Brett Halliday - Framed in Blood

“For the last time,” Gentry burst out, “you and this young lady are going to have one chance to come clean with me. Push me one inch further and you both go behind bars.”

“What’s the trouble?” Shayne asked mildly.

“Miss Hamilton doesn’t seem to realize the seriousness of withholding evidence. If she thinks you can talk her out of this-”

“Withholding evidence?” Shayne’s tone was both shocked and grieved. He shook his head at Lucy, turned to Gentry, and asked, “What is the exact situation?”

“Miss Hamilton talked to the witness,” Gentry charged, “and refuses to tell us what Mrs. Jackson said. After getting into her bedroom by impersonating a nurse she bolted the door and refused to allow Sergeant Allen to enter, even after he heard them talking and knew the witness was conscious.

“When Miss Hamilton did come out,” he went on angrily, “she claimed that Mrs. Jackson had gone back into a coma and shouldn’t be disturbed. And, by God, when Allen went in she was pretending she was in a coma and refused to talk to him!

“Your secretary might have got away with it,” the chief continued bitterly, turning to Shayne, “if she hadn’t been recognized by one of my men when she was leaving the house. She still refuses to tell me one thing Mrs. Jackson told her. If she persists in this attitude-”

“Did Mrs. Jackson tell you anything about what happened last night in her brief return to consciousness?” Shayne interrupted in a stern, reproving voice.

Lucy stared at his bandaged ear and the puffed, purple left side of his face. “Yes, she did, Michael. But you’ve always told me the confidence of a client is inviolate and must not be repeated under any circumstances.”

“Since when did Mrs. Jackson become your client, Shayne?” the chief cut in. “You told me last night you didn’t have a client.”

“She became one-sort of-after I told you that,” Shayne explained. “I’ll make a deal with you, Will. If you’ll come down off your high horse and forget all this stuff about impersonating a nurse and withholding evidence, I’ll ask Lucy to tell us exactly what she got from Mrs. Jackson.”

“Not by a damn sight,” Gentry exploded. “You’re through messing in this case. She’ll tell me without you, or she goes to jail.”

Shayne spread out his big bruised hands. “Have it your own way, Will.” He grinned crookedly at Lucy and said, “It’s not too bad in jail, angel. Tell me what you need, and I’ll go pack your bag.”

“Like hell you will,” Gentry fumed. “You’ll be locked in the next cell block.”

“And you’ll wait until Mrs. Jackson is able to talk,” Shayne reminded him. “Which she may decide not to do, now that she knows her husband is dead. You did get the stuff from her before she knew that, didn’t you?” he asked Lucy.

“Yes, Michael,” said Lucy. “Just the way you told me. She was just coming to and hardly knew what she was saying.”

“There you are, Will. Are you going to hold things up just because I had sense enough to put a woman on the job and get the actual information before some cluck like Morgan or Sergeant Allen clammed her up by telling her the truth?”

Chief Gentry creaked back wearily in his swivel chair and was silent for fully thirty seconds. “I’m going to do it some day, Shayne,” he said slowly. “I swear to God I am. I’m going to catch you out on a limb-”

“But right now,” Shayne interrupted, “you’d better compromise. Give me your word that Lucy and I walk out of here together after she gives you the whole story. What could be fairer than that?”

Gentry grunted, rocked forward, and planted his elbows on the desk. “Will you give me your word, Miss Hamilton,” he asked formally, “that you’ll repeat exactly what Mrs. Jackson told you about last night?”

Lucy looked at Shayne for confirmation. “If Michael agrees.”

“I’d rather have it privately,” Shayne told her. “But this appears to be a stalemate, Lucy. Tell us what Mrs. Jackson said.”

Lucy faced the chief and met his cold gaze levelly. “Mrs. Jackson said she remembered taking two sleeping-tablets about nine-thirty last night because she was worried about her husband. He hadn’t been home, and she didn’t know where he was. She dimly recalled taking one or two more tablets sometime later. Before ten o’clock, she was sure, and she doesn’t know what happened after that.”

There was silence in the office.

Shayne’s face had a look of blank amazement. Tim Rourke had said he talked with Betty Jackson at twelve o’clock and that he had called her on the phone at two!

“Do you think she was telling the truth, Lucy?” he asked, trying to keep the tenseness he felt out of his voice.

“Why, I got the impression she was, Michael. She was just coming out of a coma, and she was terribly worried about her husband not coming home.”

“Did she claim she wasn’t conscious when Jackson returned at ten o’clock?” Gentry asked.

“Yes. She didn’t remember anything from nine-thirty on,” Lucy told him.

Shayne said, “This is as much a surprise and disappointment to me as it is to you, Will. I was counting big on getting some important dope from Mrs. Jackson.” He dragged a straight chair up to a strategic position where he could face both Lucy and the chief, sat down stiffly, and continued. “This leaves me completely out on a limb. If she’s telling the truth-”

“And if Miss Hamilton is telling the truth,” Gentry broke in pointedly.

“You are, aren’t you, Lucy?” Shayne asked. “I want you to. Don’t hold anything back now. You heard the bargain I made with Will.”

“That’s all of it, Michael.” She nodded emphatically. “When I was sure she wouldn’t tell me anything more, I told her about her husband being murdered.” She paused, moistened her lips and looked down at her hands.

“And?” Shayne prompted her sternly.

“Well, unless she’s a superb actress, it was a surprise-and a terrible shock to her.”

“So much of a shock that she sank right back into a coma?” Gentry demanded, rolling his rumpled lids halfway down.

“I didn’t say that,” Lucy protested. “It was Sergeant Allen. He insisted on going in to question her as soon as I unlocked the door. He’s the one who told you that.” She glanced aside at the sergeant who lounged against the closed door.

“I’m pretty sure Mrs. Jackson was pretending unconsciousness, Chief,” said the sergeant, moving forward to join them. “I had the distinct impression that she wanted to avoid being questioned.”

“What does it matter now?” said Shayne impatiently. “We know what she told Lucy before she knew her husband was dead.” He took Lucy’s arm and drew her to her feet. “Let’s get out of here. You’ve got a job waiting-straightening up the office.” He glanced at Ned Brooks and asked significantly, “You want me to drop you some place?”

“If you don’t mind,” the reporter answered, then added stiffly, “if the chief is through with me.”

“Hell, yes,” Gentry roared. “I’m through with all of you. If I find out Miss Hamilton isn’t telling the exact truth, Mike-”

“You can throw us both in jail-in the same cell.” Shayne gave him a lopsided smile and propelled Lucy from the room and down the corridor, with Ned Brooks following behind them.

Outside and on the way to the car Lucy breathed, “Michael, what has happened since I saw you this morning? Your face looks simply awful.”

“Just a little accident,” he told her cheerfully. “Ran my car into the bay. Had to buy a new one. Picked out one you’ll like.” They turned left on the walk, and Shayne glanced back. Ned Brooks was trailing some fifteen feet behind. Shayne lowered his voice and asked, “Anything you want to tell me fast?”