Brett Halliday - Murder and the Married Virgin

The item which Katrin Moe had evidently clipped was a brief account of a prison break from the State penitentiary the preceding morning. Two convicts, Anton Hodge and Raymond Gillis, had made their escape early Tuesday morning by the simple ruse of getting inside a laundry truck and concealing themselves under a pile of dirty clothes. Once outside, they had conked the driver and made their getaway toward New Orleans in the truck, abandoning it near the city.

Anton Hodge was described as twenty-eight, blond and slender, of medium height, serving a seven-year term for burglary. Gillis was twenty-three, also blond, weight one hundred and seventy-five pounds, height five-feet seven inches, serving a ten-year term for aggravated assault. Both were described as dangerous.

Shayne laid the paper down after reading the item. He yawned and looked at his watch, got up and went out to his car and drove to Iberville. He parked near the corner Neal had mentioned.

The house Katrin Moe had visited the afternoon before she died was a decrepit old frame structure with a faded sign over the door that read: Rooms 50?.

He opened the door and entered a dark hallway thick with the stench of half a century of accumulated odors. A sign over an open doorway said Office. The room was foggy with smoke from half a dozen cigarettes roiling up to cloud a lone light bulb over a table where six men were playing cards.

A hulking man got up and came toward Shayne. His eyes were wary, and he grunted, “Watcha want?”

“Some information,” Shayne answered.

“What kind of info?”

“About a girl who came here yesterday.”

The man began to shake his head. Shayne got out his billfold, took a bill from it and walked over to the far corner of the room.

The big man followed him, moving around to face Shayne who stood with his back to the men at the table. Shayne held the bill, folded the long way, close enough for the man to see the figure.

After a moment’s hesitation the proprietor said, “Yeh. I know the one you mean. She wasn’t like most that come here. She was young and pretty with gold hair and blue eyes. Right?” He squinted at the banknote and wet his lips.

“Right. Who did she come to see?” asked Shayne.

The big man’s eyes flashed over to the table of card players and he said in a loud voice, “I ain’t no stoolie. A man comes here and signs the book John Smith and that’s all right with me.” He lowered his voice to a whisper to ask, “You the cops?”

“Hell, no. I don’t like the cops any more than you do. What did the man look like and what’s his name?” Shayne pushed the bill toward the man.

“Waal-he was sort of skinny and had light hair cut mighty short,” he told Shayne in a low tone. “But he dusted off early this mornin’. I dunno where he went.”

“How long was he here?”

“One day. Paid in advance.”

Shayne eased the bill into his hand, turned away and said angrily, “Well, if you won’t tell his name I’ll find out some other way,” and stalked from the room.

The big man laughed raucously and shuffled back to the table.

Lucy Hamilton was powdering her nose at her desk when Shayne walked into the office. She smiled at her image in the mirror and asked, “How’s sleuthing?”

Shayne tossed his soggy hat aside. “Not so hot. All I’ve been doing is asking questions and getting answers.”

“Isn’t that the way to solve cases?”

“Not my way,” he answered morosely. “Philo Vance might be able to sort out the truth from the lies, but I’ll be damned if I can.”

She carefully rouged her upper lip, asked casually, “Want to buy an emerald necklace?” and applied rouge to her lower lip.

“What?”

“I said, do you want to buy an emerald necklace?” She ran a powder puff around her smooth chin and throat. “A man has a necklace for sale and he’s been calling you.”

“Who?”

“That seems to be a secret,” she told him, and patted her brown curls. “He won’t tell who he is. If you’d ever let me know what to tell people who want to sell you emerald neck-”

“He’ll call again,” Shayne interrupted. His eyes glistened. “It’s pretty fast for the fix, so they must know I’m ready to light a fire.”

The telephone rang and Shayne said, “If it’s him I’ll take it in the other room. You have the call traced.”

Lucy was saying, “Mr. Shayne has just this minute returned. I’ll connect you.” She nodded, covered the mouthpiece and whispered, “It’s the man with the necklace.”

Shayne reached his desk phone in six long strides. He said, “Hello, Shayne speaking.” He heard Lucy flip the switch and frantically call the operator to trace the call.

A softly modulated voice said to Shayne, “I talked to a Mr. Teton at Mutual Indemnity this morning. He told me you were handling the Lomax matter.”

“That’s right. Who’s speaking?”

His caller chuckled urbanely. “Let’s waive introductions. And if you’re having this call traced, don’t bother. I’m in a public booth and I’ll be here only a minute. The necklace is for sale.”

“How much?”

“Forty grand.”

Shayne sent a derisive laugh over the wire. “You’ll be lucky to get rid of it for half that amount.”

“Maybe.” His caller remained unruffled. “I’ll call every day or so until you’re ready to talk business.” He hung up.

Lucy came in swiftly, her eyes glowing with the pride of success. “I had the call traced,” she announced. “It’s a public phone in a drugstore on the corner of St. Charles and Poydras.”

“Skip it.” Shayne went around the desk and sat down, pulled out the top right-hand drawer and brought out a bottle and two glasses.

Lucy’s bright eyes dimmed with disappointment, “And I thought I was doing something. Wasn’t that the man?”

Shayne poured a drink of cognac into a glass and offered it to Lucy. She shook her head and said, “I have to stay sober and earn my eighty a week.”

Shayne grinned. “You stay so damned sober you’ll never earn it.” He drank the cognac and poured another moderate drink. He said, “It seems our young lieutenant was right about his fiancee,” and sipped his second drink while he told his secretary the salient facts concerning Katrin Moe’s death, ending with, “What do you make of it? Give me the woman’s angle.”

Lucy answered helplessly, “It just doesn’t make sense, Michael.”

He finished his drink, put the glass and depleted bottle back in the drawer and closed it. “I’ll see Teton, and then I’ll see Doc Mattson. And I’ll get some more answers that don’t add up. Then I’ll go out and get drunk…”

“Be sure to call Lieutenant Drinkley first,” Lucy said hastily. “He called just before lunch and begged me to have you call him this afternoon. I promised you would, without fail.”

Shayne regarded her balefully. “That’s a nice assignment. More poetic maundering about the sweetness of undefiled love.”

“Sometimes,” said Lucy angrily, “I could slap you, Mike Shayne,” and went back to her desk.

Shayne sighed, got up and followed her into the outer office. He jammed his hat down over his bushy hair and asked, “Where is our knight in shining armor staying?”

“If you are referring to Lieutenant Drinkley,” she answered stiffly, “The Dragoon Hotel on-”

“I know where it is,” He picked up his coat from the railing and went out, took the elevator up to the tenth floor and strode down the corridor to the offices of the Mutual Indemnity Insurance Company.

Mr. Teton showed no surprise when Shayne entered. He said, “A man called here this morning, Shayne, and hinted that he might be able to recover the Lomax necklace. I told him-”