Brett Halliday: The Body Came Back

“From my newspaper experience I knew enough about writing to get some small assignments and wangle my way in to see producers… and within a year I was doing scripts for some of the top shows.

“That’s how I met Brett Halliday. I wrote several segments for the television series at Four Star featuring Richard Denning as you. I read practically all the books Brett had written about you and had several story conferences with him, and got to know him quite well… the way people do in Hollywood. I worked at my job of writing, Mike. I felt I could do a better script if I knew about you. The real you. What sort of man you were and what made you tick. And from things Brett told me, and things he had written about you, I felt you were the one man in the world I could turn to tonight when I walked in here and saw Al dead on the floor. I thought to myself: In all the world there’s only Mike Shayne who could help me out of this mess… and by the damnedest coincidence it had happened right here in your home-town and all I had to do was pick up the phone and call you and everything would be all right.”

Shayne lifted a big hand uncomfortably as she ended. He said drily, “Brett’s a fiction writer and he has a way of exaggerating about me. You didn’t hear from your husband after leaving Denver?”

“Not directly. Months later my folks wrote me that they’d heard rumors that Al had tried to rob a filling station in Western Kansas and been killed in the attempt. I accepted that gladly and proceeded to forget that I had ever been Mrs. Al Donlin. I did well in Hollywood and sent Vicky East to school. She graduated from Sarah Lawrence with honors and then took a job in New York where she met a young lawyer from Miami who became her fiance. I told you… the wedding is scheduled to take place tomorrow.” She paused and corrected herself fiercely, “was.”

“How do you suppose Al came to this hotel tonight?”

“Only God can answer that. I’ve thought and thought. I don’t see how he could have known. If he had been aware that I was Carla Andrews… making good money in Hollywood… I’m certain he would have been after me long ago. But if he didn’t know the name I was using, I don’t see how on earth… Her voice trailed off. “I guess it doesn’t matter… really. Somehow, he found his way here tonight. I don’t know whether he’s been living in Miami… what he’s been doing over these years… whether he’s still using his own name. I don’t know whether he’s got cronies here… whether anyone else knew he was coming here tonight… or anything.”

Shayne got to his feet. “It won’t hurt to take a look while we’re waiting for Vicky to call you.”

He went into the bedroom and closed the door behind him. When he returned a few minutes later he had the folded newspaper clipping in one hand and the parking ticket in the other. “Looks as though he has a car and drove it here tonight.” He laid the ticket down and unfolded the clipping she had torn from the paper and she watched his face breathlessly while he studied it.

“This may be the answer.” He sat down beside her and spread the clipping out for her to see. “It’s yesterday’s paper. Is that a good likeness of your daughter?”

“Oh, yes! It’s perfect.” Tears came into her eyes as she studied the picture and she resolutely brushed them away. “Such a happy couple,” she breathed. “It’s the first picture I’ve seen of him except a tiny snapshot Vicky sent me months ago.” She began reading the story beneath the picture, her lips moving slightly as she read.

“I mean,” said Shayne patiently, “would he be likely to recognize her from it? It even mentions what hotel she’s staying at. But that can’t be it,” he went on impatiently. “I forgot you said he’d never even seen his daughter.”

“But there was that picture of her when she was fourteen years old in the Denver paper,” she reminded him excitedly. “He did see that. And she looks just the same today. Hardly a day older. I bet that’s it! And my name… Carla. I should have changed it in California, I suppose, but I just didn’t bother. I was afraid I’d forget to answer to another name.”

“No wallet in his pockets,” Shayne told her. “No identification and nothing to show where he lives or where he came from. A few dollars in his pocket. Just a car parked downstairs with a number on it corresponding to this ticket. It’ll have a registration card.”

“Mike,” she said in a quavering voice, putting her hand tightly on his arm. “Look at Vicky there. Look at her face. So young and innocent. So full of hope and love. Does she have to suffer? Does her life have to be ruined? What has she done to deserve that?”

“She’s a beautiful girl,” Shayne said awkwardly. “But nothing terrible is going to happen to her, Carla. Not if she faces up to it. No Florida jury is going to convict a girl like that of shooting a man in self-defense. In fact, if handled properly I doubt there’ll even be a trial.”

“But there’ll be the publicity. Every sordid word of it spread out in headlines. Look at him, Mike.” She put her fingertip beneath the picture of Vicky’s fiance. “A senator! Son of an old Southern family. Their wedding the society event of the season! She killed her own father, Mike. Don’t forget that. You know what the papers will do with it. You know what the senator will do. And think about the child herself, Mike. No matter what happens, once she finds out the truth she’ll always have to live with the fact that she killed her own father. Think how that will warp her. Is that fair? Is it right?”

“A lot of things happen in this world that aren’t right, Carla. This thing has happened. You’ve got to face it.”

“Why?” she cried vehemently. “Why does Vicky have to face it? Isn’t it enough for her to know that she has killed a man? That’s no small burden to live with. Why make it worse?”

“I don’t think I understand.”

“If we could just let it go at that. If we could… get his body away from here, Mike. Let it be found some other place. You say there’s no identification on him.”

“But he’s got a police record. He’ll eventually be identified by his fingerprints.”

“All right,” she cried out defiantly. “He’ll be identified as Al Donlin, ex-convict. Nothing in the world to connect him with Vicky Andrews. He’ll be dead and buried and no one will really care who killed him. Let it be marked off as an unsolved murder.”

“But your Vicky will still know,” he reminded her.

“What will she know?” she flared. “She will know that an unknown stranger forced himself in here and she was forced to defend herself. I’ll think up some story to satisfy her, Mike. I’ll say he’s a man I met in California after she went off to school who was my lover for a time, and has been bothering me ever since. You can see by her note that he didn’t really tell her anything. She’ll be able to sleep in peace believing that. She’ll be able to go through her marriage tomorrow… go on and find the happiness she deserves in life. She’s strong. I know my Vicky. Given the ghost of a chance, she’ll throw this off and forget about it in a few months.”

“It’s against the law to move a body in a homicide case, Carla,” Shayne told her. “It’s also against the law not to report one to the police immediately.” He looked at his watch and frowned. “It’s past midnight. I can’t wait much longer for Vicky to call you.”

“You mean that, Mike? You really mean it?” She looked at him wonderingly. “You won’t even lift a finger to help?”

“When I was licensed by the state I took an oath to uphold the law,” he told her mildly. “In that respect I’m no different from a policeman.”