Brett Halliday - Never Kill a Client

“You see?” Rexforth took off his glasses and practically beamed at the detective exactly like a schoolteacher who has just solved a difficult equation on the blackboard. “That’s why O’Keefe must have insisted that all of the money remain intact until he was free to enjoy his share. That’s why,” he added sharply, replacing his glasses, “I have no intention of compromising with you and accepting half the sum at this point. I am certain that you and O’Keefe have recovered… or are prepared to recover… the entire amount my company was defrauded of. I shall not settle for less,” he warned with thin-lipped sternness.

“You’re making a pretty strong demand without very much to back it up,” Shayne told him easily. “Since you’ve got everything else figured out meticulously, just where do you think the money is… and how was it placed in escrow until O’Keefe was in a position to get his share?”

“I imagine it is some place in Miami. Robert Long and Julius O’Keefe made a trip to Miami together from Jacksonville a few days before an audit of the company’s books disclosed the embezzlement. They knew the audit had been ordered and that disclosure was near, so it is reasonable to presume that they made their final arrangements at that time right here in Miami. Add the known fact that O’Keefe came directly here after his release yesterday, and I think that clinches it.

“As to the ‘how’… and I like your usage of the word ‘escrow’ in that connection… most appropriate… I am sure you know the ‘how’ of it much better than I. A safe deposit box is the first and most obvious answer, but there is the matter of identification and other legal difficulties involved in dealing with a bank. No, I think the most obvious answer would be an object placed in storage. An ordinary-looking trunk or suitcase, perhaps.” He leaned forward on the edge of the bed and peered at Shayne with glittering eyes as though he were solving a difficult problem at chess.

“Was that it? With a numbered storage receipt simply torn in half so that neither half would be acceptable without it’s matching counterpart. That would seem the simplest solution to such a problem.”

Shayne objected, “Couldn’t a man holding one of those halves go to the company and claim the suitcase by saying it had been torn in half accidentally?”

“Not with a reputable company. Not without identifying himself to their satisfaction, and not without describing the contents of the piece before it was opened in the presence of witnesses. Can you imagine a man claiming a suitcase, under those circumstances, making an affidavit that it contained a hundred thousand dollars in United States currency?”

Rexforth chuckled happily and shook his head. “No. I think that would have been just about the most foolproof procedure Long and O’Keefe could have devised under the circumstances… and I think that is what Long passed on to you before he died, Mr. Shayne,” he added, reverting to deadly calm. “His half of the receipt. Either that, or he told you the story, as he was dying, and instructed you to get his half from his wife before going to O’Keefe in prison. I am sure you were to tell O’Keefe that his faithless former wife knew nothing about your having it, and that you were to assure him she would receive no portion of Long’s half.

“Now, Mr. Shayne. Have I thoroughly convinced you that I know whereof I speak and that I hold all the trump cards? I’m sure you realize that I have merely to go to the police with my evidence and the entire sum will be promptly confiscated.”

“What evidence?” scoffed Shayne. “You’ve wasted ten minutes of my time spilling one of the wildest stories of conjecture and suppositions that I’ve heard since a certain blonde recently tried to sell me on the idea that she was Castro’s ex-mistress and had stolen a set of plans for the communists to occupy our naval base at Guantanamo.” He paused, studying Rexforth carefully to see if this brought forth any reaction.

It didn’t.

The little man in the rumpled pajamas merely moistened his lips and said, “There’s more, Shayne. Do you want to hear the rest of it, so you will thoroughly understand how impossible your position is?”

“Sure. Give me the rest of your crap. But make it fast, will you? We’re wasting one hell of a lot of time sitting here doing nothing.”

“I don’t consider it a waste of time, Mr. Shayne. Indeed, I consider it time well spent. I am certain you are now quite well convinced that you hold a losing hand. That I have, as I assured you, all the trumps on my side. I’ve explained to you in full and complete detail how I reached the conclusion that you planned to induce O’Keefe to share the stolen money with you as soon as his release from prison could be managed. I was positive of my facts as soon as I learned of your first visit with him soon after Long’s death.

“Soon after that I received information from reliable underworld connections that a movement was afoot to procure a full pardon for O’Keefe. That political pressure was being brought by persons who have influence with the parole board… and that this was being engineered by a certain attorney in Miami who has a reputation for getting results if he is properly reimbursed for his efforts.

“He is the sort of man, Shayne, to whom I realize you would turn if you were faced with a problem of this sort… the immediate release of a prisoner from the State Penitentiary.

“Then I knew, Shayne. I knew that each one of my various assumptions was correct… and I bided my time. I was informed of your second visit to O’Keefe less than a month ago, and of the subsequent action of the pardon board a few days ago. That is why I made an appointment with your secretary by long distance day before yesterday… to meet you in your office the day O’Keefe was released, but before he could possibly reach you… to ask… no, not to ask, Shayne… to demand your cooperation in the matter. To offer you our standard ten percent recovery fee in a matter of this sort. I felt that was fair. I wanted to be fair. Live and let live is my motto, Mr. Shayne. Indeed, I was prepared to be generous. I realize you must have expended a certain amount of cash, and a great deal of your time and energy on the matter already, and I expected to remunerate you for that expenditure in addition to our standard fee.

“And what happened, Mr. Shayne?” He shook his head sadly. “I found you acting in a shifty manner. Not only were you not in your office to keep a definite appointment with me at eleven-thirty, but your well-rehearsed secretary calmly informed me that you had been called out of town unexpectedly and were not expected back for a day or so at least.

“I did not believe her, of course. Knowing that O’Keefe was being released that morning, I was positive he would come directly to you… and with that amount of money at stake I could not well imagine Michael Shayne taking off into the wild blue yonder instead of waiting for O’Keefe’s arrival. I realized you were pulling what might well be characterized as one of your ‘fast ones’, but I was determined it would not work with me. Now, Mr. Shayne. Are you prepared to turn the money over to me intact… less your recovery fee, of course? Or do you intend to force me to go to the police with my information… in which event I assure you there will not even be one percent coming your way.”

Shayne hesitated a long moment before answering, glaring at Lucy’s “nasty little man” balefully. Finally, he said angrily:

“Go to the police if you like, Rexforth. You haven’t one single bit of proof for any one of your statements. Who is the lawyer who’s supposed to have been my go-between to the pardon board to get O’Keefe freed? You haven’t even named him.”