Brett Halliday - Marked for Murder

“Tim? I don’t know. I saw him putting some things in his pockets before he walked out. But some of the boys said Bronson came back to the office after supper last night and went through Tim’s desk and cleaned it out good.”

“How late after supper?”

“Eight or nine o’clock. Minerva could give you the dope on that. You remember Minerva.”

Shayne nodded. “What kind of a heel is Bronson?”

Dolan looked cautiously about him, lowered his voice, and said, “A puffed-up adding machine. Thinks he’s a tin God on wheels, likes to crack a whip just to hear it crack.”

“Why did he oppose Tim’s writing the stuff he’d been writing? Rourke had sense enough to steer clear of libel. And a campaign like that always jumps circulation.”

“Bronson claimed he thought it was bad for the community. Give people the wrong idea about Miami and scare the northern investors away. His henchmen didn’t like the stink.”

“Henchmen?” Shayne’s left brow arched quizzically.

“His big-shot friends-the Chamber of Commerce, and so forth.” Dolan took the gurgling pipe from his mouth and spat in the direction of the spittoon.

“Do you think he had any other reason for trying to muzzle Rourke?”

Dolan looked up quickly, his faded eyes keen and speculative. “Your guess is as good as mine. One thing you can chew on.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Bronson lived on balance sheets and statements of profit and loss. He was imported from New York to build up circulation.”

Shayne nodded. He started to get up, then settled back. “One thing more, Jimmy. What’s the inside dope on Tim’s love life?”

Dolan chuckled knowingly. “Let’s see. You left about two years ago. That would be Jessie’s time. Remember Jessie Newton?”

Shayne nodded.

“That burned out two or three months after you left. Then there was a cute little redhead-about twenty and hot as a firecracker from the way she acted. They were pretty thick for a time and it’s my guess she burned him out. She disappeared and we began to see Tim around again. And she’s the last as far as I know. That’s been about a year ago. If he had anything on the string after the redhead, he was keeping it mighty quiet around the office.”

Shayne said, “He never used to bother to keep it quiet.”

“I know. Tim always paraded his dolls around the office. It doesn’t seem reasonable he’d be true to the redhead a year after they broke up, now does it?”

“That’s not like Tim,” Shayne said casually, then asked, “How do you go about getting in touch with Brenner?”

“Hake Brenner?” Dolan wrinkled his forehead. “I wouldn’t try to find out if I was you, Mike. If he finds out why you’re in Miami-”

“I can’t get anywhere by walking around in circles,” Shayne remonstrated.

“You’ll get farther than you will by riding around in a hearse.”

“I still want to see Brenner.”

“You might ask Laverty. I’ve heard he and Brenner used to be pals.”

“Lucky Laverty?”

“You’ll find him around.”

“Is Minerva here?” Shayne asked.

“Minerva’s always around, sour-pussed as ever.”

Shayne got up and said, “Thanks, Dolan,” and went across to the managing editor’s private office. The door stood open and the light was on. Minerva’s cubbyhole opened off to one side. She was sitting erect at her desk typing, her sharp, plain features weary and her gray hair untidily piled in a bun at the back of her head. She wore a black skirt and a crisp white shirtwaist and low-heeled shoes.

She looked up as Shayne came toward her and she stopped typing.

Shayne grinned. He thought he saw a glint of tears in her eyes. Her tight, unrouged lips loosened and trembled undeniably. He said, “Minerva! As gorgeous as ever,” and was beside her chair.

She blinked her eyes and a tear rolled down her cheek. He tipped her chin up and planted a hearty kiss on her unresponsive lips. “Don’t tell me you’re worried about Tim.”

“That good-for-nothing,” she sniffed. “Why would I worry about him?”

“Why, indeed,” said Shayne cheerfully. “You always said he’d come to no good end.” He sat down on one corner of her neat desk. “How do you like your new boss?”

She said, “Did you come back to-to-?”

“Why else? You can help me, Minerva.”

“I’ll do what I can, Mr. Shayne. Tim was saying only yesterday you ought to be here to get after that mess on the Beach.” Her voice was prim again and she rearranged her features.

“I’m wondering about any stuff that might have been in Tim’s desk. He claimed he had some affidavits, according to his story.”

“I’m sorry. Mr. Bronson cleaned out his desk that evening.”

“What did he do with the stuff?”

“Put it in a big Manila envelope and took it away with him.” She looked down at the typewriter keys and continued, “He’d had me draw a check to Timothy that afternoon, and he took that with him too. I think he planned to see him. At least he had me look up his address in the file.”

“What time did Bronson leave here?”

“It must have been about nine-thirty.”

“Was he still sore at Rourke?”

“He doesn’t confide such things to me.”

“Don’t kid me, Minerva. A man doesn’t have to confide things for you to know them. Tim used to say you knew it when he was just thinking about going out on a binge.”

She looked up and smiled fleetingly. “Mr. Bronson said some terrible things about Timothy that afternoon. He had cooled off by evening, but I don’t think he had forgiven him.”

“Has your sixth sense by any chance given you an inkling as to who Tim’s latest flame is? A blond babe with plenty of oomph?”

Minerva didn’t answer at once. She turned her eyes away from Shayne’s intent gray gaze and her thin mouth tightened. After a moment she said, “Mr. Shayne, I’ve never been disloyal to an employer. I’ve tried to stay out of all this, but Timothy has always been a sort of pet of mine. Now that he-he’s had this terrible thing happen to him, and all because he was trying to do his duty as he saw it, I’m willing to do what I can to help find his-the person who shot him.”

“Good girl! Now what about Tim’s latest?”

She hesitated again, and the strain of her indecision showed plainly in her expression. Then she began in an apologetic voice: “I’m not accustomed to gossiping, Mr. Shayne, but a woman is a fool to come around with her eyes blazing at a man and expect another woman not to suspect it.” She paused, then blurted out, “That’s exactly what Mrs. Bronson does-to Timothy. And she makes it a point to come here when she knows Mr. Bronson is out.” She leaned toward Shayne and almost whispered, “She goes over to his desk and hangs over him. Timothy tries not to pay any attention to her except to be courteous, but-I wonder if he’s just courteous to her-at other times. He hasn’t brought a girl around here for a long time. Not since right after the Bronsons came.”

“And Mrs. Bronson is a blonde?” Shayne asked casually. There was no change in his expression.

“And very beautiful. She looks much younger than I’m sure she is. Another woman can always tell that, too.”

“Where do the Bronsons live?”

“On the Beach.”

“I mean the address,” Shayne amended.

“Eighteen thirty-two Magnolia Avenue,” she told him. An odd flush rose in her pale cheeks and she said hastily, “You won’t even breathe I told you anything, will you, Mr. Shayne?”

“You know you don’t have to worry about that, Minerva,” Shayne said gravely. He got up and stood looking down at her slight figure. “Don’t worry about Tim. He’ll be back to devil you again. And thanks.”