Brett Halliday - The Uncomplaining Corpses

Shayne grunted and his flailing fists lost their power. Casey grappled with him and the sergeant got a cuff on his left wrist, deftly jerked that behind Shayne’s back, and snapped the other cuff on his right wrist.

“That’ll do,” Gentry told his men. “Go on outside and wait for us.”

He threw his cigar savagely against the wall as they went out. “I hate this, Mike, but I’m going to search you. If that note isn’t on you I’m going to tear this room to little pieces looking for it.”

Shayne muttered, “Okay, Will,” with his hands pinioned behind him. He moved sideways on rubbery legs and slid down into a chair. “It’s in my inside coat pocket, and damn your soul for not letting me play this my own way.”

His chin dropped onto his chest while Gentry’s thick fingers rummaged inside his coat and pulled out the forged note. Peter Painter jumped up from his chair and came forward eagerly to read it over Gentry’s shoulder.

There was heavy silence while both men read the pasted strips of typewritten words that cleared Buell Renslow and left Carl Meldrum self-convicted of murdering Mrs. Leora Thrip.

Will Gentry blew out his breath and stammered, “B-but-what the sweet hell, Mike-This-Why, this isn’t-it’s not what I thought-”

“You wouldn’t trust me to know what I was doing,” Shayne ground out bitterly. “No. You had to see the thing for yourself. All right. There it is. Are you satisfied? What does that do to your case against Renslow for killing Meldrum?”

“It-shoots it all to hell, Mike,” Gentry rumbled. “According to this, the last person in the world to kill Meldrum would be Renslow. If Meldrum did leave a letter accusing Renslow of hiring him to murder Mrs. Thrip, it’ll look damn bad for the ex-convict.”

“Where does that leave Phyllis?” Shayne grated. “This seems to prove that Renslow got there too late to prevent murder. It’ll make his story stand up-” Shayne’s voice broke. His chin sagged forward and he breathed with heavy, rasping irregularity.

“It’s-why, this completely upsets our case against Joe Darnell,” Painter exclaimed in a stricken voice. “Yet-you weren’t going to make it public even to clear yourself.”

“Don’t be a complete ass,” Gentry advised Painter acidly. “He wasn’t holding it out to make it easy on you. Hell! This practically cinches the case against his wife for bumping Meldrum. Why didn’t you give me some hint?” he muttered fiercely to Shayne.

“A hint? All I’ve done all evening was try to stall you. But no. You wouldn’t take my word for it. You had to be smart and take it off me by force. All right There it is. What are you going to do with it?”

“Look,” Painter put in quickly. “Maybe we can cover this up. It’s as much to Shayne’s advantage-and you, Will, don’t you want to see Mrs. Shayne beat the charge? Why can’t we forget this ever happened?”

Gentry said, “No.” His brow was furrowed and his heavy jaw was set like a bulldog’s.

Shayne smiled thinly, showing his teeth. “It’s no go, Painter. Gentry’s hell on duty. You’re in for a nice slap in the face when this all comes out in the papers.”

“I didn’t mean actually to suppress this note as evidence,” Painter defended himself. “I thought we might keep it quiet between the three of us for a little while-twenty-four hours would be enough. That would give me time to make a statement that I wasn’t-” Painter massaged his purplish bruises in deep contemplation; his black eyes flashed as if he were thinking up something entirely original-“and I haven’t been entirely satisfied with the case as it stood. I’ll announce a reopening of investigations.” He paused, nervously wetting his upper lip. His eyes were harried and he looked yellow around the purple spots on his cheek. “Of course, I’ll rescind my telegram to the governor and explain that I acted too hastily.”

Shayne nodded soberly. “We might prevail on Will to hold off making this note public for a few hours,” Shayne agreed. “His conscience should be elastic enough to stretch that far. It would give me a chance to go over Phyl’s case with a lawyer-and see what kind of defense we can work up. How about it, Will?”

Gentry sat down on the bed and slowly reread the note which he held in both hands. Without looking up, he said, “I reckon that couldn’t hurt very much. But I won’t hold Renslow in jail for no good reason while you fellows are fixing your fences. I’ll order his release at once, with a statement that I have evidence of his entire innocence.” He got up heavily, avoiding Shayne’s eyes.

Gentry went to the door and opened it, ordered the sergeant to take off Shayne’s cuffs, then told him to take his men away.

When the men were gone, Shayne wriggled his fingers and flexed his arm muscles, then asked, “How about letting me have Meldrum’s note?”

“I can’t do that, Mike,” Gentry said. He folded the note and put it in his pocket, hesitated, and added awkwardly, “I’m sorry it turned out this way.”

Shayne said, “You might have trusted me to know what I was doing, Will.”

“Yeah, I might. But it still wouldn’t have been right.” Gentry turned and went out the door, closing it.

Shayne expelled a long breath as the door closed. He turned to Painter and said, “You’d better be getting a statement ready for the morning Herald.”

“Of course,” Painter said briskly. “How shall I phrase it? Will it be all right if I say I’ve been working closely with you? How would it be to intimate that my assertion concerning Darnell’s guilt was merely a smoke screen to lull the real criminal into a feeling of false security so he could be more readily trapped?”

“That ought to get you a lot of applause. Go ahead, but leave me out of it. You can have all the credit for clearing the mess up. All I ask is that you don’t even hint the identity of the real criminal-not until I give the word. I think I see a way to pick up a few dimes if things work out just right.”

Painter shook his head wonderingly. “I don’t see how you can think about money while your wife is in jail charged with murder.”

“She isn’t charged-yet,” Shayne reminded him blithely. “You never can tell when something will pop up.”

He picked up the nearly empty cognac bottle and poured the remaining liquid down his throat. Then he draped his coat over his arm, jammed his hat down on his head, and stalked out.

Shayne walked into Gentry’s office a few minutes after Buell Renslow had been brought in from the skyscraper jail across Flagler Street. The ex-convict looked pallid but composed as he stood by Gentry’s desk and heard the chief say he was being released. His gaze flickered to Shayne’s face when the detective entered, but he didn’t speak. Will Gentry raised his eyebrows in Shayne’s direction, but went on with what he was saying to Renslow:

“… and I’ve never kept a man locked up a minute after I was convinced of his innocence.” He paused to take a cigar from his mouth and spit in the direction of a brass spittoon. “You’ll be called as a witness in the Thrip case to identify Meldrum’s note, of course. You’re just damned lucky Shayne had sense enough to gather up the pieces at the Tally-Ho after you left. Without that note you’d be in a tough spot.”

Renslow’s body became rigid. He darted a perplexed look behind him at the detective but remained discreetly silent.

“I’ve never believed in hounding a man because he’s made a mistake in the past,” Gentry went on. “I understand you’ve done your time and that puts you in the clear as far as I’m concerned. Don’t try to leave the city, and you’ll get a square deal from me.”