Brett Halliday - The Corpse That Never Was

“Why not get it from the horse’s mouth?”

“I will. First, I want to get a few things straight in my own mind before I tackle Nathan. Use your phone?” He stretched a long arm out for it and got a slip of paper from his pocket.

Rourke said, “Sure,” and pushed a button that gave him an outside line. Shayne dialled a number while Rourke listened curiously. A man’s voice answered the ring, and Shayne asked, “Sergeant Deitch?”

“Speaking.”

“Mike Shayne, Sergeant. I was up at that apartment last night…”

“I remember. You found them, didn’t you?”

“That’s right. I’ve just come from Will Gentry’s office, Sergeant, and he said okay if I asked you for some off-the-record help.”

“What kind of help?”

“A complete and thorough fingerprint job on the apartment for one thing. I’ve got a client who’ll pay for your expert help. Can you meet me there about twelve-thirty?”

“Wait a minute, Shayne.” Deitch’s voice was harshly defensive. “I dusted for prints last night. The Chief’s got my report. If you think I slipped on the job…”

“I don’t think you slipped at all,” Shayne said patiently. “I wouldn’t be asking you now if I didn’t know you’re the best man in Miami. You got what the lieutenant wanted last night. But I want everything… proof, if we can get it, that no one except those two were in that place last night.”

Deitch said cheerfully, “Okay. I don’t mind picking up an extra buck. Twelve-thirty?”

“See you there.” Shayne hung up with satisfaction and stood up. Timothy Rourke leaned back in his chair grinning up at him. “Mind if I join you at twelve-thirty? See how a real, honest-to-God detective works?”

Shayne said, “Come along. Bring anything you can get on Nathan, huh?” He went out through the City Room and down to his car.

The building in which Lucy Hamilton lived was a short distance from the newspaper office. Shayne parked in front where he had parked many times in the past, went into the small foyer and found a button “Manager. Gnd. Flr.” He pushed the button and in a moment the front door release clicked. He opened it and went across a bare, unoccupied lobby toward the self-service elevator which he never used when visiting Lucy in her second-floor apartment, and found a sign that said “Manager” with an arrow pointing down a narrow corridor to the left.

There was an open door at the end of the hall showing a rather plump girl wearing horn-rimmed glasses busily typing in front of a small switchboard which she could handle without moving out of her chair.

She looked up to greet him with a pleasant smile, and he asked, “Is the manager in?”

“Certainly.” She nodded her head toward a closed door on her right. “Go right in. I don’t think Mr. Barstow is particularly busy.”

Shayne thanked her and opened the door she had indicated. It was a large, pleasant office with sunlight streaming in a wide window, and with a bald-headed, chubby-faced man leaning back in a swivel chair behind the clean desk and caught square in the middle of a wide yawn by Shayne’s unannounced entrance.

He cut off the yawn in mid-stride, wriggled himself erect in the chair and put on an eager smile. “Is there something I can do for you?”

“I’m a detective, Mr. Barstow… is it?” Shayne sat in front of the desk and lit a cigarette.

“A detective? I see. In regard to that most unfortunate affair upstairs last night, no doubt.” Barstow frowned portentously and rubbed his pink, bald scalp with a pink palm. “A terrible thing. Most unfortunate. I talked to a lieutenant last night, you know. I’m afraid I wasn’t very much help because, you see, I scarcely knew the tenant. Lambert? Yes. A self-effacing sort, I remember thinking at the time he rented the apartment. Quiet and conservatively dressed. The type of renter one hopes to get for a bachelor apartment. With a man like that one doesn’t expect difficulties, you see. The sort of thing… ah… exactly the sort of thing that did occur last night. I consider myself a fair judge of human nature, and I simply never would have dreamed that Lambert was the sort to have an affair with a married woman.”

“You never can tell by appearances,” Shayne agreed sympathetically. “Speaking of appearances, Mr. Barstow, what do you recall about the man? I know you described him last night, but I thought perhaps you’d given the matter further thought and could add something to your description this morning.”

“Indeed I have given it further thought. Yes, indeed. My gracious, it’s the first time anything like this has ever occurred in a building under my management. On the other hand, I’m afraid there’s not much I can add to the description I gave your lieutenant last night. Just sort of medium.” He spread out both his plump palms in exasperation. “I did remember noticing that he signed the rental agreement with his left hand. The lieutenant said that might be very important.”

“And it probably is,” Shayne told him. “You see, our handwriting expert says the suicide notes were written by a left-handed man. He had a dark mustache, I believe, and wore tinted glasses.”

“Lightly tinted. Blue. So light the color was scarcely noticeable.”

“And he just dropped in cold, looking for an apartment? No one referred him to you?”

“In answer to an advertisement. He was very easily pleased and appeared satisfied with the price, remarking that he would not be occupying the apartment a great deal and would require no maid service. I do recall that he particularly required a telephone and was delighted that our transient apartments have telephones served by a switchboard.”

Shayne nodded thoughtfully. This was the first time he had known the building had its own telephones. Lucy, of course, had her own private line, but that was on a year’s lease…

He said, “I understand he gave you a home address in Jacksonville?”

“Yes. I gave it to the lieutenant. He explained that his home office was there, but that he was trying to build up this territory and would be in Miami possibly two or three days each week.”

“The Jacksonville address was a phony,” Shayne told him. “Non-existent.”

“Dear me. Then do you suppose…?”

“Right now,” said Shayne evenly, “it looks as though he used your building simply as a trysting place. We don’t even know if Lambert was his name. You didn’t ask for references, I suppose?”

“N-no. Not in the case of a month-to-month rental. He paid the first month in advance, you see.”

“In cash, I understand?” Shayne made his voice hard and raised ragged, red eyebrows in disapproval. “Didn’t you think that was quite unusual? Don’t most tenants pay by check?”

“They do, of course,” the manager agreed stiffly. “On the other hand, he said something about not wanting to ask me to take an out-of-town check since he desired immediate occupancy.”

“That was less than a month ago?”

“Three weeks ago yesterday. I checked the date this morning. I’m sorry I can’t help you more, but I must reiterate that I saw the man only that one time. He had his own key to the front door and we have a self-service elevator. We try not to intrude on our tenants’ privacy so long as they give us no reason for doing so.”

“This company he worked for? He said he was a salesman?”

“Yes. That is, I believe it was definitely implied. He mentioned his territory being enlarged recently to include Miami.”

“Did he mention the name of the company? What sort of product he handled?”

“I don’t… believe… I, I’m just not sure. It may have been mentioned casually, but I simply don’t recollect.”