Brett Halliday: Blood on the Stars

“Innocent men can generally prove their innocence.”

“But sometimes they can’t,” Randolph exclaimed, throwing out his hands wildly. “Suppose this girl does think she recognizes me. Suppose I do resemble the man you say attacked her. I can’t prove it wasn’t I. You know how faulty such identifications can be. If she only caught one glimpse of the man-”

“How do you know she caught only a glimpse of him?”

“Why-you said so,” faltered Randolph. “Over at my place.”

Shayne shook his red head grimly. “I didn’t say anything of the kind. The only way you could possibly have known that is by having been here last night.”

“You implied it. Something you said gave me the impression-”

“I didn’t even imply it. I said that Miss Hamilton had a good look at the man who attacked her,” Shayne said flatly.

His telephone rang. He went over and took the receiver down, keeping his gaze on Randolph. “Hello. Oh, Tim… that’s fine. Fast work. Read ’em to me.” He listened, and a frown began to crease his forehead. A worried frown of disbelief. He caught his earlobe between thumb and forefinger and tugged at it.

“Both of them?” he exclaimed after a time. “That should mean something, but I’m not sure just what. Listen, Tim. Get both those men on long distance and tell them it’s vitally important to dig up every bit of information available on both King and Kendrick. As far back as they can dig in a hurry.

“Sure it’ll cost money,” he continued impatiently. “I’ll take care of the expense if your miserly paper won’t pay out a few bucks for the inside dope on one of the biggest stories of the year.

“Lucy’s doing fine, but I’ll be tied up here for a while. When you get those men on long distance, ask particularly for any information that connects either King or Kendrick with Walter Voorland or Earl Randolph.”

Again he listened, then said, “That’s right. Voorland or Randolph. Outside of the known connection here in Miami, of course. And Tim-after you do that, call Worldwide in Denver and get the same dope on Dustin. Find out everything you can about him, his background, and so forth.” He hung up and turned to Randolph, his face bleak and his eyes morose.

“Both King and Kendrick seem to have disappeared completely.”

“You don’t think they were-murdered?”

“They seem to have been very efficiently disposed of,” Shayne grated. “Do you suppose Mark Dustin is in any danger, Randolph?”

“How would I know? About this background stuff,” Randolph went on. “I’ve got all the dope on King available in my file. You know we checked back on him thoroughly before we paid the claim. And I’m sure Stanley Ellsworth has the same stuff on Kendrick.”

“No doubt,” Shayne assented dryly. “But Worldwide might dig up something you folks missed.”

“I don’t understand why you suspect any connection between those two men and Voorland and me.”

Shayne shook his head slowly. “I don’t know what I hope to dredge up. It becomes clearer and clearer that there’s a pattern to these three sales of star rubies that were stolen immediately afterward-and that never reappeared. It’s still vague as hell, and I haven’t put my finger on the motivation behind it. When I do that, the whole complicated plot will emerge clearly. And I think you can do that for me,” he added.

“I know nothing,” Randolph disclaimed violently. “Absolutely nothing.”

The bedroom door opened and Miss Naylor said, “It’s all right to come in now, Mr. Shayne.”

Shayne stood up. “This is it, Randolph. Put on that Panama and walk in that door in front of me.”

Earl Randolph’s hands shook as he put the hat on and adjusted the brim. He got up shakily and went slowly toward the bedroom door, hesitated like a swimmer pausing on the brink before diving into an icy stream, then stepped inside.

Shayne was close behind him. Dr. Price and Miss Naylor stood back near the window and watched the scene with intense interest.

Lucy looked up at Randolph with wide eyes. Her gaze stayed on his face for a full thirty seconds, then shifted to Shayne.

“That’s the man, Michael.” Her voice was weary, betraying no emotion whatsoever. “I told you I’d know him anywhere.”

Shayne asked savagely, “Do you still deny it, Randolph?”

“No. Let’s go in the other room and I’ll tell you the whole thing.”

Randolph appeared to have completely regained his normal poise and self-assurance. Without an invitation, he walked firmly across to the liquor cabinet and poured himself a drink of rye, seated himself in a chair, and began in a low, steady voice:

“I did come up here last night. I got to thinking about the King and Kendrick cases, and wanted to talk them over with you. The door to your apartment was ajar and light showed through the crack. I pushed it open and called your, name, but there was no answer. I looked in the other rooms and saw no one. Then your phone started ringing.”

He paused to take a sip of whisky. Shayne sat across from him and listened without interruption as he continued:

“I supposed you’d just stepped down the hall for a moment, and I answered the phone, intending to take a message for you. The woman at the other end of the line said, ‘This is Celia Dustin, Mr. Shayne. I’ve got to see you at once-to tell you something I’m afraid to tell anyone but you.’

“So, there it was. Right in my lap.” Randolph spread out his pudgy hands pleadingly. “What would you have done in my position? I was afraid she’d hang up if I told her it wasn’t you. I supposed at once that it had something to do with the bracelet. A bracelet, mind you, that my company had insured for one hundred and eighty thousand dollars. In the beginning I simply hoped I could keep her talking until you returned. I turned my head aside slightly, in the hope that she wouldn’t recognize that it wasn’t you talking, and asked her what the information was.

“She spoke in a hurried and frantic voice. Said she couldn’t tell me over the phone and that she’d slip out and meet me at the foot of the hotel bathing-pier in half an hour. I promised her I would, Mike. I didn’t know what else to do. I remember even having the fleeting thought that you’d want me to handle it that way. She sounded frightened and distraught, and I didn’t know what she might do if I gave the truth away then. So I told her I’d come, and hung up the receiver.”

Randolph stopped to mop sweat from his face and take another sip of rye.

Shayne said curtly. “Go on.”

“This is the bad part,” Randolph confessed, glancing at the closed bedroom door. “When I turned away from the phone I saw a girl standing there with a pistol in her hand, threatening me. For God’s sake, Mike, try to see this my way,” he pleaded. “I didn’t know who she was or how she got there. I’m afraid I didn’t stop to think. First, the telephone call with hints of danger, then suddenly I was confronted with a gun-moll in a negligee.

“I acted instinctively, that’s all. I jumped toward her to grab the gun before the damned thing went off. She jumped back and tripped over the rug, I guess. I swear to God I didn’t touch her, Mike. It was an accident. She struck her head on the radiator and the pistol fell out of her hand on the floor. She was bleeding when I got to her. I laid her on the bed and tried to think what to do. Remember, I still didn’t know who she was, but I presumed she was one of the jewel mob. And I’d promised Mrs. Dustin to be at the Beach in half an hour. I couldn’t afford to stay here and answer all sorts of questions. I tell you Mrs. Dustin sounded beside herself with fear. I felt I had to get to her.”