Brett Halliday: The blonde cried murder

"Here we go again," said Patton sourly. "Three-sixteen, huh? Who's three-sixteen, Dick?" he called to the clerk.

"U-m-m, that's Miss Paulson, I think. Yeh. Cute little trick."

"She in now? Buzz her, Ewie," Patton added to the girl in front of him.

Dick said, "I don't think-no. Her key's in the box. And I think I remember seeing her go out a little while back."

"She doesn't answer," said Evelyn.

Oliver Patton shrugged. "Yeh. Well-you still think maybe the call said three-sixteen instead of three-sixty?"

"Seems to me I'm sure of it now, the more I think back."

Patton turned away from her tiredly and went back to the elevator, shaking his head at Bill this time. "Just to double-check," he said.

When he reached the third floor again, he grimaced at the door of 360 still standing open, and turned the other way, as he had on the floor above, and into the corridor leading to the left.

He stopped in front of the fifth door on his left this time, 316, near the end of the corridor. The overhead light was dim at this point, and no light showed through the transom of this room.

Patton knocked loudly, waited and knocked again, ordering gruffly, "Open up or I'll use my pass-key."

When nothing happened, he got out a ring of keys, selected one and unlocked the door. He stood on the threshold and reached inside for the wall switch. He blinked as the lights came up in a replica of Miss Payne's room.

The interior was neat and a little warm because the windows beyond the bed, overlooking the bay, were closed. He entered stolidly and went through the motions of checking the room. He found nothing at all out of order, and left in a few minutes.

Returning to the elevator, he glared at the open door of 360 as he waited for a car. Now his feet were hurting so badly he'd have to soak them in hot water before getting back to sleep.

A narrow alley runs beside the Hibiscus Hotel from the street in front to the stone breakwater at the rear of the ten-story building. It is used only by delivery and garbage trucks which must back in between the hotel and the brick apartment house on the other side of the alley.

At night, even when there is a full moon, there is black darkness at the bottom of the narrow slit between the two tall buildings. On this night there was only a sickle moon in the sky.

The running girl stumbled as she emerged suddenly from the blackness of the alley onto the lighted sidewalk. As she went down on both hands and one knee, she threw a terrified glance back into the alley behind her. She could see nothing, but she distinctly heard the running footsteps pursuing her.

Absolute terror mingled with hysteria to distort her features in a grimace of horror. She was on her feet instantly, running wildly along the sidewalk away from the lighted hotel entrance, like any hunted thing instinctively seeking safety in the darker shadows.

The headlights of a car on the street behind her picked up her fleeing figure. At the same moment a running man slid to a stop on the sidewalk at the spot where she had fallen. He looked quickly in both directions as the car drew abreast of him, saw her in flight half a block away and started in pursuit.

She looked over her shoulder once, saw the onrushing car and the man just behind it. Her breath was coming in labored gasps and her heart was pumping wildly. She realized there was only one possible chance of escape. She whirled ojff the sidewalk directly in front of the fast-coming headlights, waving her arms frantically above her head, standing resolutely at a point where she would be run down if the driver did not stop.

There was the blat of a horn and the angry scream of brakes. Fortunately the brakes were good and they held on the dry pavement. The car lurched to a stop with its bumper inches from the girl's knees.

It was a taxi without the signal lights that would have indicated it was cruising empty. The uniformed driver leaned out angrily to shout at the frightened girl, but she darted around the left headlight to claw open the rear door, gasping, "Please go on-fast. Please, please."

She was inside and slammed the door shut. The driver turned his head to argue with her, but her fist pounded on his shoulder as she sobbed out, "Go on! Before he gets here. Can't you see-?"

The driver could see she was young and beautiful and terrified. He also saw through the rear window the figure of the running man on the sidewalk behind them. He grunted sourly and threw the taxi in second and stepped on the gas. When the car leaped forward it threw the girl back against the rear cushion. Only at that moment did she become aware of the other passenger in the right-hand corner beside her-a woman, sitting very erect and staring at her in complete bewilderment.

"I'm-I'm terribly sorry," choked out the girl. "Please let me ride just a few blocks until I can think what to do. Please don't stop where he can get me."

She was addressing both the driver and his passenger impartially, and the driver tossed back over his shoulder curtly, "It's all right with me, lady, long as my fare don't mind. That your old man chasing you back there?"

They were two blocks from the hotel now, and he rounded a comer, letting the motor idle down while he half-turned his head interestedly.

His original passenger said quietly, "It's all right, of course, driver." She had a young and throaty voice, and spoke as calmly as though it were the most ordinary thing in the world for her to share her taxi with strangers who came running desperately out of dark alleys practically gibbering with fright.

"Oh, no," said the girl, still gasping for breath and jerking out the words between gasps. "Not my husband. He's- I don't know," she cried out tearfully. "I can't think. It's all so unreal-so horrible."

"Well, look here. Miss. You want I should find us a cop and report it? They'll pick him up quick."

"Oh, nol I don't think so. Not the police. They're- they won't believe me. They just won't. They'll ask all sorts of questions-" Her voice trailed off miserably.

"What do you wanta do?" asked the driver patiently. "I got this other fare, see? She's paying her money-"

"It's perfectly all right, driver," the placid young voice said again from the right corner of the rear seat. They were approaching Biscayne Boulevard now, and she suggested, "Just turn toward Flagler, why don't you, and I'll tell you where to drop me."

"I don't know what I should do," sighed the other girl forlornly. "That horrible man-" She lapsed into silence for a moment, then seemed to realize she owed her benefactors some sort explanation for the scene they had witnessed.

"If I go to the police, they'll say I'm crazy. I'm not, but I can't prove it."

"I betcha can't, sister," muttered the driver under his breath as he swung left onto the Boulevard.

"But somebody's got to help me," she went on desperately. "My brother-" She sucked in her breath, then exhaled it slowly and went on more calmly. "I'm a stranger in Miami. Perhaps you'd know, driver. Some private detective. An honest one. Who'd listen to me and not think I'm crazy, and help me."

"You might try Mike Shayne, Miss. He always seems to be getting himself mixed up in screwy cases."

"Is he-a good detective?"

"Best in Miami. Best in the country, I guess," added the driver with civic pride. "You need somebody to handle that gink was chasing you with no questions asked, Shayne's your man."

"It isn't exactly that. It's-but I can't waste time talking about it," burst out the girl distractedly. "Would there be any chance of contacting him at night like this?"

"Lady," said the driver, "you picked out just the right cab when you jumped in front of me back there and like to got yourself killed. I always read the write-ups on Shayne's cases in the papers and I know exactly where he hangs out at night. And from what I read in the papers, I guess he does as much work at home at night as he does in his office." There was the faintest suggestion of a leer in the driver's voice, but the girl disregarded it.