Brett Halliday - The Violent World of Michael Shayne

“Didn’t we decide at one point you were going to call me Mike?”

“Are you drunk, by any chance?”

“Slightly, and I’m tired. Is anybody with you?”

She drew in her breath sharply and slammed down the phone.

Shayne looked up the number and dialed it again. She let it ring as long as she could stand it, then picked it up and said angrily, “You’re a grown man, try to act like one. What did I do to bring this on?”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know how that was going to sound. To put it another way, would it be all right if I come over? Don’t hang up! All of a sudden it’s occurred to me that maybe you’ve been telling the truth.”

He wasn’t sure she was still on the line until she said suspiciously, “Which of your various accusations are you withdrawing?”

“All of them. I don’t think you’re working for Sam Toby. I don’t think you knew he set up that dinner where you met Hitchcock. I don’t think you’ve been trying to blackmail anybody. This puts things in a different light. I really think you’ve been used by some pretty crummy people.”

“I did go to the Caribbean with that Department of Labor man,” she said after a moment.

“That’s long in the past. There’s something I want you to do for me, Maggie. Can I come over?”

“Mike, I don’t know! I may not have much of a reputation, but I’d like to keep what little I have. Not to mention the fact that I don’t know you.”

“Wait a minute. Even if I had any such ideas, which I didn’t before you brought it up-”

“Before I brought it up!”

Shayne continued, beginning to grin, “We’ve got too much else to cover. Maybe you’ll invite me to breakfast.”

“Breakfast isn’t entirely impossible,” she said doubtfully, “but-”

“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes,” he said, and hung up before she could point out that she hadn’t yet decided to invite him. He underlined her address in the phone book and tore out the page.

“Are you going to need us?” Oskar said.

“I think so,” Shayne said, his mind racing. “There are some Texans in town, and they keep telling me what they’re going to do to me the next time they see me. First I’m going to wake up a few more people.”

He dialed the home phone of Senator William P. Redpath. Someone cut off the ring almost before it started, but all Shayne could hear was the sound of heavy breathing.

“Hello!” he shouted. He whistled into the phone. “Hello! Mrs. Redpath?”

“Hello,” a man’s voice said fuzzily.

“Sorry to be calling you at this hour,” Shayne said loudly, “but will you get Mrs. Redpath to the phone?”

“Who’s this?” the voice said more distinctly.

“My name is Shayne. If this is Senator Redpath, your wife knows me. I want to ask her about a woman named Olga Szep who used to work for her before she married you.”

He winked at Olga reassuringly. There was silence at the other end of the line for a long moment.

“Let me have your name again.”

“Shayne. I’ve been working all night on the Sam Toby investigation. Your wife’s name keeps cropping up, sometimes as Mrs. Redpath and sometimes as Mrs. Masterson.”

Adelle Redpath’s voice exploded in Shayne’s ear. “What a ghastly hour! Precisely what do you mean by this, Mr. Shayne?”

“I’ve already told your husband I was sorry,” Shayne said. “Don’t shout. I’ve had a bad night. I thought you’d want to know what happened to your diary.”

Probably she had been in tight places before, and she didn’t gasp or cry out, but merely said cautiously, “I’ve lost touch with Olga in the past year.”

“Does that mean your husband doesn’t know you used to keep a diary?”

“Not yet. And I hope that continues.”

“OK. I expect you know that it was copied, on or about June 25th last year. It’s my guess that only one copy exists. There’s a chance I can get hold of it. If I do, I’ll turn it over to you without reading it, in return for a small amount of cooperation from you and your husband.”

“And you’re a private detective?”

“You’ll have to take it on faith,” Shayne snapped. “I want to talk to Senator Redpath the first thing in the morning, and I want you to arrange it for me. Between now and then I think you have to tell him the full story.”

“Why?”

“The big reason is that an investigator who helped organize the theft of your diary was murdered tonight.”

“What did you say?” she said quickly.

“You heard me. The body hasn’t been identified yet. We may have until noon. If it hasn’t been cleared up by then, the whole thing has to come out. That means names, dates and prices.”

“My God. How do you figure in this?”

“People have been making me look dumb ever since I got to town, Mrs. Redpath, I’m sorry to say including you. I can’t be expected to like it, and right here is where it stops. Now ask your husband where would be a good place to meet.”

“Call me back. I want to think it over first.”

“You can think faster than that. I’m in a hurry.”

She covered the mouthpiece. Oskar brought Shayne a new drink, and he sipped it while she convinced her husband.

“There’s a room on the Senate side of the Capitol, on the gallery level, G 251,” she said curtly. “At ten.”

Shayne agreed. After hanging up he sat looking down into his cognac and waiting for the name of the National Aviation lobbyist to come to him. Someone had mentioned it in passing, and he hadn’t supposed he would ever need to know it. But it was there. It rose to the surface after a moment-Henry Clark. There were four Henry Clarks listed, and Shayne dialled the one that had two office phones and one residence. This time the voice that answered was crisp and alert.

“Yes?”

“Does the name Shayne ring any bell with you?”

“Yes, indeed. I heard you were in town.”

“Would you know what I was talking about if I said that Senator Hitchcock won’t be seeing anything more of Mrs. Smith?”

“I’d have a faint idea,” Clark said. “And as an admirer of Senator Hitchcock, I’m happy to hear it. That was fast. Will you be going back in the morning?”

“I doubt it. Too many other things have happened. Mr. Clark, what’s the most your company hopes to get out of this Toby investigation? What stakes are you playing for?”

Clark considered. “We’re walking a rather fine line there, Shayne. If the hearings produce evidence of some transaction that is so raw and extreme that Manners can’t be allowed to keep the contract, it will fall in my client’s lap. No one would like that. The program’s already nine months behind and any shift would mean a further delay. Whatever you care to say about Hugh Manners, he’s an excellent production man. We don’t want the Pentagon really mad at us. It’s all right to rock the boat, but not to turn it over.”

“I’m trying to find out what you do want.”

“I don’t like to talk about it on the phone. Can we meet for breakfast?”

“I have a date for breakfast, and after that I’ll be busy. If somebody’s bugging us, that’s just too bad. I’m told you’ve been working closely with Senator Wall. I could be wrong, but I’d say that the odds are about five to one that he’s changed sides.”

“I’d be interested to know what makes you say that. Quite frankly, it would hurt.”

“I haven’t worked it all out yet. You still haven’t told me what National wants to get out of it.”

“We’d like to recover our expenses in the contract competition, a matter of some ten million dollars. We want part of the subcontract for the airframe assembly, to keep one of our key plants in operation. And we want an informal assurance that our bid on the new Navy fighter program will be given, oh, a two-or three-point edge because of the shellacking we took on this last one, through no fault of our own. Those three things.”