Brett Halliday - Mermaid on the Rocks

“Mike?” Rourke was saying. “Mike?”

“Yeah,” Shayne grated.

“I’ve been wondering,” Rourke said with none of his usual levity. “I talked to the helicopter guy on Goose Key and he said he hadn’t heard from you. At twenty-five bucks an hour he’s in no hurry. Where are you?”

“Same place. Is Natalie in the office?”

“Sure. Want to talk to her? Kitty got off to New York O.K., if that’s what you’re worrying about. Nat can give you the details.”

Shayne motioned at Eda Lou. She gave him her cigarette and lit another for herself. He crouched over the coffee and took a long sip. As he straightened he noticed Eda Lou flick back her sleeve to look at her watch.

“Mike?” Natalie said, out of breath. “We were thinking of calling out the Marines.”

“I got sidetracked. Tell me about Kitty.”

“She’s in New York, Mike. She just called me from Kennedy. She woke up early and couldn’t get back to sleep so she took the six-o’clock plane. She left me a note. She’ll be staying at the airport hotel, the International, if you want to call her. She said to tell them who you are and they’ll keep on ringing her room till she wakes up.”

Shayne tried to remember what else he had meant to ask her.

“Mike?”

“Yeah. Put Tim back on.”

“Mike,” Rourke’s voice said, “I’m sitting here trying to write the Brad Tuttle story. There’s a hell of a lot I don’t know.”

“There’s a hell of a lot I don’t know. You’ll have to go with a bulletin in the first edition, whatever the cops put out.”

“I already told the desk that was pure crap,” his friend protested. “I said I’d write the real story as soon as I heard from you.”

“That’s how it has to be for now,” Shayne said. “How did he die?”

“Gunshot. He’d been in a fight, knifed in the lower abdomen, bad cut over the eyes. He had about ten-percent vision, they figure, which is one reason he didn’t stop when they yelled.”

“What were the cops doing there?”

“That I didn’t ask. I assumed they were cruising.”

“Tim, I want you to get hold of Shanahan. Somebody has to hold his hand till I get back. Tell him what happened to Brad. Then stick with him. I mean in the same room till he goes to court. Go to the john with him. Hold on a minute.”

He asked Eda Lou, “How much did Frank pay for the judgeship?”

“Forty thousand,” she said promptly, then caught her breath and threatened him with her fist.

Shayne returned to the phone. “If he tries to throw you out, tell him you know about the forty thousand, who got it and in what size bills. I’ll meet you at the court house as soon as I can.”

“Mike, do you feel O.K.? You sound kind of fuzzy.”

“I’m fine. Get on it.”

Eda Lou broke the connection. He refreshed himself with more coffee. His mind had begun to move, lurching painfully from point to point.

“The St. Albans on the Beach.”

She looked up the number and dialed it, then looked at him questioningly.

“Harry Hurlbut,” Shayne said.

When the hotel security man answered, she asked him to hold the line.

“This is Mike Shayne, Harry,” the detective said, taking the phone. “I want to check a reference. Who’s your assistant night manager nowadays?”

He felt for the envelope on which he had jotted down two of the names on the affidavits Hank Sims had flashed in front of Barbara. “The name Emory J. Sedge doesn’t mean anything to you? One more thing. If you have your payroll handy, look under the T’s and see if you have a bellman named Robert Truehauf.”

He waited.

“I didn’t think you would,” Shayne said. “Thanks. I’ll buy you a drink in a day or so and tell you about it. I have to rush.”

He dropped the phone in his lap and told Eda Lou: “Get me Will Gentry, Miami Chief of Police.”

She placed the call. Gentry wasn’t in his office, she was told, but he was in the building somewhere; they would hunt him down and have him return the call.

She squinted at Shayne over her cigarette. “You have no reason to confide in me, but I’m on the fringes of the family and I can’t help wondering. How did you get those St. Albans names, just for instance?”

“I used a bullhorn with a two-way amplifier,” Shayne said.

Her lips twitched, depositing cigarette ash on the front of her suit. “Sarcastic son of a bitch, aren’t you? We don’t have TV down here. I have to make my own entertainment. And where were you at the time, may I ask?”

She removed her cigarette. “I know!” Going to the kitchen, she came back with Shayne’s gag and shook it out. It was a torn piece of black cloth with part of a skull-and-crossbones showing.

“Barbara’s tree house! How long were you up there?”

“Long enough,” Shayne said.

The phone rang. Shayne picked it up.

“This is Gentry,” a gruff voice said. “What is it now, Mike, trouble?”

“The usual kind,” Shayne said. “Murder.”

“Who’s been murdered?”

“Two brothers, Ev and Brad Tuttle. Ev was a drunk. He went out in a mattress fire. You have it listed as accidental. You’re probably working on Brad now.”

“Nothing to work on. It’s open and shut. Your information is off for once. He was shot by a police officer. One of my best men, Hubie Elliot. I hope you’re not trying to pin anything on the department, Mike. Your batting average is pretty good, but this is one time you’re going to go down swinging.”

“I didn’t say Elliot murdered him. He was murdered by whoever put him on that street corner at that time of night with a knife in his hand. How did it happen your men were there waiting for him?”

Gentry said grudgingly, “We had an anonymous tip that a burglar was going to be working that block. O.K., Mike. Tell me more.”

“There’s an elimination contest going on. We started with five contestants, and we’re down to three. But what they don’t realize is that the game is fixed. It’s the big con, one of the best I’ve seen. I don’t expect you to follow this, Will. But unless we move fast we’ll have a couple more murders.”

“What do you want?”

“I want you to round them up. The three principals plus an estranged husband. Number one-”

“Whoa! You know I can’t commit the department to that kind of operation with nothing to go on but a phone call. I also wouldn’t say you sounded exactly sober.”

“You’re within your rights, Will,” Shayne said carefully. “Even though one of the threatened persons is a Civil Court judge. This is a democracy. There’s no reason a judge should be given more protection than an ordinary citizen.”

“Damn it, Mike,” Gentry said after a moment. “Wait till I switch in the recorder. O.K., go ahead.”

“The touchy one is Frank Shanahan. You’d better collect everybody at his chambers. Hank Sims-late twenties, six one, about a hundred and ninety, full beard. He was driving a white Chevy convertible when I saw him. Wait a minute. I’ve got an informant here who may want to tell us where we can find him.”

He was looking at Eda Lou. She shrugged.

“He keeps changing addresses. The last I heard, he had a little business taking pictures of houses for real-estate agents. He must have a phone and a dark room somewhere.”

Shayne relayed this information to Gentry. “Now Mrs. Sims. Kitty Sims. She’s at the International Hotel at Kennedy Airport in New York. Tell her I said it’s O.K. to come back. Send somebody out to meet her plane.” To Eda Lou: “Nobody told me Barbara’s married name.”

“Lemoyne.”

“What hospital does she work at and what kind of car does she drive?”

“Angel of Mercy. Green Oldsmobile, four-door.”