Brett Halliday: The Body Came Back

He said cheerfully, “I’ll hold onto it, if you like. Maybe something will come up in the future that will explain what it’s all about.”

She laughed nervously. “After all, it does belong to me, Mike. I paid for it. That is… it was my money you used. Don’t you think I ought to have it… just for a souvenir at least?”

“Well, sure. It’s no good to me. I just thought…” Shayne shrugged his broad shoulders and handed it back to her. “As you say, I certainly haven’t any claim on it. I didn’t spend any of my money…

“I know most of the cash actually was yours, Mike,” she said, instantly contrite, although her fingers closed tightly over the cardboard. “But it was just a temporary loan. You’ve got my IOU, you know, if I try to renege on paying it.”

Shayne said, “Yeh. I know,” his gaunt features expressionless. He stepped back and said, “Wouldn’t you like to get back to the hotel now? If your daughter should wake up and find you gone…?”

“Oh, yes. I must get back.” She stood up, smoothing down her dress and brushing cigarette ashes from the front of it.

Shayne stooped down to pick up her handbag from the floor beside the chair. With his back half-turned to her, he unsnapped it and dropped her room-key inside. Then he held it out, saying:

“Don’t forget your bag. I’ll drive you back.”

She accepted it carelessly. “You don’t have to do that. I’m sure I can get a taxi.”

“I left my car on the street,” he told her. “Have to put it in the garage for the night anyhow.” He took her elbow and turned her toward the door.

“How about an invitation to Vicky’s wedding this afternoon?”

“Oh, yes, Mike. Do come by all means. I’ll have her call you and give you a formal invitation as soon as she wakes up in the morning.”

He said, “That will be nice,” and held the door open for her to go out. He took her arm and led her down the hall past the elevator, explaining, “We can walk down one flight and go out a side door to my car.”

He opened the car door for her and helped her in, then went around and got under the wheel beside her, made a U-Turn and started in the direction of the Encanto Hotel.

She snuggled against him and sighed. “I’ll never be able to thank you properly. But I hope you’ll let me try… after Vicky’s off on her honeymoon, perhaps?”

Shayne said, “I’ve got a feeling you could make a good try, all right. We’ll keep that date open, huh?”

She murmured, “Oh, yes,” and then sat up straight beside him suddenly. “Mike! I forgot. What about Al? You said his body was still locked in the trunk of his brother-in-law’s car and if it was found there that the police would know you moved it. What about that?”

“I took care of that, too,” Shayne told her. “It’s not locked in the car any more. It’s in a perfectly safe place where the police can’t possibly connect me with it.”

“Oh, I’m glad. Then you won’t get in any trouble for helping me?”

“I’m absolutely in the clear… I hope,” he told her cheerfully.

He turned into the block in front of the Encanto Hotel, and slowed down in front of the canopied entrance. The doorman still wasn’t on duty, but Shayne saw the gangling figure of Timothy Rourke leaning against the wall inside the foyer just beyond the outer doors.

He leaped out to go around and open the door for her, helped her out and opened the hotel door, avoiding looking at Rourke. He said, “You’d better go up alone. No use us being seen here together,” and she smiled gratefully at him and went into the lobby toward the elevators.

Shayne stepped close to the reporter and asked, “Everything all set?”

“Yep. Couple of dicks inside. Was that…?”

Shayne said swiftly, “Go on in and the three of you follow her up to number Eight-Ten. Be right behind her when she walks into the room, and you can take it from there.”

“What about you, Mike. Where’ll you be?”

“In bed,” said Shayne emphatically. “This is your show, Tim. I don’t know one damned thing about anything that’s happened tonight.”

He went out fast and got in his car, drove to the Boulevard and north to the next hotel on the bay front, where he went in and registered as J. D. Brewster from Sarasota. He got a room-key from the clerk and went up and piled into bed.

He fell into dreamless sleep almost at once.

For many years Michael Shayne had had a standing invitation to have Sunday morning breakfast with his brown-eyed secretary in her Miami apartment.

On this Sunday morning when he turned up at ten o’clock, Lucy Hamilton seemed surprised to see him, and greeted him with a frown and an anxious question that was almost wifely:

“Where have you been all night, Michael? I’ve been worried and wondering what on earth had happened.”

He yawned and dropped a light kiss on the top of her head. “I’ve been sleeping. Is that any crime?”

“But where have you been sleeping? Not in your own bed. That’s certain.”

“Hey, now,” he protested good-naturedly. “Have you started checking up on my sleeping habits, Lucy?”

She stepped back from him, biting her underlip. “Chief Will Gentry woke me up from a sound sleep about four o’clock,” she informed him coldly, “to ask if I knew where you were. He sounded angry and very disturbed when I assured him I had no idea. He made me promise that, if you did contact me, I would let him know at once. Then Tim Rourke called again about seven o’clock to ask the same question. He said your hotel reported you had gone out about midnight and hadn’t returned, and that all hell was popping. What sort of hell, Michael?”

He shrugged and countered lightly, “How should I know? I was sound asleep and know nothing about such Saturday night goings-on. Is the coffee hot?”

“Of course. Even though I didn’t know whether you were in town or not.” She turned toward her kitchenette with pursed lips. “With or without?”

“With… on the first one, Angel.” He yawned mightily again and dropped down on one end of the sofa. He lit a cigarette and sniffed happily when she brought him a mug of strong black coffee heavily laced with cognac.

Her buzzer sounded from the downstairs door of the apartment as she set the coffee royal in front of him, and she murmured, “Who on earth can that be?”

She went to the speaking tube at the door, and in a moment he heard her say, “Of course, Tim. He just showed up and he’s sitting here swilling brandy and coffee.” She pressed the button that released the catch below, opened her own door wide and came back to tell her employer unnecessarily, “That’s Tim. He’s coming up.”

Shayne said, “I wonder what’s bugging him so early this morning,” and took a sip of the hot liquid.

Timothy Rourke came in a moment later, looking dishevelled and sleepy, but with an expression on his face like that of a cat that has swallowed the canary. “Where the devil have you been hiding out, Mike?”

“I haven’t been hiding out. I just thought I’d get a better night’s sleep if I weren’t available for questioning. Sit down, Tim. You look as though you could stand a cup of Lucy’s excellent coffee.”

“My God, can I? With a good slug of bourbon in it, honey?” he appealed to Lucy. “Damn you, Mike. I haven’t been to bed yet. I had to cover up all over the place…”

Shayne shook his head warningly at him as Lucy came back with another mug of steaming coffee for the reporter.

“Neither Lucy nor I have the faintest idea what all this furor is about, except Will Gentry woke her up at four o’clock trying to locate me. What for, Tim? What am I supposed to have done?”