Brett Halliday - Shoot to Kill

“They went out together and drove off in their own cars.” Mark Ames paused, looking at Griggs quizzically. “That brings me up to where I was when I started. Wait a minute. Except that Sutter came to the head of the stairs and yelled down to Alfred to bring him a bottle of Scotch and a glass, adding that he might as well get good and drunk if Ames was going to keep him waiting all night. He was good and sore and I got the impression he was shouting outside Wes’s door expecting him to hear him and come out to apologize, but he didn’t know my dear brother very well. He went back to his room, and I told Alfred he might as well bring me some bourbon at the same time, and that was when the car drove up outside and the lights came on.

“I started for the front door just as Alfred was coming in from his pantry with the tray, and it was flung open violently and a young man burst in flourishing a revolver and shouting, ‘Where is he? I’m going to kill him.’

“I tried to stop him, but I didn’t try very hard. I didn’t like the looks of that gun and I was hardly prepared to give my own life to save Wes. Anyhow, he shoved me aside and ran toward the stairs, and Alfred got in his way and he knocked him aside and the tray crashed on the floor. Then he went up the stairs two at a time, and Alfred picked himself up and went after him, and then the door burst open again and these two men came in. I was just getting up from the floor and all I could do was point up the stairs, and they ran past me and a moment later I heard a shot.”

Mark Ames paused and shrugged. “I pulled myself together and went upstairs hoping for the best. Sutter was running down the hall and Alfred was outside the door, and Shayne and Rourke and the young man were inside, and I heard them say Wesley was dead, and I remember my first thought was that a lot of fairly decent people were going to sleep more soundly tonight after hearing the midnight newscast.”

Griggs nodded absently. “Is that all, Mr. Ames?”

“Your cops came a moment later. That’s all.”

“Very well. But stick around until I get through and give you permission to leave.”

“I intend to stay at least until Helena gets back. This will be quite a shock to her.”

Griggs said, “Send that lawyer in, please,” and he lifted his eyebrows at Shayne, “You make any startling deductions from all that?”

Shayne shook his red head. “Nothing startling or otherwise. Brother Mark doesn’t make any effort to hide his aversion for the dead man.”

“It’s pretty much an open secret around town. In fact there are rumors that, well… that Mr. and Mrs. Ames weren’t entirely lovey-dovey at home and that Mark wasn’t averse to filling in while Wesley was tomcatting around elsewhere,” offered Rourke.

“You mean he was having an affair with his brother’s wife?”

“Just rumors. Helena Ames is a young and lovely woman and Wesley wasn’t exactly the ever-loving husband type.”

Mr. Sutter came in weaving a trifle and with a half-smoked cigar clenched between his teeth. He said aggressively, “I have no information of the slightest consequence to aid you in this matter, Sergeant. I understand that this man is a newspaper reporter.” He jerked his head toward Rourke. “And I find it quite unusual for him to be present at an inquiry of this sort. Highly irregular. My firm will not be pleased if we receive newspaper notoriety in connection with this disgraceful affair.”

Sergeant Griggs nodded impassively. “Sit down, Mr. Sutter. State your name, occupation and home address for the record.”

He sat down and said icily, “Alonzo J. Sutter. I am an attorney with my office and residence in New York City.”

“Is Wesley Ames one of your clients?”

“Certainly not,” snapped Sutter, giving the impression that the very suggestion was odious. “I flew to Miami today to have a conference with him on a legal matter concerning one of our valued clients.”

“Do you mind giving me his name and stating the nature of the legal matter?”

“I certainly do. That is privileged information and completely immaterial.”

“What time did you reach Miami?”

“About five o’clock. I took a taxi direct from the airport with every expectation of conferring with Mr. Ames immediately and I had hoped to return to New York by a later flight tonight. Instead I was greeted on my arrival by the man’s secretary, a Mr. Conroy, I believe, who explained that his employer might not be available to me for several hours and suggested that I remain in the house as a guest until such time as Mr. Ames should deign to give me an interview.”

“And that made you sore?” suggested Griggs.

“I was naturally indignant, and I protested, but to no avail. I was assigned a guest-room across the hall from Conroy’s quarters, and there I cooled my heels until Ames was shot to death.”

“Did you have any discussion with him during dinner?”

“He didn’t come to dinner. Confound it, the man made no appearance whatsoever. I was served dinner with Mrs. Ames and the secretary, and given to understand that Ames never joined them at the evening meal. That he didn’t arise until lour or five in the afternoon and secluded himself in his study with only coffee until he went out later in the evening to spend the rest of the night in night-clubs gathering gossip items for his notorious newspaper column. Soon after dinner I went up to my room and tried to nap with the understanding that Conroy would call me the moment Ames was available.”

“Did you sleep?”

“Not really. I was naturally quite irritated by the cavalier manner in which I was being treated, and anxious to get the conference over with. After about an hour I came out of my room to the head of the stairs, noting that the confounded Do Not Disturb sign still hung outside Ames’ study, and I called down for the houseboy to bring a bottle of Scotch to my room.”

“Loudly enough for Ames to hear you inside his closed study?”

“He should have heard me if he wasn’t deaf. I intended him to be reminded of my presence and my purpose in his house, but he calmly disregarded that and I went back to my room and shut the door again.

“It was a short time later… perhaps five or six minutes… when I heard a commotion downstairs and people running about, and I came out of my room to see this private detective and the houseboy outside his door. Then there was a shot from inside, and this man broke the door down with his shoulder. Thus my trip becomes a complete waste of time, and I am informed by the airport that there are no further New York flights available until tomorrow morning. I would like to call a taxi now and go to a hotel in the hope of getting a few hours rest. I certainly don’t wish to spend the night under this roof.”

Griggs nodded. “In just a few minutes… after I clear the rest of this up. Why don’t you relax and have another drink?” He turned his head toward Powers who appeared in the doorway, and the young patrolman reported, “Your men say they’re through upstairs, Sergeant. And there’s an ambulance and stretcher here.”

Griggs got up and followed Sutter out, and they heard him conferring briefly in the living room with his technicians, and there were heavy footsteps up and down the stairs, sounds of the outer doors opening and closing, car doors slamming and motors starting.

Griggs returned in a few minutes followed by the houseman who held himself stiffly and self-consciously in the presence of the police. He sat primly erect in the straight chair with knees together and brown hands folded tightly in his lap, and answered Griggs’ questions in excellent English.

His name was Alfredo Sanchez, he said, he had been born in New York and held his present position for five years. He was thirty-four years old, unmarried, and claimed he had no police record at all. The household consisted of himself and a colored housekeeper-cook who slept out, Mr. and Mrs. Ames and Mr. Conroy.