Brett Halliday - The Corpse That Never Was

There was just the coincidence that it had happened on the heels of the double suicide last night. Shayne didn’t like coincidences in homicide investigations.

And there was the further coincidence that the blow that had crushed Max’s skull had been delivered by a left-handed man.

Robert Lambert was left-handed.

But Robert Lambert was dead. It was a cinch he hadn’t killed Max.

This reminded him that he was to call Harry Brandt, and he looked at his watch. A few minutes past four. He dialled the number and said, “Mike Shayne, Harry. What’s the dope on those notes and the signatures?”

“It’s open and shut, Mike. The notes and the rental agreement were written and signed by the same man. A left-hander. You want one of my famous character analyses as deduced from his handwriting to go along with that conclusion?”

Shayne said, “Sure. Let’s have it.”

“He’s under forty, but not too much.” Harry Brandt spoke with quiet assurance. “Middle-class background, I’d say. High school and maybe college. Not a brilliant intellect, but not stupid. A romantic who has become embittered by the role life has handed him and is continually looking for a way out… a way to break the bonds. Not an active criminal type, but certainly a passive one, without too many scruples if he saw a chance to get away with something. How’s that for a character analysis in one brief nutshell?”

“Sounds all right,” growled Shayne. “If we ever find out who Robert Lambert is, I’ll let you know how close you hit it. Send me a bill, Harry.”

“Will do.”

This concluded the conversation, and again Shayne sank back with a frown and returned to his cognac and its ice-water chaser.

Both glasses were almost empty when he heard a hesitant knock on his door. He went to it to admit a pleasant-faced woman of about thirty, with a direct gaze that pleased him, and a spray of freckles across the bridge of her nose that somehow gave her a wholesome and ingenuous look. She wore a simple cotton dress and sensible shoes with Cuban heels, and her only jewelry was a plain gold wedding ring on her left hand.

Her look was frankly appraising and her handclasp was firm as she said, “It was kind of you to see me, Mr. Shayne, I’m afraid I’ve come on a fool’s errand, but… I didn’t know what else to do.”

Shayne said, “Come in, Mrs. Grogan.” He closed the door behind her and said, “I’m having a drink. Can I get something for you?”

“No, thank you. I don’t hardly… I hardly ever take a drink in the afternoon.” She paused in front of a chair close to the table and turned, clasping her hands together in front of her. He saw now that she was striving to conceal an inner nervousness or fright. “You said on the phone about the Hacienda… do you know my husband, Mr. Shayne?”

“No. I simply happen to know that there is a man named Joe Grogan who works as a croupier at the Hacienda.”

“Has that got anything to do with… with the case you’re working on? That is, it said in the afternoon paper that you were investigating that double suicide last night.”

Shayne said, “Please sit down, Mrs. Grogan,” and moved to his own chair and poured more cognac into his glass. “Before I answer your question, tell me about your husband. Why are you worried about him?”

“Because he didn’t come home last night. And never a word from him all day. And I called the Hacienda at noon and they said Joe never turned up for work last night and he hadn’t told them beforehand and they hadn’t heard from him either.”

Shayne said, “A lot of things might have happened.”

“Joe’s steady. He’s never done anything like that before. He liked his job the best of any job he ever had. It gave him, oh… a feeling of being important. Seeing people lose more money in one night than he ever earned in a year… and not turning a hair either. But it’s more than that. He’s been funny… this last month he has. Like he had a secret he wouldn’t tell me. But he had some extra money and he kept hinting about I wasn’t to worry because there was going to be a lot more where that came from. And last night I could see he was keyed-up. Before I went off to work, I could tell. I’m a cocktail waitress in the Griffin Hotel lounge from six to twelve, and have to leave for work at five-thirty. He kept saying I wasn’t to worry and maybe he’d tell me all about it today. And then… he wasn’t home when I woke up this morning.”

“What makes you think it has anything to do with the suicides last night?”

“It’s not much, I know. It’s just… well, when I read about that Mrs. Paul Nathan in the paper this morning, it came to me suddenly. That’s the name of the man he mentioned a month ago when this all started, like I said. It was another Saturday morning I remember because we always go to the beach on Saturdays, and Joe began talking about the rich people that gambled at the Hacienda, and how lots of them got real friendly with him at the roulette table while they were playing, and not uppity at all.

“And he mentioned this Paul Nathan as an example, and he hinted that they were cooking up something together that was going to make him a lot of money. But he clammed right up and said I was to forget all about it when I begged him not to do anything foolish because he was sure to get caught. Like fixing the table, you know, or some trick to make this Mr. Nathan win at roulette instead of lose. And he said it wasn’t like that at all, and I wasn’t to say another word about it, but maybe things were going to be so I could quit working as a waitress. So when I read about Mr. Nathan’s wife last night… and Joe not home and no word from him at all, I got to thinking back and I got worried. Do you know anything about Joe, Mr. Shayne?”

Shayne said, “No. I’m sorry, Mrs. Grogan. All I know is that Paul Nathan played roulette at your husband’s table the last two Friday nights; and the first night they went down to the bar together and had a couple of drinks and a talk at the bar after the gambling room closed at four. And last Friday Nathan was playing alone at your husband’s table just before closing and they were observed talking together. That’s nothing in itself, but with what you’ve told me it may add up to something.”

“Like what, Mr. Shayne?” She twisted her hands together in her lap and caught her lower lip tightly between her teeth.

Shayne said honestly, “At this point, I don’t know. I can’t even make an intelligent guess. You said you thought they might have some scheme for Nathan to win money at roulette. Do you mean the table is crooked and the croupier can fix it so a certain person will win if he wants him to?”

“Oh, no. It wasn’t that. I’m sure it wasn’t. The games are all straight at the Hacienda. Joe always said that. It’s one reason why he liked to work there. But… well, it’s something that Joe might do. I don’t want you to get me wrong, Mr. Shayne. He’s a good man. Never been arrested in his life.” She said this proudly. “He isn’t what you’d call a gambler. Not like a lot of the others that hang around those joints. It was a job to Joe. Pure and simple, a steady job. He wouldn’t do anything he thought was wrong or really crooked. Not for all the money in the world. But you know how it is working in a place like that every night. Money gets so it doesn’t mean very much. In the first place, they’re all breaking the law. The ones that run the games and the ones that come to play. So you get a sort of different slant on things, I guess. It wouldn’t really seem like stealing money… to maybe fix it to get a little of it for yourself. I know Joe felt that way. Him getting just a regular salary while the house was raking in thousands of dollars every night. So when he kind of hinted that he and Mr. Nathan were into something that would make him rich, I just thought it might have to do with gambling.”