Brett Halliday - The Corpse Came Calling

“You’ve always sneered at the FBI. A lot of people have. Called them rah-rah boys. But it’s an unfair prejudice. Personally, I was impressed by Pearson.”

Shayne nodded. “All right. Granting the importance of the stolen plans-how do you know this woman is important to the investigation? You’re taking it for granted that she was working with Morgan-had his piece of the claim check in her possession. I admit I don’t know. But we can find out.”

He swung to his feet and brushed past Helen into the bedroom. She turned her head to watch him. Both men had been acting as if she were not there, had treated her as though she were an inanimate object to be discussed with strict impersonality.

Shayne came back carrying the clothes she had taken off. He dumped them on the floor in front of the reporter. “Go through her stuff yourself. If the thing is there I won’t lift a finger to stop you from telephoning Gentry.”

Rourke shook out the dress and underthings. He examined her slippers as he had seen Pearson examine Morgan’s shoes, then tossed them all down with an oath. “All right. It isn’t here.”

Shayne said, “There you are.” He nudged the pile of clothing toward Helen with his toe. “Go into the bedroom and get dressed.” He turned back to Rourke as the girl started to speak. She compressed her lips and gathered up her clothes, went into the bedroom, and closed the door.

“Does that save me from being branded a traitor?” Shayne asked. He reached for the bottle and held it over Rourke’s glass.

“You haven’t proved anything,” Rourke argued. “She probably knows where it’s hidden. At least she could take the police to Morgan’s hide-out.”

“All right.” Shayne nodded affably. “As soon as she gets dressed we’ll take her down to headquarters and let Gentry and Pearson go to work on her. I’m not trying to throw a monkey wrench into the works,” he went on earnestly. “All in God’s world I wanted was to get that girl dressed and out of this apartment before I had a murder rap hung around my neck.”

Rourke mumbled, “Maybe I was too quick on the trigger. But it burned me up to think you’d hold out a clue on the sort of thing Pearson is trying to run down.” He hesitated, then asked awkwardly, “What’s the real dope on your tie-up with it? What was Morgan’s wife doing here-in a nightgown?”

Shayne grimaced. “That was her idea. She was trying to talk me into doing something I didn’t like, and she had an idea she could be a lot more persuasive in bed.”

“What was she after, Mike?”

The bedroom door opened behind Shayne. He pretended not to notice Helen’s entrance. “She wanted me to get rid of her husband for her.”

Rourke choked over his drink. He rounded his eyes at Helen. “I don’t get it,” he ejaculated.

“That was before I’d heard Pearson’s story on the FBI angle,” Shayne explained. “She was here when Gentry phoned and I told her to get into the bedroom and stay out of sight.” He continued to ignore Helen, went on as though he didn’t know she was listening.

“When she undressed and got in bed I thought maybe it was a simple symptom of nymphomania. Now, I don’t know. The way Morgan turned up on the dot and caught her looks as though she might have planned it that way. It certainly worked if she did plan it. Morgan’s dead-and I’m officially marked down as his killer. She’s rid of her husband-and in the clear.”

“You beast! To even think such things!” Helen took a long step to the side of his chair and spat out the words. Her hands were curved into claws, long nails reaching for his face.

Shayne laughed shortly and caught both her wrists in one big hand. “Don’t waste time pretending to be shocked. You could have planned it that way. You wanted Mace out of the way badly enough.”

She struggled to free herself, sobbing with rage. He gave her a shove that sent her reeling back, and remarked to Rourke, “I’m always suspicious of a floozie who crawls into a man’s bed without an invitation.”

Rourke nodded. He said, “We’re wasting time. We ought to turn her over to Gentry and Pearson. They’ll sweat the truth out of her.”

Shayne said, “Sure. Let’s take her down to headquarters. We’ll think up a story about how we managed to get hold of her so fast. Just say she came here looking for Mace. That’ll sound okay.”

“What about her? If she tells them the truth-”

“That’s the last thing she will tell,” Shayne said scornfully. “With Mace dead-”

He was interrupted by a knock on the door. He got up and opened it to admit a uniformed Western Union messenger. The lad asked, “Mr. Shayne?” looking from him to Rourke.

The redhead said, “I’m Shayne.” He took a plain white envelope from the boy’s hand. He got between the boy and the door as he ripped the envelope open and took out a folded sheet of paper.

The message was typed. There was no salutation or signature. It said:

We’ve got your wife where we want her. We’ll trade for the strip of cardboard she says you got from Jim Lacy. We’re not fooling and you’d better not if you want to see her alive again. Put a personal ad in the morning HERALD saying “Okay. M.S.” and you’ll hear from us again.

Shayne read the message without change of expression. He caught the messenger’s arm and demanded, “Where did you get this?”

“Fellow stopped me on Flagler. Gave me a buck to bring it up to this here apartment.”

“What did he look like?”

“I didn’t even get a good look at him,” the lad said, frightened by Shayne’s harsh interrogation. “He was inside the arcade where it was dark and he called to me as I was passing by.”

Shayne let go of his arm and stood aside. The boy went away.

Shayne closed the door and stood staring at it, the typewritten threat hanging lax in his fingers. Rourke came over and took the paper from his fingers while Shayne went on gazing at the door, staring fixedly, as though he were seeing through and far beyond the wooden barrier.

Rourke read the note and whistled shrilly. He crumpled it in his hand and began cursing Shayne in a low tone of fury.

Shayne turned his head and looked at Rourke as if he looked at a complete stranger.

Rourke panted, “This washes you up, Mike. You lied from the beginning. You’ve got Lacy’s piece of the claim check.”

Shayne nodded and said dully, “Yeh, I’ve got it.”

Rourke stood before him on wide-spread legs. “I’m not going to dirty my mouth with what I think of you,” he told the detective bitterly. “Get out of my way. I don’t want to be defiled by touching you as I go out.”

Shayne lifted shaggy red eyebrows. “Aren’t you being a trifle melodramatic?”

“Melodramatic?” Rourke’s voice trembled. “You’d play ball with the devil himself if you smelled a cent of profit in the transaction. I’m through listening to your lies. Get out of my way.”

Shayne didn’t move from the door. He asked, “Where are you going?”

“To Pearson.”

Shayne wet his lips. “Did you read that note?”

“I read it.”

“Do you realize what it means? They’ve got Phyllis.”

“And you’ve got the one piece of cardboard that’s between a foreign spy ring and the plans of an important American military secret.”

Shayne nodded. “I’ve got what they have to have. It’s my only ace. Phyllis will be safe as long as I keep it. If you tell Pearson and I’m forced to give it up-” Shayne left the rest of the sentence unsaid.

Rourke was breathing hard. He said, “Phyllis wouldn’t want to pay that price to keep on living. She’d hate you forever, Mike, if you bargained with those rats.”

Shayne said, “You don’t know what you’re saying, Tim. We’re talking about Phyllis. My wife.”