Brett Halliday - Caught Dead

“Caldwell called me from the paper when he got the flash. You really don’t know what happened? They have a pretty good body-count. Alvares, Larry Howe, a Venezuelan named Menendez.”

Rourke’s face had gone very still. “Alvares, Howe, Menendez. I’m sorry to hear it.”

“It seems there were these two cartons of cigarettes.” Shayne lowered his voice. “I think it’s all right to talk here, Tim. I’m going to need some leads.”

“They worked the handkerchief switch on me, Mike. The gypsy handkerchief switch. There were hints I might get a story out of it. The Pulitzer Prize was mentioned. And I went for it! Tim Rourke, the prototype fall guy, drunk and gullible.”

“Put it in English.”

“There was supposed to be a cyanide capsule in with the cigarettes. They were getting Alvares ready for a show trial, and some of the testimony would have tarnished our image, or that’s what they told me. A cyanide capsule, the way it happens in the movies. I’ve always said, if somebody wants to knock himself off, who am I to stand in the way?”

He added, “And they were torturing him, Mike. Cyanide is the only way you can beat that. I was operating in a heavy mist at the time. I’d been soaking up gin for a couple of days. I really blame it on the martinis.”

“They’ve got a picture of you with a girl named Paula something.”

“Yeah, I took her out a few times. I met her in Miami a year or two ago-nice kid. She had nothing to do with this.” The look he gave Shayne contradicted the words. “It was a guy. He came to my room in the Hilton. Mustache, shades. One of his shoes was built up in the heel-one leg must be shorter than the other. But you’ll never find him.”

“I’ll never find him if that’s all you can give me. Have you told the cops about this?”

“Mike, my act with these bush cops is strictly tongue-tied and stupid. I’m going to promise you one thing. Never again. I’m strictly a voyeur from now on. The goddamned handkerchief switch. I never thought they’d catch me with that one.”

“If I’m in a position to make a deal, will you tell them what you’ve just told me?”

“If I have to, but Mike, I’ll feel like such a schmuck!”

“Frost mentioned thirty years. Everything I hear from other people makes me think he was optimistic.”

“You have such a wonderful bedside manner. I know I’m in trouble. But I need time to think. They’ve been on top of me every minute. You know the technique, in shifts. Damn it, there has to be something I can dredge up, if they’d just give me a couple of minutes to brood about it. But no. It’s been hammer, hammer, hammer. You’re too early. It’s nice you’re here, I appreciate it. But I wish you hadn’t been in such a hurry. I might have had something to tell you. Now they won’t let me see you again till tomorrow.”

They were facing each other, Rourke’s foot against Shayne’s. He stepped up the pressure when he told Shayne he’d been in too much of a hurry. Now he didn’t seem to want to let the subject go.

“We’re thinking in terms of thirty years, for Christ’s sake. What’s half a day? Why the rush?”

“Take a minute now, Tim. If I’m going to get you out of here I’ve got to have somebody else to give them. You worked on the story three days. You must have some idea who wanted to kill Alvares and why.”

Rourke made a vague gesture. “My head’s not normal. Do you know why I really came to Caracas? I had a fight with a chick! If she hadn’t been so damn pigheaded, I’d be back in Miami right this minute, having my second cup of coffee and opening the morning mail.” His foot came down hard. “I’d be reading about it in the paper. Alvares hit-too bad, but he’s been asking for it for years. Do you mind if I get serious for a minute?”

“It’s a serious jam.”

Rourke’s face was troubled, but he was exerting no under-the-table pressure, indicating that what he was about to say was for their unseen listeners.

“I’m not completely stupid. I tried to protect myself, and if it hadn’t been for all that goddamn Tanqueray gin-Here’s the thing that’s been bugging me. Has anybody told you I was the one who was set for that interview? I was planning to carry in those cartons myself. I had nothing to do with the change in plans and there are two good witnesses who can testify to that. I went along with it. I had no choice. But if Larry Howe hadn’t been hung up on the status thing, if he hadn’t insisted he was entitled to the story, I’m the one who’d be dead now! I haven’t bothered to tell the cops. They’d just say the bomb went off ahead of schedule, or the guy who worked the switch wanted me dead so I couldn’t pull him out of a police lineup. They’ve got their victim, and I’m more or less ideal. So that leaves it up to you, baby, and I wish I had more confidence. If we were back home I wouldn’t worry. In Miami you know where the bodies are buried. Here you don’t know a soul. I can tell you one thing about Felix Frost, he won’t break his neck for anybody. So what are you going to do, stand out in the middle of the Plaza Venezuela wearing a name-tag and hope somebody comes up and whispers in your ear?”

“I’ll try that if you think it’ll help.”

“Aah,” Rourke said in disgust. “You’d get propositioned, that’s about all. They’re hunting for Paula, no doubt. Poor kid-just because she was careless enough to have dinner with me a couple of times. Cherchez la femme- it’s an old idea.”

“Cherchez what?”

“La femme. I know my French is lousy. Look for the female. But the hell with the female. Look for the male, Mike.” His foot hit Shayne’s. “The male.”

The door opened behind Shayne and a guard appeared. Shayne continued to watch Rourke.

“Time seems to be up,” Rourke said. “I doubt if you learned anything.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Think hard, man. Because while you’re outside having fun, I’m in here being grilled. Leave the cigarettes.”

Shayne stood up. “Next visiting day I’ll bring you some dynamite.”

“Yeah, this place could do with some livening up.”

Rubino, waiting in an anteroom, had a message for Shayne: the Chief of Police, Luis Mejia, wanted to see him. This wasn’t an order but it was a strong request, and Rubino’s recommendation was that Shayne should comply.

“Why not?” Shayne said. “I don’t have anything better to do.”

Rubino said carelessly, “Mr. Rourke didn’t succeed in conveying any information?”

“Mr. Rourke,” Shayne said angrily, “was being so goddamn careful I couldn’t make out what he was saying half the time. Do you want to know how he got involved with those cigarette cartons? He’d been drinking martinis for two days and he didn’t know what he was doing.”

“In my experience, North American newspapermen are heavy drinkers.”

“Tim hasn’t drunk gin for years. It makes him throw up. Tell Frost.”

“I think that’s hardly worth telling anybody. Is that all?”

“There was something about a cyanide capsule and a guy with one built-up shoe. That gives the cops something to work on if they believe it. It didn’t sound too believable to me.”

A creaking elevator took them up three floors where Rubino showed him the police chief’s door.

“I am to wait in the hall.”

“Doesn’t he trust you?”

“This far.” Rubino held up his thumb and forefinger, an inch apart. “That’s an honor-most people he trusts less.”

Mejia proved to be a middle-aged man in uniform, with a shaved head, a hard stare, and skin the color of cement. He must have been very strong when he was younger, and even now, with jowls and a paunch, he looked as though he could be dangerous. A detail map of Caracas hung behind his desk, which was large and solidly built, like Mejia himself.