Brett Halliday - Armed… Dangerous…

“I got to thinking?” Rourke protested. “You got to thinking.”

“Whoa,” McIntosh said. “You can’t expect me to believe that Power, all by himself-”

“It was set up long in advance,” Shayne said. “This was the original switch, which he had had to drop when Kraus stopped cooperating. The envelopes were all prepared. He conned me into checking the cargo, so if there was any question, I could testify that the real truck had burned. I pulled out an envelope at random, and it really had to be at random. Whoever faked those envelopes had to be somebody with access to police files and materials, over a long period of time. It couldn’t be done in a couple of hours or even a couple of days. Kraus had already been killed. That left Power as the only possibility. Switching the trucks was simple. Those trucks all look absolutely alike except for the serial number, and I had no reason to notice that. He may even have changed the number, I don’t know. He had a key to the shop. I’d guess he slipped in the phony truck a couple of nights ago. There wouldn’t be a worksheet on it, and anyway the mechanics take those jobs in rotation and they’re way behind. Yesterday at four, when the shop closed, I was in a midtown motel waiting for a phone call. Power let himself in, switched trucks, put on a wheel and took off a wheel, switched spark plugs and put a dent in the fender. About a minute’s work in all. I didn’t get there till about twenty after.”

McIntosh whistled softly. “Now tell me about the switch last night.”

“It’s just the old army game, McIntosh,” Shayne said, “except that instead of using three walnut shells and a dried pea, we used five-ton Sanitation trucks. We took the real truck off the floor and put it in line. We took a fake truck out of line and put it on the floor.”

Rourke said, “Do you mind if I say ‘Yes but’ at this point? I can see why Power switched trucks, so we’d think the real truck was burned. But why did we switch trucks? Why didn’t we just let him pick up the real truck and drive it to Grand Central? We still would have had him just as cold.”

“Put your mind on it,” Shayne told him.

“I already have, and it baffles me. I think we went to a lot of trouble for nothing.”

“Do you?” Shayne said bleakly. “We could have had him cold for selling heroin. We couldn’t have touched him on Kraus’s murder. He had to kill Kraus. Even if everything went off the way Power planned, there would have to be an investigation, and Kraus would be sure to talk. An experienced cop like Power could make a point-blank shooting look like a suicide. And who else had that confession to leave as a suicide note? Of course it had to be Power, but could we nail him for it? Not a prayer.”

Some of the puzzlement had cleared out of Rourke’s face. “Mike, you’re a marvel. They looked in the hatch, and thought he was trying to sell them a load of nothing. And he’d been through too much for that money, so he picked it up and ran. Did you get the guy who shot him?” he asked McIntosh.

“We got him,” the narcotics agent said.

“And this’ll give you a lever,” Shayne said. “People always talk more freely when they’re trying to argue their way out of a murder rap.”

“Thanks,” McIntosh said, studying Shayne.

“You’re welcome.”

Rourke put in, “And what about this Mr. Adam or Adamowski or whatever his name is? Are you sure there is such a person?”

McIntosh’s manner became more cautious. “We’re not entirely sure. We’ve heard rumors.”

“What about that Jetstar?” the reporter persisted. “I don’t suppose he was on it?”

“Officially,” McIntosh said, “I don’t know what Jetstar you’re talking about. Unofficially, because you and Shayne have done us a certain service, I might as well tell you that the Jetstar which cleared from LaGuardia yesterday afternoon made an emergency landing at Gibraltar before continuing to Lisbon. Needless to say, this is being followed up with the Gibraltar police, and something may come of it. Meanwhile, as long as he’s still at large, I probably ought to warn you, Shayne, that you’ve made a dangerous enemy.”

“So has he,” Shayne said softly, and dropped the empty bottle into the chute that carried it down to the incinerator. “Tim, let’s get back to Miami.”