Brett Halliday - The Uncomplaining Corpses

A crafty look came over Renslow’s face. He said, “I’m willing to let it lie the way it is.”

“I’m not. I’m not letting Joe Darnell take the rap for it.” Shayne’s big shoulders rose, his body was hunched toward Renslow.

“Maybe you’ll decide to,” Renslow suggested softly. “Maybe after we talk it over you’ll get smart.”

“What’s eating you?” Shayne burst out. “I haven’t been barking up your tree. Suppose I do pin it on Carl Meldrum? What’s that to you? Nobody’s got anything to worry about,” he soothed, “except your sister’s murderer.”

The lines on Buell Renslow’s face deepened and he jerked out harshly, “Look, shamus, I know the way you John Laws figure, see? I did one long stretch finding out all right. So I’m an ex-convict and whoever squeezed Leora’s white neck last night did a job that was worth plenty to me. If you don’t know that already you’re smart enough to dope it out pretty quick. So where does that put me? Don’t think I’m dumb enough to expect the truth to do me any good. Even if I wasn’t within a mile of that house last night you can buy witnesses that saw me going in the front door.”

“You’re all fixed if you’ve got an alibi,” Shayne growled. “I’ve never railroaded a man in my life.”

“Nuts! I listened to that once before and it got me plenty of years in the big house to think it over. My old man and the D.A. both gave me the same song and dance. Be honest-come clean-and get off light.”

Buell Renslow was an embittered old man now, looking back over the wreckage which too many years behind bars had made of him. His hands shook and the cocked revolver shook with them. Shayne fervently hoped the gun had a strong trigger pull. He knew the symptoms of stir-fever and the lengths to which it will drive a man.

“Yeah. They patted me on the back and told me to face it out,” Renslow went on in a tone of bitter disillusionment. “It was an accident. We were all drinking. Sure, the only disgrace would be in running away. Pay your debt to society, my boy!”

He was deliberately reaching back to reopen the old wound, twisting the knife of recollection in his own bowels, bringing back into vivid focus those horror-filled days and endless nights which had seen him segregated from his fellow men like a beast behind bars. He spoke in a jerky monotone that was more terrible than a burst of violence:

“All right. So I was a damned fool. That was when every Colorado mining town had its Boot Hill. The trial was going to be a farce with maybe a suspended sentence or six months at worst. Sure, I stood up and told my story to twelve men that hated my guts because I was Alonzo Renslow’s boy and he had taken millions out of the ground while they starved looking for a vein. So it was first degree and life-you rich man’s bastard. All right.

“Here’s the rest of it if you want to know why I’ll kill you rather than take another chance. Did my old man stick by me? Did Miss Sniveling Leora play ball? What do you think? You know all the signals. How many of Alonzo Renslow’s millions would it have taken to pull me out of that hellhole? My old man didn’t spend them, did he? Why not? Do I have to tell you? Because Leora talked him out of it. She wasn’t satisfied with half. She wanted it all. As long as I wore stripes it was all hers. Yeah. And now it’s not hers any longer. Do you see now why I’ll gun you rather than take another chance of telling the truth in court?”

“It seems to me,” said Shayne mildly, “that you’re only building up a case against yourself. You not only profited by your sister’s death, but you hated her.”

“Sure I did. And what good will it do me to swear I was in bed when it happened? I’m whipped before I start. When you start them looking beyond that punk that Thrip killed they’ll end up by putting me in the hot seat and don’t think I can’t see it coming.”

“You don’t think Joe Darnell killed your sister, do you?”

“What I think about it doesn’t count. The bulls think so-now. Unless you start them thinking in another direction they’ll go right on thinking so.”

“But it’s my rump if they hang it on Darnell,” Shayne argued good-naturedly. “My license will be revoked and I’ll be up a dirty creek without a paddle.”

“So what? You’ll still be alive and free. That’s something, isn’t it?”

“Not enough.”

“You sure about that?” Buell Renslow spoke very gently.

Shayne nodded. “I’m positive. Don’t be a fool, Renslow. I don’t bluff, and killing me won’t get you anywhere. If you’re clean on last night, play it that way. If not, you’d better back out of here and start running like hell.”

“And leave a million dollars behind? Oh, no!” Renslow was beginning to shake again. He gnawed at the inner walls of his cheeks, then burst out, “If I take it on the lam I’ll be sure you’re fixed so you can’t start chasing me.”

Mona sat up, glassy-eyed, shaking her head in disgust. “You’re not doing yourselves any good glaring at each other. From what I’ve heard about Mike Shayne, Buell, he’s always looking for a chance to feather his nest. Why not feather it for him?”

“Y-e-a-h.” Renslow nodded slowly. His eyes brightened. “You’re not so dumb at that, Mona. Maybe we can get together on a little deal, Shayne.”

Shayne said, “Maybe.”

“What’s it worth to you to drop the whole thing? Let it lie the way it is. Everybody’s happy that way.”

Shayne tugged at the lobe of his ear, then rubbed his angular chin. “I’ve turned down a lot of pay-offs in my time,” he warned Renslow. “This’ll have to be good to interest me.”

“Hell! It’s not as if you really had anything on me.”

“Isn’t it?”

“No,” Renslow emphasized savagely. “Not a damned thing.”

“Darnell didn’t kill Leora Thrip, you know.”

Renslow stared at Shayne a long time. Shayne stared back. Mona broke the silence by saying cheerily, “Let’s all us menfolks have a drink.” She stood up steadily and reached for the absinthe bottle.

With his gaze still boring at the ex-convict, Shayne said, “That’s a good idea. But that green stuff will drive you nuts. I’ve got something better in my coat pocket. I’m going to pull it out, Renslow.”

He slid a hand slowly into his coat pocket and drew out the bottle of cognac. Mona made a wry face and asked, “How many calls for my special?”

“None,” Renslow answered, his eyes fixed avidly on the bottle in Shayne’s hand. He pocketed his short gun and took the bottle from the detective. He took a long drink and handed it back, nodding approval.

Mona poured her own drink and sat down on the divan. Shayne took a drink and set the bottle on the floor where Renslow could reach it. He settled back and lit a cigarette and said:

“All we need now is someone to take the rap for Joe Darnell.”

“To hell with that.” Renslow made a violent gesture. “When the estate’s divided I’ll put more dough in your pocket than you could pick up in your lousy racket the rest of your life.”

Shayne shook his head. “I’m stubborn,” he admitted. “Maybe there’s a fool streak of pride left in me. I’ll never give Peter Painter the satisfaction of seeing me run out of town.”

“Hell, you’ll have enough jack to buy and sell Painter,” Renslow scoffed. He reached for the bottle and took a swig.

Shayne shook his head angrily. “There’s more to it than that. You ought to know what I’m talking about. You beat a life rap because you wouldn’t let your sister get away with what you figured was a raw deal.”

“All right, why not frame one of the Thrip kids?” said Renslow generously. “They were both there last night. They both hated Leora because she held out on them. Maybe one of them did do it,” he added as an afterthought.