Brett Halliday - Murder Takes No Holiday

He gave Shayne a key. “For the ignition. Do not follow me too closely. When I pull into a garage, stop fifty feet behind, but keep the motor running. I will leave the car and start walking. Come up to me and I will get in.”

“What if a cop sees me? I’d better carry the gun.”

Alvarez mopped his forehead with his silk handkerchief. “The shooting of a policeman-that is all we need. No, if you are seen and they give chase, our arrangements are off. Go where you please from then on. But I do not think that will happen. We have few policemen, and they are busy elsewhere.”

“O.K.,” Shayne said, his voice resigned. “Where’s the starter on these bugs?”

Alvarez showed him. The redhead transferred to the other car. Alvarez waited till he found the necessary pulls and switches, and had the lights on and the motor turning over. When Alvarez pulled away, Shayne put the Hillman in gear and followed, watching for sign-posts and trying to memorize the route in case he had to follow it again. He had to resist an impulse to drift over to the righthand side of the road, where he felt he belonged. They left the settled part of the town. Well out in the country, the tail-lights ahead turned abruptly onto a dirt road. Shayne followed. Coming to a hard-surface road again after a little more than four kilometers, they soon were in a suburb of little detached villas, each with its own brick wall and garden. Since leaving the nightclub, they had met only two cars. Shayne shielded his face, as though dazzled by the headlights.

The red brake lights flashed on the Camel’s car. The directional arrow was blinking for a right turn. This seemed to be the place. When Alvarez came to a full stop, Shayne swung over against the curb. He was on a slight downward slope; he set the emergency and shifted into neutral. There was only an occasional streetlight in this part of town, but Alvarez had left his headlights on full, and Shayne saw him get out of the Hillman and hurry to unlock the door of a one-car garage, set back from the street just far enough so the doors would be flush with the sidewalk when they were open. Alvarez opened first one, then the other, ran back to his car and drove into the garage. He cut the motor and the lights.

Shayne glanced at his watch; it was 11:20.

In the stillness, the panting of the Hillman’s motor seemed very loud. Shayne saw only one or two lighted windows in nearby villas-this was clearly a neighborhood where people went to bed early. He started a cigarette and hunched over the wheel, one hand on the gearshift lever, watching the open doors of the garage.

For a man in a hurry, Alvarez was taking his time. The garage doors remained open. No light or sound of movement came from within. It occurred to Shayne that he hadn’t heard the car door slam. He drew deeply on his cigarette. He let another minute pass. The conviction was growing inside him that something had happened, something not on the schedule.

He turned off his motor. The night was full of small noises; none of them interested Shayne. He took off the emergency and coasted silently down to the garage, leaving his lights on high-beam. He leaned across to the open window on the inner side and called in a low voice, “Alvarez.”

There was no answer. The night noises continued around him.

Getting out of the car, Shayne warily approached the garage. In the side-glow from his headlights, he could see that the front door of the other car gaped open. The hood was up. There was a small window in the back wall of the garage. When he saw that that, too, was open, Shayne knew what he would find even before he stumbled over the body.

Alvarez, in his neat blue business suit, lay face down on the front seat. Shayne flipped away his cigarette and squatted beside him. A monkey wrench, partially wrapped in an oily rag, lay nearby. All the lines on Shayne’s face were deeply etched. When Alvarez drove the car into the garage, someone had been standing in the corner where he would not be seen in the headlights. Alvarez had turned off the lights and started to get out of the car; his assailant had stepped forward and hit him with the monkey wrench from behind.

That much was clear. Straightening, the redhead dusted his fingers lightly and went to the open window. There was a gravel path outside. Again he listened carefully, but heard nothing.

The interior of the luggage space was in deep shadow, but he knew without checking that whatever Alvarez had brought was no longer there. The key was still in the lock. He left it and went back to the Camel’s body.

Stooping, he took Alvarez under the arms and dragged him out from the car so he could close the door. After he had done that, he rolled the unconscious man on his back, supporting him under the shoulders. He was breathing harshly. Shayne felt for a pulse. It was irregular and very fast.

Suddenly Alvarez sat up with a shout, seizing Shayne’s lapels, his eyes staring. He screamed something in Spanish and struck out wildly. His doubled-up fist caught Shayne on the mouth. It was more of a push than a blow, but the American was sitting back on his heels and it knocked him off balance. He fell backward on his hands. Alvarez, released, rolled on one elbow, and when Shayne looked at him again, he saw that the Venezuelan had snatched out his gun.

“Cut it out, for God’s sake,” Shayne growled.

“Where is the-”

Shayne interrupted roughly. “Use your head. You were slugged getting out of the car. I wasn’t anywhere near you. Somebody was waiting when you drove in.”

Alvarez looked at him stupidly, and Shayne said, his voice heavy with anger, “Put it away. If I slugged you, would I still be here?”

Alvarez touched the back of his head, wincing. Then he twisted suddenly and saw the raised hood. “Look in the luggage space. See if-”

“It’s gone,” Shayne said. “The window’s open back there. If you don’t know what happened by now, that crack on the head must have scrambled your brains. You’ve been robbed, and not by me.”

Alvarez thought for a moment. “I must telephone.”

“It also might be a smart move to get the hell out of here,” Shayne said.

Going to the front of the Hillman, he slammed the hood and took out the keys. As he came back, Alvarez made an effort to rise, but slumped back on his elbows.

“If you’re going anywhere, walk,” Shayne said coldly. “Don’t expect me to carry you.”

Alvarez tried again, and succeeded in getting to one knee. Shayne made a disgusted sound, put an arm around his waist and helped him out to the other car. After putting him in, the redhead went around and got behind the wheel.

“You want to make a phone call. That’s o.k. with me. But I hope you remember that you and I still have a deal on the fire. Don’t let it slip your mind.”

“I’m not forgetting,” Alvarez said weakly.

He groaned and his head fell forward in his hands. Shayne started the motor, but hesitated a moment, thinking, before putting the little car in gear. When Alvarez made his phone call, Shayne wanted to be where he could hear it.

He headed downhill in what he hoped was the right direction. When he recognized Bay View Road, he made the turn. Alvarez raised his head.

“Where are you going?”

“I’ve got a cottage out here,” Shayne said, putting the gas pedal on the floor. “Be there in two minutes. You need a shot of something to get the buzzing out of your ears.”

“Have you lost your mind? We will find a policeman waiting for us.”

“I don’t think so,” Shayne said. “It’s too late at night to start checking cottages and transient houses. They wouldn’t expect me to register under my own name. But I’ll look it over first.”

He remembered a little turnaround short of the Lodge, where sightseers could park overlooking the bay. He turned out his lights, pulled off and told Alvarez to wait. He slipped off silently into the darkness. In a minute or two he was back.