Brett Halliday - The Corpse Came Calling

Painter smoothed the thin line of silky mustache with his thumbnail. “I think you know a lot more about this man than you’re telling.”

Shayne said, “How can I? I just walked in here.”

“Where have you been during the last half hour?”

Shayne hesitated. He turned to Gentry. “Do I need an alibi, Will?”

Gentry said, “I don’t know, Mike. Haven’t you got one?”

Shayne said, “I’ll take that matter up when you get ready to make a charge against me. In the meantime, why don’t you have the corpse carried out? I’m fastidious about dead men cluttering up my office.”

“Wait a minute,” Painter said importantly. “Suppose you identify him for us first.”

“Am I supposed to know him?”

“Don’t you?” Painter shot at him.

Shayne took time to look at Jim Lacy’s body again. He shook his head. “I’m afraid I can’t help you.”

“That,” said Painter happily, “is what I expected you to say. Why lie about it?”

Shayne turned to Gentry. “Is it my fault that all dead men look alike to me? What’s the angle?”

Gentry said, “Remember, I just got here, too.” To his fellow detective chief he said, “Give it to us, Painter.”

“Do you think it was just coincidence that he was killed here in Shayne’s office?” Painter parried.

Gentry fended off Shayne’s angry rejoinder. “We haven’t any proof that he was killed here. Is that all you’ve got?”

“No. I’ve got plenty more. If he didn’t know Shayne, why did he telephone that he was coming up shortly before he arrived?”

Shayne’s lean face showed surprised interest. “Did he do that, for Christ’s sake?”

“Your wife says he did.”

Shayne rumpled his red hair and growled, “I never was any good at riddles.” He crossed to Phyllis’s side and sat down beside her. “You tell me, angel.”

“There was a telephone call,” she admitted. “About half an hour before- he came. A man’s voice said it was Jim Lacy and he had to see you at once. He was cut off before I could ask any questions or-anything.”

Shayne said, “Jim Lacy?” He furrowed his brow, tugged at the lobe of his ear, then brightened. “By God, is that Jim Lacy?” He jumped to his feet and strode forward to look down at the dead man.

“As if you didn’t know it all the time,” Painter scoffed.

Shayne swung on Gentry. In a weary tone, he said, “If you don’t stop that little twerp’s yapping I swear I’m going to muss up his pretty clothes.”

Gentry’s stolid face remained unruffled. “Who’s Jim Lacy?” he rumbled.

“I used to know a private op by that name. A long time ago. Ten years, I guess. We worked together for Countrywide in New York. Later I heard Jim had muscled into the racket on his own.”

“Is that him on the floor?”

Shayne said, “How do I know? After ten years. If it is, I give you my word, Will, today is the first time I’ve laid eyes on him since I quit Countrywide.”

“It’s Lacy, all right,” Painter told them. “We found his private license and other papers to identify him. What I want to know, Shayne, and what the G-men are going to want to know, is why he wanted so desperately to see you this afternoon.”

“It’s too damn bad,” Shayne said sourly, “that you can’t ask him.” He went back to sit by Phyllis.

Painter said, “I’m asking you.”

Shayne lit a cigarette and patted Phyllis’s hand. “Don’t pay any attention to our Petey, Phyl. Nobody else does.”

Will Gentry sighed and elbowed Painter back. For years he had been acting as buffer between the redheaded private detective and his co-worker from the other side of the bay, and for years it had been a nerve-racking task. He addressed the officer in charge of the homicide detail.

“Have you got everything you need here, lieutenant? Prints, pix, everything?”

The lieutenant nodded. “We’ve got everything there is, chief.”

“Okay. You boys can beat it. Send some men up for the body. And-doc, I want an autopsy right away. You know what I want-and how important it is.”

The M.E. said cheerfully, “You’ll get it, Will,” and followed the detectives out.

When only the two detective chiefs were left in the room with Shayne and his wife, Gentry said in a reasonable tone, “Let’s all have a drink and get down to cases.”

Shayne said, “That’s the first sensible remark I’ve heard since walking in here.” He got up and went to the cabinet for a glass, glancing over his shoulder at Painter, who remained stiffly erect in the center of the floor. “Are you joining us menfolks in a snifter?”

Painter said, “You know I never drink while on duty.”

“Yeh,” Shayne mused, “you always were hell on duty.” He went to the table and picked up the bottle of cognac, poured himself and Gentry a drink.

Gentry accepted the glass with a nod and lowered his bulky frame into a deep chair. Shayne went back to sit beside Phyllis. Painter remained obdurately standing.

“If you boys,” said Gentry, “would forget you hate each other we might be able to straighten this thing out.”

Shayne said, “Look, Will. Is it my fault that a guy whom I haven’t seen for ten years gets a sudden yen to look me up? Can I help it if he gets bumped on his way to my office and just makes it to the door before he falls flat?”

“But why?” snapped Painter. “If that is what happened, why was it so desperately necessary that someone prevent him from reaching you? You were cooking up something together. He was another fly-cop like yourself.”

Shayne turned his glass around in his big hands, regarding it morosely. He spoke to Gentry without lifting his head.

“I don’t know any more about those things than you do, but I intend to find out. Hell,” he went on irritably, “do you think I like the idea of a man being killed while he’s on his way to my office? It’s lousy publicity. And by the way, can we keep this thing out of the papers until I have a chance to check some angles?”

Gentry began, “I’ll see what I can do-”

But Painter took a step forward to interrupt. “It’s too late for that. A News reporter came up with us. He dashed out with the story to make the final edition. It’s probably on the street now.”

Shayne nodded. “With Painter’s name in headlines. All right, you have to do something once in a while to kid the City Fathers into thinking you’re earning your keep.”

Gentry said wearily, “You just can’t lay off riding him, can you, Mike?”

“Why should I? He rides me every chance he gets. That’s not so bad. I can take it. But I don’t like him starting on my wife, too.”

“I haven’t been riding her.” Painter’s voice became almost shrill with anger. “I simply said-”

“That she was lying about our visitor,” Shayne cut him off.

“You heard the doctor’s opinion.”

“Yes and, by God, you heard Phyllis’s story.” Shayne swung to his feet.

Painter faced him with equal anger. “Don’t bluster at me, Shayne. This isn’t a local matter, you know. Our country is at war and if your friend Lacy was mixed up in some scheme that interests the federal authorities, you had better give us any information in your possession.”

Shayne grinned infuriatingly. “So you’re going to sick Mr. Hoover’s boys on my trail? All right. I’ll do my talking to them, Painter. Drop back in to see me when you have a couple of special agents to back you up. In the meantime, get out. I’m tired of restraining myself and I’m sick of listening to you.”

He swung toward Gentry. “And for you, Will, I’ll give you this. I did know Jim Lacy ten years ago in New York. I haven’t seen him since-until I looked at him lying dead here in my office. I haven’t heard from him nor of him-until Phyllis received the telephone call while I was out. I don’t know why he wanted to see me today-nor who didn’t want him to see me.”