Brett Halliday: Heads You Lose

The telephone rang shrilly. Gentry went in to answer it. He came back and nodded to Shayne. He said, with a hint of apology in his tone:

“You’ve rung the bell again, Mike. My boys picked up Carlton’s two gun pals just where you thought they’d be. They were getting ready to take out in a motor launch from Carlton’s boathouse.”

Gentry struck a pose of heavy authority. His shoulders straightened; his voice was harsh when he said, “All right, you,” waving a pudgy arm around the room, “the party’s over. We got enough on all of you. Get going out the door.”

Shayne said wearily, “Just a minute, Will. This is the first case I’ve ever worked on where there was no possibility of a fee. You know I never have asked for any credit in solving a case. I’ve always let the police department have it, but this is different.”

Gentry’s face grew very red and he started to speak, but Shayne waved him down.

“I’ve got to appear as witness against all these people, and I want credit for solving the case, because it’s my only compensation. I’ve got to avenge a certain young lady,” he went on, his mouth unsmiling. “She’s a very young lady, only four or five months old. Her name is Jessica. Her father is… was… Eddie Seeney.”