Brett Halliday - Marked for Murder

Number 614 proved to be one side of a one-story stuccoed duplex house set discreetly back from the street behind a hedge of flowering oleanders. He drove on to the next block before parking, and walked back. Number 614 showed no light in the windows. The other half of the duplex was 616, and the curtained front windows were lighted. He went up the path and onto the porch serving both entrances and rang the bell of darkened 614.

A curtain at one of the lighted windows on the other side fluttered. He turned his head to see a girl peering out at him. He kept on ringing the bell without result, looked down at the common door lock and began fishing in his pocket for his key ring with his other hand.

The window curtain dropped back into place. A moment later the front door of number 616 opened and a girl looked out at him. She had jet black hair and heavy black brows and an oval face. Long black lashes fringed the lids of her light-brown eyes. She wore a flowered hostess gown of cool green material and a smile of welcome. She said, “You won’t get anywhere ringing Madge’s bell, Redhead. Why don’t you come on in here?” Her lips were very red and her complexion looked sun-tanned.

Shayne said, “Where’s Madge?”

“I don’t know, but she’s not at home. Hasn’t been for a couple of days. Out partying, I guess.”

Shayne jingled his key ring and frowned as he picked out a key. He tried out a puzzled look that was successful, and said, “That’s funny. I had a date with her tonight. Made it last Tuesday.”

The dark-haired girl laughed softly. “Madge must have been drunk when she made it and forgot all about it.” She looked up at his face and studied it under the dim porch light. “I haven’t seen you here before, have I?”

Shayne grinned and inserted a chosen key in the lock of 614. “I’m an old friend of Madge’s. Just got back in town. She gave me a key when I ran into her on Tuesday.” He turned it in the lock and hoped it would work. It did. It required a little pressure but it turned. He said over his shoulder as he opened the door, “I guess I’ll go in and wait a little while, anyhow.”

“You can wait for her in my house and I’ll fix you a drink,” said the girl in a husky, persuasive voice. “I’m not doing a thing this evening.”

“I’ll take you up on that if Madge doesn’t show up soon.” He went on in and closed the door.

He could hear an electric clock purring on the mantel and an electric refrigerator running. He felt along the wall and found a light switch and looked around the small neat living-room furnished with wicker furniture upholstered in gay cretonne. He went on to the dinette and kitchen, turning on lights as he went. There was no sound except the humming refrigerator.

Returning to the living-room he opened a door leading to a hall. The bathroom door was open, and to the left another door was partly open. There was a faint fragrance in his nostrils, mingled with the scent of another odor, an acrid odor that was almost imperceptible in the still, close air.

Shayne’s wide nostrils flared and he felt a prickling at the back of his neck. He pushed the bedroom door wide open, turned on the light, and looked somberly down at the corpse of a girl lying half off the bed. She wore a pair of black net stockings, the tops rolled above her knees. The rest of her slim young body was nude. She lay on her stomach with her right arm and leg trailing off the bed, her left leg stretched straight and taut with the toes straining toward the footboard. Her left arm encircled a pillow, and there was dried blood on the pillow and on the sheet beside her breast.

Shayne took two steps forward and touched her bare shoulder with the tip of his index finger. The flesh was cold and hard. He pressed down hard, and knew that she had been dead at least 24 hours.

He straightened quickly when he heard the distant angry whine of a police siren shrilling through the quiet night. His gaunt features tightened as the sound came swiftly nearer. A flash of memory warned him that he hadn’t heard Henty click off the switchboard when he had put through his call to Information from Rourke’s telephone.

There was a back door leading out of the bedroom. The key was in the inside lock. Shayne whipped out a handkerchief and dashed into the living-room, put out the lights, and hurried to the front door to scrub off any possible fingerprints of his own. He trotted back to the bedroom, opened the rear door with the handkerchief covering his hand, slid out and closed it.

The door opened onto a flagstone walk hedged with artillery fern and leading to a small garden. Shayne dashed around the house and circled to the front entrance. He had his finger on the bell button of 616 when he heard the siren stop. He jabbed savagely at the button. The door opened and he pushed in, shoving the black-haired girl aside and slamming the door shut.

She had changed from the housecoat to a sports dress of powder blue that accentuated her curves and softened her whole expression. She said, “You certainly changed your mind in a hurry, Redhead.”

Shayne drew in a deep breath and said rapidly, “Madge is in there-dead. I think the police are coming. If you don’t want to get mixed up in this, let me out the back door in a hurry and forget I was here.”

A car raced up outside and they heard it screech to a stop. The girl’s pupils dilated until they almost covered the iris. She wrung her hands and moaned, “Madge? Dead? How did it happen?”

“Murder.” Shayne put an arm around her roughly and hurried her back toward the bedroom.

“Murder? You said the police were coming. Are you a cop?”

“Do I look like a cop? Why would I be running if I were?” He heard footsteps come up on the front porch. He pulled her inside the bedroom and shut the door. “What’s your name?”

“Helen. But I don’t-”

“I’m in a little jam,” Shayne said in a low, savage voice. “You don’t look like a stool. Madge has been dead a couple of days and God knows I didn’t do it, but you know how cops are. I’ll go out the back and you forget I’ve been here. I’ll circle down the alley to my car in the next block and drive up in front. I’ll ring your doorbell-”

He stopped abruptly and listened to the faint ringing of Madge’s doorbell in the other half of the duplex.

“And when you come to the door, call me Mike like you expected me. What’s your phone number?”

“Causeway 1286.” The bell in Helen’s living-room rang shrilly and insistently.

“Go out and answer it. You didn’t answer your phone when I tried to call you twenty minutes ago because you were in the bath.” Shayne gave her a shove. “Go on out and pull it off if you were really a friend of Madge’s.”

Shayne whirled away from her toward the back bedroom door. It was unlocked, and he quietly opened and closed it. He tiptoed down a flagstone walk identical with the one on the other side, ran across the grass to the alley and to his car.

After circling around for several minutes, Shayne went back to Tempest Street and parked behind a Miami Beach prowl car in front of the duplex. The front door of 614 stood open and both units were brightly lighted. He got out and strode purposefully to the door of 616 and pressed the button.

The door opened almost instantly and Shayne said, “Helen!” in a loud, pleased tone. He was conscious of a man stepping out of 614 to look at him, but he kept his back turned, went inside and put his arms around Helen, held her close, and said, “Glad to see me, honey? After all this time?”

“Sure, Mike.” Her frightened eyes searched his as he bent to kiss her. There were footsteps on the porch behind them.