Brett Halliday - The Violent World of Michael Shayne

“She said something about Toby arranging for us to meet,” Hitchcock said. “What did she mean?”

“Mrs. Redpath asked you to dinner as a favor for Toby. She told me that herself.”

“Adelle?” Hitchcock frowned, puzzled. “If she says so I’ll have to accept it, but that doesn’t prove Maggie was in on it.”

“It’s a good indication.” Looking down into his glass, Shayne picked his arguments carefully. “Even if you’re not entirely convinced, won’t you want to call time until the hearings are over? If Maggie’s telling the truth she’ll understand why you can’t afford to take any chances.”

The Senator shook his head slowly. “You’re advising me to withhold judgment. But that’s not how it would look to her. She’d think I’d convicted her without giving her any real chance to explain. Damn it, I shouldn’t have been as cold as that on the phone. I hate to think what she must be going through right now.”

“She didn’t admit that Caribbean cruise until she had to,” Shayne pointed out.

Hitchcock went on as though the detective hadn’t spoken. “In a strange way, this is my last chance, Mike. The last chance I may ever have to get hold of anything real. I can’t let it end like this.”

“Why the hell not?” Shayne exclaimed, suddenly losing his patience with the stubborn old man. “Your daughter will tell you that she didn’t have an easy time getting me up here. I agreed to come because I didn’t like the idea of someone in your position being played for a patsy in what looks like an up-to-date version of the old badger game. OK-maybe it’s not, but it sure as hell looks like it, and why not play safe for a couple of weeks?”

“Because Maggie isn’t an abstraction, Mike. She’s a person.”

“Oh, my God! Well, there’s an old rule among con-men-the victim has to be willing. If you think you absolutely have to talk to her tomorrow, will you let me fix the place, and go over it first for bugs and cameras?”

“No, Mike. Either I trust her or I don’t.”

Shayne put the glass beside the bottle. Sitting forward, he planted his big hands on his knees.

“Your daughter told me this wouldn’t take more than a couple of hours. I didn’t really expect it to be that simple. Before I go, Senator, would you mind telling me a few things that have no connection with Maggie Smith? What did Senator Redpath have to do with awarding this contract?”

“Redpath?” Hitchcock said, surprised. “You’re asking because of Adelle’s dinner, of course, and that’s hardly unconnected with Maggie Smith. You’re giving this too much weight, Mike. We could have met in any of dozens of ways.” He considered, drawing on his cigar. “Hank Redpath-well, I wonder. Half the Senate was involved with the contract on one side or the other. How much do you know about it?”

“Very damn little. I know who won, and that’s about all.”

“Who lost is more important. National Aviation isn’t accustomed to losing contracts of this size. They’re a big amalgamation of a half-dozen companies, and their political connections, their military connections, their banking connections are all very good. They make a point of spotting their subcontracts in swing states where there are senators who expect a hard fight for reelection and are looking for campaign contributions. That’s where the real lobbying takes place, back in the states. It’s one reason our investigations here never do more than scratch the surface. Is this the kind of thing you want?”

“More or less.”

“Manners Aerosystems also has plants in a number of states, but it’s mainly a Texas company. As you may know, the Texas delegation pulls a disproportionate amount of weight in this town. But they couldn’t have done it alone. Redpath would be a good ally. He has twelve years’ seniority on the Finance Committee, where the brass hats have to come every year for money. If Redpath had a strong opinion on the merits of one contender versus the other, unquestionably he would have been listened to. But sooner or later most cloakroom rumors end up with me, and I haven’t heard this one. Oh, he may have made a few phone calls and written a few routine letters.”

Hitchcock’s eyes were wandering. He couldn’t seem to keep his mind on what he was saying. He said suddenly, “Here’s an idea. I recorded that phone conversation with Maggie. Why don’t I spring that on Toby? Tell him to stop putting pressure on her or I’ll give it to the papers. There’s no statute of limitations on publicity. I couldn’t put him in jail with it, but I could hurt him.”

Shayne stood up. “Leave blackmail to the experts, Senator. You could hurt Toby but you’d also hurt Maggie. He’d think it over and tell you to go ahead.”

Hitchcock’s face fell. “You’re right, of course.”

“I don’t suppose you want to tell me what Senator Wall is so hopped up about?”

“Tom Wall gets hopped up faster and more easily than any other man in the Senate. And sometimes for less cause.” Shayne pulled at his earlobe indecisively. “That does it, then. I can’t think of anything else.”

Hitchcock came to the door with him. “Mike, I keep thinking of reasons I ought to believe her. Toby must know I couldn’t drop the investigation at this stage even if I wanted to. After it gets to public hearings, it picks up it own momentum. It’s really been Tom’s baby, anyway. Why not pick on him? And rumors aside, giving the contract to Manners was the proper thing to do. He was well in the lead on performance points. He’s one of the few industrial geniuses still around. The time for an investigation would have been if National had got it.” His mind skipped back to Maggie. “Just because I haven’t promised not to see her again, don’t make that an excuse to hector her any more, Mike. I mean that.”

“I’ve done everything I can with the facts I have,” Shayne said. “You’re over twenty-one.”

“I’m glad somebody around here realizes that. You look tired. Go to bed and stop worrying. I can take care of myself.”

Shayne said goodnight soberly. He intended to go to bed, because he didn’t know what else to do, but he didn’t expect to stop worrying. Could Senator Hitchcock take care of himself? From what Shayne had seen so far, he doubted it very much.

10:25 P.M.

The savage grooves around Michael Shayne’s eyes and mouth were deeply etched as he came out of Senator Hitchcock’s house on Q Street. If Senator Wall had turned up something that could damage Sam Toby or the Texas crowd in the next day’s hearing, they couldn’t be expected to stand still and wait for it to happen. Their Maggie Smith gambit had failed, for the time being. But no professional-and Sam Toby was clearly that-stays at the top of his league without developing an assortment of pitches. He had missed with his fast ball, and now he’d come in with his curve or his slider. More than ever, Shayne was aware of not knowing the rules of the game he was playing.

He hesitated before getting into his Ford. And in that half-second a flicker of movement a block away pulled at his eye.

A man stepped out of a parked car and started in his direction. Shayne’s years of living with danger had given him a kind of built-in warning system, and all the bells were clanging violently. He waited. The sidewalk was deserted except for the approaching stranger. He was built like a light heavyweight. He walked with a swing, on the balls of his feet.

In front of Senator Hitchcock’s house, Shayne decided, was the wrong place for trouble. He lit a cigarette unhurriedly and slid behind the wheel. Swinging the rearview mirror, he picked up the approaching figure. The man quickened his step, then slowed abruptly as Shayne put the Ford in gear and moved away. A heavy car left the line of parked cars behind him. It looked like a Buick, the largest model in the most expensive series. Picking up the man on the sidewalk, it followed Shayne’s Ford, accelerating.