Brett Halliday - Shoot the Works

“Then why in hell didn’t you tell Will that?”

“Because I thought he might go along with it,” said Shayne wryly. “If he had, it would have given me a little time to develop a certain hunch I’m beginning to get.”

“But he didn’t,” Rourke reminded him.

“No,” Shayne agreed slowly, “he didn’t. I should have known Will better, but it was the only goddamned thing I could think of at the time to get a little leeway and not be forced to tip my hand completely.”

“But why hold out on him, Mike? Damn it, don’t you want the case solved?”

“You know I do.”

“But you want to solve it,” charged Rourke. “That’s the whole damned trouble, Mike. You’re looking for another headline. And that’s my fault, in a sense. I’ve played along with you in the past. I’ve built up your goddamned ego to the point that you’ll play fast and lose with the lives of innocent people just to hog the credit.”

Shayne said, “You don’t really believe that, Tim.”

“You’re making me believe it whether I want to or not.” Rourke’s voice was thin and reedy. His Adams’ Apple bobbed up and down in his throat. He lowered his voice and regarded Shayne steadily. “Don’t make me believe it, Mike. Give Will the lowdown and for once in your life share the credit with him.”

Shayne got out another cigarette and lit it absent-mindedly. He rubbed his jaw and said, “Maybe you’re right, Tim. Maybe I am kidding myself. When Gentry comes back, I’ll tell him your Dutch Uncle act did the trick and I’ll tell him everything I know.”

As though in response to his resolution, the door swung open abruptly and Will Gentry strode back into the room. He came to a stop on widespread legs in front of Shayne and his face was the color of raw liver as he demanded, “Where is Lucy, Mike? Where have you got her hidden out?”

“Lucy?” Shayne looked at him blankly. “At the office, I suppose. She never goes out even for lunch when she’s alone there. Insists on having it sent in, as you know.”

“I do know that quirk of Lucy’s, Mike. And that’s why I want you to tell me where she is right now.”

“You mean she’s not at the office?” Shayne queried blankly.

“I mean she’s not at the office. It’s locked up tight. Neither is she at home. So where is she?”

“How should I know? I haven’t been in touch with her since about twelve.”

“I think you do know, Mike. I don’t believe for one minute it’s pure coincidence that Mrs. Wallace evaded her tail and disappeared the same time Lucy vanishes.”

“I’ve told you I don’t know, Will.” Shayne’s voice was very quiet. A muscle worked in his trenched right cheek as he met the chief’s gaze squarely.

“Is that flat? You have no idea where she is? You don’t know whether or not she met Mrs. Wallace?”

“That’s flat,” Shayne replied tonelessly. “I have no idea where Lucy is. I don’t know whether she met Mrs. Wallace or not.”

Will Gentry nodded glumly and went around his desk to lower his heavy body into the swivel chair.

“She may be in danger, Mike. If I’m right about Myra Wallace, the woman is a homicidal maniac, and, if she’s lured Lucy away on some pretext, we don’t know what she may do next. Hadn’t you better help us find her?”

“Yes,” said Shayne. “I guess I better.” He hesitated a moment, thinking fast. “I’ll make this bargain with you, Will. Give me your word that if I tell you everything I know about the case, you’ll let me walk out of here to start looking for Lucy my own way.”

Gentry pursed his thick lips dubiously. “Not if you’ve withheld vital information. Not unless I feel you were justified in holding back.”

Shayne said, “I’ll have to take a chance on your judgment.” He reached inside his pocket and drew out the pair of one-way airline tickets to South America, leaned far forward to spread them out on Chief Gentry’s desk. “We didn’t give you the full picture last night,” he conceded. “Though, if you’ll check back carefully, I think you’ll discover neither Lucy nor I lied in any particular. The fact is, I was at Lucy’s place when Mrs. Wallace first telephoned her. She didn’t tell Lucy what the trouble was, and we didn’t know Wallace was dead until we got there.”

He went on to describe the scene at the Wallace apartment in detail while Gentry picked up the tickets and studied them with hooded eyes.

“All right,” Shayne ended savagely, “so Lucy did twist me around her little finger as you suggested awhile ago. I didn’t think then, and I don’t think now, that keeping quiet about those tickets made any material difference in your investigation. I checked at the airport this morning and learned as much as you could have about them.”

He described his interview with the ticket-seller, and Rourke’s unsuccessful attempt to establish that a Brazilian visa had been obtained recently in Miami. “That’s item number one, Will. Am I clear on it?”

Gentry said, “I don’t know,” without raising his rumpled eyelids. “I’ll have to see how it ties in with the rest.”

“Number two is confidential information I got from Martin and Tompkins at the brokerage office this morning. It was given to me on the express condition that I was not to relay it to the police.”

“That doesn’t absolve you, Mike, if it has a direct bearing on murder. You know that. Legally, you have no right to accept information under those conditions.”

“Of course I know it,” Shayne broke in impatiently. “And I refused to give such a promise. I warned them at the time that I would have to use the information as I saw fit, if I thought it would help solve Wallace’s murder. That’s why I’m giving it to you now.” He paused a moment and glanced toward Timothy Rourke with a grimace. “Here’s a headline I hope to God you won’t print, Tim. This morning, Martin and Tompkins discovered that a million dollars was missing from the office safe.”

Neither man uttered a sound while Shayne described his interview with the two partners.

“That’s number two,” he ended. “I honestly don’t know, yet, what you would have done with that fact if you’d had it, Will. Sure, it ties up with Wallace’s murder somehow. Maybe it ties up with your suspicion of Mrs. Wallace and her disappearance this afternoon. But she certainly didn’t have the loot in her possession last night when Lucy and I got there… any more than she had the gun that killed her husband.”

“Have you thought about the possibility of her taking time to ditch both the gun and the money somewhere outside the apartment before she called Lucy?” Gentry’s voice was deceptively mild.

“I considered it last night,” Shayne told him, “and that’s one reason I was as interested as you in checking the elapsed time between her departure from the restaurant and her phone call to Lucy. I considered it again this morning, when I learned about the stolen money, but rejected it on the basis of Lucy’s appraisal of Mrs. Wallace and my own personal knowledge of her character.”

Gentry said, “What’s number three, Mike?”

“This note I found stashed away in one of Jim Wallace’s bureau drawers.” Shayne produced it and passed it over. “I kept it quiet mostly on account of Ed Donovan, who really wasn’t to blame for letting me into the apartment before you phoned him to keep me out. Hell, he knew your boys had cased the joint thoroughly and he saw no harm in letting me have a look around. He didn’t know I’d found anything by the time you called, and you can’t blame the guy, Will, for not admitting I’d already been there. I’d hate to see Ed get in trouble because he did me a small favor.”