Brett Halliday - The Body Came Back

“Due to his influence with some of the higher-ranking members of the Miami Police Department, it is the understanding of this reporter that Shayne was later released on his own recognizance… with a slap on the wrist as it were, and an admonition to go and sin no more.

“It is a moot question whether this is the end of the affair. Perhaps there are two different sets of rules in the city of Miami governing the actions of ordinary private citizens and of extraordinary private detectives. We will demand and expect a statement from Chief of Police Will Gentry early tomorrow morning concerning the disposition of this case.

“And, now this is your roving reporter, Earl Hodges, signing off…”

Michael Shayne flipped off the radio and turned to Rourke who was leaning back comfortably with a satanic look of glee on his emaciated face. “There’s your headline for tomorrow. A real, good, juicy one.” He smacked his lips approvingly. “We’ll have to work up some sort of story to counteract it in the News.”

Shayne sat down glumly and sipped his drink. “Right now we’ve got more important things to think about than unfavorable publicity. What’s that guy’s address, Tim?”

“Duclos?” The reporter took a notebook from his pocket and opened it. “Out in the Little River section. George Duclos. In the two hundred block on Northwest Seventy-seventh Street.”

Shayne said, “Finish your drink and let’s go out to have a look-see.”

Rourke sighed and said, “I’m beginning to think you’re serious. Look. If we get caught at it this time…”

Shayne said, “We won’t get caught, Tim. We’ll just case the joint and see what the situation is. Shouldn’t be too difficult. All we need is a few minutes alone with that Ford.” He drained his glass and stood up decisively.

Rourke groaned audibly and followed him with feigned reluctance. They went down the hallway to the stairs, down those and out the side door into the night. Shayne strode directly to the reporter’s car parked in front of his and opened the door on the right side. “Better use your transportation,” he suggested casually. “Too many cops know my car and they might start wondering if they saw me prowling around that neighborhood tonight.”

Rourke went around and got in beside him. “Sure. Let’s take my car… and stick out my neck.”

Shayne grinned and lit a cigarette as Rourke started up and made a U-turn in the middle of the block. “There’s no law against you driving me around town. We won’t take any chances, Tim.”

“Ha-ha,” Rourke laughed hollowly. “Old cautious Mike Shayne. Sure. I know.” He turned east to the Boulevard and headed north. “You going to tell me any more about how you got yourself dragged into this mess?”

“I’ve already told you,” Shayne reminded him mildly. “This friend of Brett’s called me up…”

“From the Encanto Hotel?” demanded Rourke, hunched over the wheel and driving a moderate forty miles per hour over the almost empty Boulevard.

“From the Encanto,” agreed Shayne. “If you must know. She had a suite there with a corpse in her bedroom. Damn it, Tim. She hadn’t killed the guy. Her daughter had… just before she checked in from Hollywood. A sweet kid who’s scheduled to get married tomorrow. She panicked and left a note for mama and ran out.”

“How do you know all this?” asked Rourke cautiously. “There’s a good-looking dame who tells you a plausible story…”

“I read the note her daughter left her. I’ve got it in my pocket,” Shayne told him angrily. “For Christ’s sake, don’t work so hard being cynical, Tim. This is on the up-and-up. The girl shot him in self-defense when he came to the hotel room looking for her mother… and then attacked her. No jury in the world would ever hold her for that.”

“Then why get yourself involved? If it’s open and shut like you say…”

“Because the guy she shot to death was her own father… only she didn’t know it. You see, the guy deserted her mother before she was born, and she never saw him. Now do you get the picture? Are you going to contend that she should be told the truth… on the eve of her wedding… give her something to live with the rest of her life?”

“Won’t she find out anyhow?”

“Not if we’re lucky and can get hold of that damned corpse and dispose of it somewhere a long way from the Encanto. It’s a long story, Tim, but take my word for it. The odds are fifty-to-one she’ll never know it was her father this way. If I’d left the body lying there and called the cops as I should have, there would have been different headlines in tomorrow’s paper. You would have done the same damned thing I did under the same circumstances.”

“Maybe,” muttered Timothy Rourke. “Fifteen years ago… sure. But we’re growing up, Mike.”

“Speak for yourself,” Shayne told him blithely. He stretched out his long legs and took a deep drag on his cigarette, and then chuckled happily. “Personally, I haven’t had so much fun in years. When those cops told me I was driving a stolen car… and with a stiff locked up in the trunk there at headquarters… He threw back his head and laughed heartily at the recollection. “That stupid Georgia Cracker putting the handcuffs on me! If he’d just gone around and unlocked the trunk…”

“I’ll bet you weren’t laughing then,” Rourke said sourly. They were approaching the intersection at 79th, and he slowed and pulled into the left lane to make the turn.

“No,” agreed Shayne. “But it is funny now… looking back on it.”

Rourke turned on 79th and drove slowly through the Little River business section to Miami Avenue where he turned south two blocks and then onto 77th Street. Leaving the avenue behind them, they entered a residential section of modest homes where practically all the houses were dark at this time of night.

In the 200 block, only one house was lighted at either side of the tree-lined street. Rourke slowed to a crawl as he approached it, checking the numbers. He muttered, “That’s the Duclos house with the lights on. They must be celebrating getting their car back.”

He continued past without actually stopping, and Shayne, looking out the window on his side, saw there was no Ford parked in the driveway, and the one-car attached garage stood open and empty.

“It’s not there, damn it. Pull in to the curb here at the corner and shut off your lights. Where the hell do you suppose Duclos is? He was supposed to have left the station before I did.”

“Maybe he had a flat tire driving home,” suggested Rourke caustically. “Maybe every police car in town is looking for Mike Shayne right now.”

“Maybe. But let’s wait here a little and see what happens. If he drives up pretty soon, we can go back to the Avenue for a drink and wait for him to get settled for the night. It’s pretty dark back there in the middle of the block, and the driveway and garage are well shaded.”

Rourke sighed and slumped morosely behind the wheel. “It’s your job, Mike. I just drove you out here.”

They both smoked two cigarettes while they sat in silence and waited, and not a single car came down the residential street. Behind them, the front windows of the one-story Duclos house continued to show bright light, but there was nothing to indicate what was going on inside.

When Shayne spun the butt of his second cigarette away, he said impatiently, “This isn’t getting us anywhere. We might sit here all night.”

Rourke pulled himself erect behind the wheel and reached for the ignition key. “My sentiments exactly. Let’s get the hell out…”

“And drive around the block and come back and stop right in front,” Shayne told him calmly. “You go in and find out what’s what with that Ford.”