Brett Halliday - Tickets for Death

“Then it came to me. Samuelson was here for the express purpose of paying cash for Edwards’s invention. A very little cash, I may say, but we all know Edwards would have accepted the offer. Hardeman knew about it. As soon as Samuelson told him over the phone what he intended to do, Hardeman realized that Edwards’s sale of the camera would do away with the mystery it was making of the counterfeiting, and thus discount the value of the camera as evidence against Matrix. Hardeman’s nightly revenue from the track would be at an end.

“By that time Hardeman was frantic. He didn’t know why I was fooling around and hadn’t arrested Matrix-not realizing that Mayme Martin had not told me what she knew. The only out he could see was to kill Edwards before Samuelson got to him with his offer-and to hope the crime would be laid to Matrix when the truth came out-on the assumption that Matrix had killed them both to keep his past a secret and, perhaps, that Matrix could cash in on the camera besides.”

“That’s right.” Chief Boyle nodded wisely. “It’s all down here-just like Mr. Shayne says.” He looked up at Shayne in frank admiration. “By golly, it’s like you had read his mind.”

Shayne’s shoulders suddenly slumped wearily. “That about clears it up,” he said, looking straight at Payson.

The banker wriggled uncomfortably, puffed out his pink cheeks, and nodded. “I see no legal justification for withholding your fee. With Hardeman’s confession, the track officials can sue his estate for the amount of losses.”

Grant MacFarlane got to his feet and yawned. “None of this evidence touches me in the slightest. I don’t know why you insisted upon my presence here. As a matter of fact, I’ve known about Matrix and Edwards for weeks-and I naturally supposed they were doing the counterfeiting. You remember, I offered you information tonight. Mayme Martin had spilled the whole thing to me one night when she was drunk.”

Shayne said, “You can go after I’ve said this to you. You made a mistake when you got panicky and pushed me around tonight. No man has ever pushed me without regretting it. I don’t know what you were panicky about, but I’m going to find out. Pandering to high-school kids is one thing. I’ll be visiting your dump again-with authority from the state’s attorney in Miami, whom you can’t buy off.”

He turned away from MacFarlane and the gambler hesitated, his face ashen, then went from the office without a word.

“Come on,” Shayne said to Matrix. “You’ve got a date with a blonde and she’ll be getting impatient.”

“Now, wait a minute.” Chief Boyle lumbered to his feet. “How about this escaped convict business? I guess maybe Mr. Matrix has a date with the state of Illinois.”

“No.” Shayne shook his head. “Illinois isn’t interested. Matrix was released from Joliet in 1936 after serving his term with time off for good behavior.”

Will Gentry caught Shayne’s arm as he went toward the door. He held him back and Matrix passed them hurriedly, going toward Shayne’s roadster. Gentry’s eyes followed the diminutive figure and he rumbled, “I hope you know what you’re doing Mike.”

Shayne said, “I’m absolutely certain.” He started to say something else, hesitated as Tim Rourke joined them in the doorway.

“Great day in the mountains, what a mess,” the reporter breathed happily. “I don’t know whether I’m coming or going with all this thrown at me at once.”

“Go back and talk to the chief,” Shayne urged. “He’ll help you straighten it out into headlines-and how he’ll love it.”

“Yeh,” Rourke said, “you’re right.” He thumped Shayne on the back and turned away to corner Chief Boyle at his desk.

When they were alone again, Gentry sighed and spoke in a low tone, “From beginning to end I never saw a more cockeyed case. And tonight, Mike, I saw something I’d never have believed if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes.”

Shayne said, “That so?” and waited.

“A bullet from a Police Positive that had lodged inside a man’s head,” Gentry explained. “In thirty years of police work that’s a new one on me. A thirty-two will do it sometimes-but I never thought a thirty-eight would.”

“It just goes to show,” Shayne told him solemnly, “that there’s always something new under the sun. I’ll buy you a drink when I get back to Miami.”

They shook hands with a hard grip that said more than either would put into words, then Shayne hurried to his roadster where Gil Matrix waited impatiently.

Matrix waited until Shayne started the car, then said, “You know I killed Hardeman. Why are you doing this for me?” His voice was quietly cold, filled with suspicion.

“Because I hate the guts of a louse who cold-bloodedly plans a crime with the intention of framing another man for it.” His foot pressed down on the accelerator, sent the speedometer up to sixty. “And when a louse gets stepped on and the life crushed out of him, I don’t call it murder.”

“I was-I guess I just went to hell when I read that anonymous letter intended for you,” Matrix confessed. “I made a mistake when I was a kid. I paid for it. It was too much to live in terror for weeks-with Midge’s happiness at stake-everything. That’s what I went through after the counterfeiting started.”

“Yeh,” Shayne muttered. The roadster slid past Edwards’s house on the corner. The windows were dark. Shayne nodded toward it. “There are a couple of other people who deserve a break.”

“Claude was crazy about his wife and boy,” Matrix said. “That’s why he broke prison, to provide for them. If he knew about it he’d be glad he was dead so his invention could pay them dividends, and I’ll see that it does.”

Shayne said, “That’s all behind both of you now. As soon as a thing is brought out in the open it loses its force. But don’t try running away again. Stay here and whip it. You and Midge together can do it.”

“We will,” Matrix promised fervently. “After what you’ve done-”

“Don’t thank me alone,” Shayne said roughly. “Thank Will Gentry too. He knows damned well Hardeman didn’t shoot himself.”

“I didn’t know cops were ever like that,” Matrix said in a tight voice. “I never heard of a cop giving an ex-con a break.”

“That’s hooey. Cops are people.” He slid his roadster to a stop behind Matrix’s Ford. Window curtains were drawn at the beach cottage and lights burned dimly behind them.

Shayne stopped Matrix as he started up the walk with rapid, short strides. He grunted. “Wait-there’s a little formality we need to take care of first.” He held Matrix’s arm and urged him toward the beach. The tide was going out, leaving a wide expanse of springy wet sand which supported their weight to the water’s edge.

Reaching into his coat pocket, he took out the small-caliber pistol. Swinging his arm in a wide arc, he hurled it far out to sea. “If anybody thinks to remove the bullet from Hardeman’s head,” he said grimly, “you don’t want to be in possession of the gun that fired it.”

Matrix’s body was rigid as he watched the faint splash as the pistol fell into deep water, beyond where the combers broke. He turned silently and followed Shayne back to the cottage.

Shayne opened the door and beckoned to Phyllis. She sprang up and got her wrap. Outside, Shayne said, “Let’s get the hell out of here. I’m beginning to feel like a fairy godfather.”

Phyllis had difficulty keeping up with his long strides. “But-what is it all about, Michael? Is it all over? Isn’t Mr. Matrix in any more trouble?”

“No more than any man about to be married,” he grunted.