Brett Halliday - Pay-Off in Blood

Shayne said quietly, “You had to know about his blackmail, Belle. You made out the monthly bills to patients. You knew the ones who were forced to pay added amounts each month as the price of his silence… to make up his gambling losses. Being the essentially decent woman that I think you are, you wouldn’t have gone along with this over the years, if he hadn’t been holding something over your head also.”

She wilted suddenly, and hung her head. Listlessly, she said, “I hoped… no one would ever have to know. It was years ago. I fell in love with my patient. He was dying-a painful, incurable disease. But he would have lived in agony, for months longer, if I hadn’t given him an overdose of sleeping pills. Dr. Ambrose knew. He was the doctor. No jury would have believed I did it for love. The boy left me all his savings.”

“That’s why you went to the office and emptied the strongbox last night after Ambrose was dead, wasn’t it?”

Shayne went on remorselessly. “Because you felt sorry for all his patients, who had been paying him off in monthly installments for years to keep the contents of that box secret?”

“I didn’t,” she cried out violently. “It was lying on the floor, open and empty, when I got there last night. Whoever killed him must have got the key to the box and to the office.”

Shayne shook his head. “That doesn’t add up, Belle. You told me he carried the key to the box on his car keyring. But his car was sitting in the driveway, with the motor still running, when the neighbor found his body. That means the ignition was still on… the car key still in the lock. You’re the only one who knew about the box and had another key to it, Belle. You went there and emptied it before Rourke and I got there last night. You already had those blackmail documents in your bag when we broke in on you… didn’t you?”

“All right, I did.” She faced him defiantly now. “I’m proud to admit it. Why shouldn’t I? Every one of them is burned up now, and a lot of people in Miami and on the Beach are going to breathe easier because of it. If it’s a crime to destroy blackmail evidence, go ahead and arrest me.”

Shayne said, “I don’t think that’s a crime, Belle. But, unfortunately, murder is. Even if the victim was Dr. Ambrose, who probably deserved killing as much as any man who ever got his just deserts.”

“They won’t be too hard on her, will they?” Belle asked in a hushed tone, nodding toward the rear bedroom. “None of us know what sort of cross she’s had to bear… living with him all these years. Won’t they take all that into account when she stands trial?”

Shayne said, “I hope they’ll take all that into account when you stand trial for this murder, Belle.”

She stared at him incredulously, lacing her fingers together in her lap, and unlacing them.

“Me? You know that gun was right here in this house all the time! She must have grabbed it last night, after she heard him drive up…”

Shayne shook his head and held up a big hand to shut off her protestations.

“You were the one who knew what he was getting in that envelope he picked up from Cecil Montgomery at the Seacliff Restaurant last night. The temptation was just too much to resist, wasn’t it? You knew he was going to turn that twenty thousand dollars over to the bookies’ collector later on in the evening, and you thought you might as well have it as they. You were waiting out here for him with his own gun, which you had taken from the office… and they’re going to prove premeditated murder against you, Belle, no matter how you argue otherwise.”

“But you saw that towel and the extra clip in his bedroom drawer! You said they could make tests to prove how lately the gun had been there.”

“They can make a pretty good guess how lately the gun was on that towel,” conceded Shayne. “But the towel wasn’t in that drawer last night, Belle. Only way it could have got where it is at present is for you to have brought it here from the office and planted it there after you got Celia tight.”

Belle was panting hard, staring at him unbelievingly. “I didn’t! You can’t ever prove I did!”

Shayne said, “That’s the one place you miscalculated, Belle. You thought Peter Painter was pretty stupid when he questioned you last night. I grant you that he isn’t exactly brilliant. But he’s a good policeman and he follows the rule-book. He had his men go over this house with a fine-tooth comb last night, and if that towel and extra pistol clip had been in the drawer last night, Celia Ambrose would be under arrest right now. You overplayed your hand when you planted it there after the police search. It’ll be a damned shame and a waste of raw material if they put that big, beautiful body of yours in the gas chamber, but you’re like so many murderers, Belle. You just can’t leave well enough alone.”

It was six o’clock before Michael Shayne finally got away from Police Headquarters in Miami and found time to telephone Lucy.

He let her telephone ring a long time, thinking she might be in the shower, but got no answer.

He frowned as he hung up, and hesitated, then dialled his office on the off-chance that she might still be there. Her voice answered on the first ring.

He said, “Why aren’t you home?” and she replied in that tone of patient forbearance, which only secretaries and wives can manage:

“Because I’ve been sitting here the last two hours expecting you to call every moment. I thought you’d be interested in a final report on Fritz Harlan.”

“I just talked to Abe Lincoln,” Shayne told her. “How about meeting me for dinner?”

There was a brief pause. Then Lucy replied frigidly, “If you’re quite sure you can drag yourself away from your nurse that long, I will be happy to accept your invitation, Mr. Shayne.”

He chuckled, realizing that she knew nothing about what had happened and must suspect that he had spent the entire afternoon with Belle. He said blithely, “That’s okay, Angel. She’s otherwise occupied for the evening. How about some seafood? Meet you at the Seacliff in five minutes.”

She said, “Ten,” and hung up.

It was nearer fifteen minutes later when she hurried inside the restaurant. Facing the door in the third booth, Shayne waved to her and she came toward him eagerly with a sunny smile on her face. “Why didn’t you tell me, Michael? I turned on my car radio and heard all about it.”

“I was saving it for a surprise.” Shayne fingered the cocktail glass in front of him, and nodded to the waiter. “Two more sidecars, please.”

“So it was Belle who did it? And you actually came here and helped a blackmailer collect his money last night?”

“I was sucked into it beautifully. Right here in this booth while I stood at the bar and watched it happen.” He emptied his glass and shoved it aside. “But Mrs. Montgomery will get her money back.”

“Mrs. Montgomery? Was she being blackmailed?”

“I forgot you didn’t know about my visit with her. On account of her son, Cecil.” Shayne spoke the name with distaste, using a short “e.” “That’s how Fritz Harlan got mixed up in the deal.”

Two sidecars were set in front of them and Lucy took a sip of hers before saying, “I didn’t understand that very well when Mr. Lincoln tried to explain it over the phone. Did he take a picture of them?”

“He hired George Bayliss to. But he recognized Dr. Ambrose at once, and because he had been a participant in the old scandal that was behind the blackmail, he got frightened and went into hiding instead of turning the picture over to Cecil.” This time he pronounced the name with a long “e.”