner pocket with the pair of airline tickets that Mrs. Wallace had given him the preceding night. He sat for several minutes with his big hands tightly clenched on the steering wheel while he stared straight ahead and wondered what had caused Will Gentry to make the telephone call to Ed Donovan. Did Will have some inkling that such a note as this was secreted in the apartment? Or had he some other reason for ordering Shayne kept out?

He shrugged fatalistically and put his car in motion again. Thus far, he was about three steps ahead of Will Gentry on the case, though he didn’t know what help any of them might be toward reaching a final solution.

Lucy Hamilton was alone, busily typing at her desk behind the railing in the reception room, when Shayne entered his office a short time later. He stopped just inside the door and wrinkled his nose at the acrid odor and the taint of blue smoke in the air, and Lucy stopped typing to wrinkle her own nose companionably.

She said, “You look as though you smell a rat.”

“It’s more like one of Will Gentry’s stogies.” Shayne dragged off his hat and tossed it on a rack by the door.

Lucy nodded with a glint of anger in her brown eyes. “He just left. He acted… funny, Michael. Unfriendly as he could be. He wanted to know where you were and what you thought you were doing on the Wallace case, and he practically called me a liar when I told him I hadn’t seen you since last midnight.”

Shayne crossed to the railing and lowered one hip onto it, lit a cigarette and blew a stream of smoke down at Lucy’s upturned face. He said, “You know how Will is when he’s stymied on a case and gets an idea I may be onto something he isn’t.”

“Are you, Michael?”

“I don’t know. It could be I’ve run onto a couple of things he’s missed. What else did he want?”

“He cross-questioned me at length about last night. Made me go over every step of the story again, as though he were trying to catch me up in a lie. I’m getting frightened, Michael. Do you think he suspects you went there with me and took away some evidence… like the airplane tickets?”

“He’s fishing,” Shayne assured her. “Right now he’s out on a limb with only Mrs. Wallace for a suspect, and I think he’s beginning to realize it. You didn’t give anything away?”

“I did exactly as you told me. I told the exact truth about everything except your being with me. And I didn’t tell a single lie. He didn’t ask me if I went there alone.”