Brett Halliday - The Corpse Came Calling

“That,” Pearson told him, “is where fate stepped in to upset the best-laid plans of traitors and spies. Two days after the theft of the plans, Morgan was involved in a holdup in New York. He was convicted and sentenced to the penitentiary. Naturally, he held on to his third of the claim check-and Lacy and the foreign agent were checkmated without it.”

“And Morgan wouldn’t trust Lacy to collect his end of the payoff and hold it for him until he got out?” Gentry guessed.

“Evidently not. We’ve had Lacy shadowed and he’s had no communication with Morgan in jail. We’ve been gathering our evidence slowly and it hasn’t been until the past few days that we began to get a clear picture of the whole thing.”

“Then Lacy beats it to Miami under an assumed name,” Shayne muttered. “Morgan immediately makes a crash-out and also comes here. The plans must have been shipped here originally.”

“It seems likely, though we had nothing on that point except the meeting of the two men here. Lacy eluded our shadow in New York and we lost trace of him until yesterday. It appears definite, however, that Morgan’s escape was planned and financed by the foreign agent in a desperate effort to get the two men here together, each with his piece of claim check. A prison guard was heavily bribed to allow Morgan’s escape,” he added by way of explanation, “and he must have had further help in eluding the police and getting to Miami.”

The tramp of feet sounded in the corridor, and a knock on the door. Shayne got up to admit the coroner and two ambulance attendants with a stretcher. Gentry went over and conferred with them in low tones for some time, and then the body was loaded on the stretcher and carried out. Gentry came back to his chair, and the conversation was picked up where it had been interrupted.

Shayne said, “Granting that all your facts and deductions are correct, is it your idea that Lacy was killed on his way to my office this afternoon by someone who was after his part of the claim check?”

Pearson regarded him steadily. “Was Lacy killed on his way to your office? Mr. Painter appears to doubt your story about what happened.”

“Painter would doubt the word of Jesus Christ,” Shayne retorted. He turned impatiently to Gentry. “Give him the report you have on that, Will.”

Gentry repeated to Pearson the report he had given Shayne over the telephone earlier. “I questioned the couple carefully,” he ended, “and I think there’s little doubt they witnessed the actual attack on Lacy-subject to confirmation from the autopsy that Lacy could have lived with those bullets in him.”

“They must have got what they were after,” Tim Rourke interjected. “There wasn’t any piece of a claim check found on Lacy’s body, was there?”

“There was not,” Gentry replied.

“Then it couldn’t have been Morgan who shot Lacy,” Shayne put in quickly. “Morgan came here tonight demanding that I give him what I took off Lacy. He didn’t describe what he was after, but your story makes it clear enough, Pearson.”

“And now Morgan is dead.” Pearson sighed. “And his piece of the claim check is missing. If a third party was responsible for both deaths-has gotten hold of both missing pieces-then, gentlemen, I have failed. An enemy plot has succeeded. One which may possibly mean the winning or losing of a war.” Spoken soberly, with no attempt at dramatics, his words had far greater impact than if he had shouted or pounded his fist.

Shayne regarded Pearson thoughtfully. In a curiously soft voice, he asked, “What do you imply by suggesting a third party may be responsible for both deaths? You know I killed Morgan.”

Pearson looked levelly into Shayne’s eyes, disregarding the danger signal glittering there. He asked, “Why were you going through Lacy’s room this evening?”

“Because it was my business. Lacy died in my office. I wanted to know what the lay was. Lacy had called me just before he was shot. He was so anxious to see me that he refused to die before he reached me. Naturally I wanted to know what was behind it.”

“How did you know the number of his hotel room-the assumed name of James he was using?” Pearson’s voice had become hard and inflexible.

Shayne shrugged. “I’m a detective. Do I have to divulge my methods to an FBI man?”

“I think you had better,” Pearson said. “Otherwise we may suspect that Lacy did tell you something-that you searched him before the police arrived.”

Shayne turned to Gentry. “Tell him, Will, that I didn’t get to my office until after the police were there.”

“That’s right,” Gentry agreed. “His wife telephoned the report about Lacy. Mike wasn’t there.”

“All right. It could have been his wife,” Pearson pointed out. “How do we know what Lacy told Mrs. Shayne-what she may have found in the dead man’s possession?”

Shayne growled, “My wife doesn’t lie-unless I tell her to. If she had taken anything off Lacy, she would have told me.”

Pearson made an impatient gesture. “I’ve been checking on you this afternoon, Mr. Shayne. Your professional ethics are lax, to put it charitably. I think no one who knows your reputation will seriously doubt that either you or your wife would withhold an article of great value if a dead man stumbled into your office with it.”

Shayne got up slowly, doubling his big, bony fists. In a thick voice he said, “I don’t like that kind of talk from anybody, Pearson.”

Pearson remained seated, unperturbed. He said curtly, “You can’t intimidate an agent of the government, Shayne. You’re a fool to try it. Where is your wife? I’d like to question her.”

The redhead set his teeth together hard, staring down at Pearson. Then he relaxed and poured a drink. Over his shoulder, he said, “I don’t know where Phyl is.”

“Oh, come now, Shayne. There’s no use stalling.”

With his back turned to Pearson, Shayne took a sip of cognac. “I don’t know where Phyl is,” he repeated flatly. “If you can find her you’re welcome to question her.” He sank back into his chair and demanded, “Why don’t you accuse me of going over Morgan after I killed him? Hell! I might have both the pieces of claim check.”

“That,” said Pearson evenly, “is what I was about to bring up. With your reputation, it’s exactly what I would expect.”

Shayne said, “You’ve been listening to Peter Painter. He has been trying to throw the hooks into me for years, but I’ve still got my license to practice.”

“Lacy had a private license, also,” said Pearson. “That didn’t prevent him from double-crossing his government-his country-by selling them out to the enemy.”

“You’re accusing me of doing that?” Shayne grated.

“I’m accusing no one. On the other hand, I’m not taking anyone, a private detective least of all, on faith.”

Shayne started to his feet. Rourke grabbed his arm and soothed him. “Use your head, Mike. Pearson’s got a job to do. A tough job. He’s under a hell of a strain. You can’t blame him for checking every angle. You’d be doing the same thing, yourself.”

Gentry interrupted with a persuasive rumble. “I’ve known Mike Shayne for ten years, Pearson. He’s tough and he’s hell on wheels after the main chance, but he has never lied to me on a main issue. You’re crazy when you compare him to a cheap tin-badge like Lacy. Look, I’ll grant that under other conditions Mike might hold out something if he smelled a profit. But this dynamite of yours is something different. Shayne has been called a lot of names by a lot of people, but only a fool would suspect him of being a traitor. If he knows anything that will help recover those plans before they reach the enemy, he’ll give it to us. I swear he will.” He turned to Shayne. “How about it, Mike?”