Brett Halliday - Murder Is My Business

He turned off the flash and squatted beside the bin to mull over his discovery. There was no doubt that the original shaft and its headframe had long since been abandoned as a source of ore, and he remembered the mistake which Josiah Riley had supposedly made in reporting that the original vein had pinched out.

To Shayne, totally unversed in such things, it was clear that the present mining procedure consisted in the use of steam shovels in the bottom of the huge pit digging out the entire hillside and sending the muck up to the bin, where it was fed down by gravity into railroad cars below.

This seemed to indicate that Riley’s report on the original vein might have been correct; and now, instead of sinking a new shaft and driving new tunnels into the mountain, Towne was simply scraping the surface for his loads of rich ore that went into his El Paso smelter every day.

Shayne squatted on his heels and lit a cigarette, carefully shielding the match and the glow from the direction of the silent camp below. He wished to God he knew more about hard-rock mining. This seemed to him an unorthodox way to operate a silver mine, but he didn’t know that it couldn’t be done that way. It was a revolutionary method, at least, he finally decided. If Jefferson Towne had worked out a secret process for extracting valuable ore from the side of a mountain, it wasn’t surprising that he took such precautions to keep it a secret.

He finished his cigarette and decided that it was not worthwhile to explore any more. He didn’t yet know the full meaning of his discovery, but he had learned all he could for the night. He stood up and retraced his steps down the hillside, found his hole in the fence, and proceeded on to his car without being challenged.

Daylight was approaching when he started back to El Paso, and the sun had been up more than an hour when he pulled up in front of the Paso Del Norte Hotel.

He went up to his room and began stripping off his clothes. He was physically weary, but his mind was working furiously as he went over hypothesis after hypothesis, rejecting one after the other. He had an irritating, nagging feeling of being on the verge of an answer to the mysterious deaths of three men, but the final piece in the pattern, the reason behind it all, continued to elude him.

He shaved and took a shower, then came back into the room clad only in undershirt and shorts, and poured a long drink. Sitting by the window with the drink in his hand, he scowled out at the bright sunlight. There it was — the answer — just in front of him, but he couldn’t see it. The image dimmed each time he tried to take hold of it and examine it objectively.

A knock sounded on his door as he took a long drink of whisky. He got up and padded toward it in his bare feet, and pulled it open. Lance Bayliss pushed past him into the center of the room. He carried a morning paper and a briefcase and his face was strained and terrified. He dropped the briefcase and turned to demand hoarsely, “Is this stuff in the paper about Carmela true?”

Shayne closed the door and said, “I haven’t seen the paper, Lance, but I imagine it’s fairly correct.”

“That she’s in that filthy Juarez jail! Accused of murdering Neil Cochrane!” He struck the paper with his free hand.

“That’s about it.” Shayne walked over and picked up the whisky bottle and asked, “Have a drink?”

“You helped put her there,” Lance charged. “It says in the paper you’re one of the witnesses against her — that you’re convinced she did it.”

“That her gun did it,” Shayne corrected. “It’s my personal theory that she’s shielding someone — that she’ll probably go to the electric chair shielding him.” His eyes met Lance’s and held them steadily.

Lance drew in a long breath. “It also says the police have reason to believe I was in that vicinity last night.”

“Carmela placed you there herself. She thinks you were there, Lance.”

Bayliss dropped the paper to the floor and said, “All right. I was there. I grabbed the gun and killed Cochrane. I didn’t think she recognized me in the dark.”

Shayne poured a drink and handed it to Lance. He asked, “Why did you kill Cochrane?”

Bayliss gulped down a big drink and said, “I guess I went crazy for a moment.” He walked over to the window and stared out, his back turned to Shayne, and continued. “I suppose it was seeing her with that rat — going to that foul dive with him. I’ve dreamed about her for ten years, Shayne — of coming back to her. I had an idea, God help me, she’d be the same.”

“Why didn’t you go in to see her the night you went to the house — when she was alone and waiting for you?”

Lance turned slowly, the muscles in his thin face quivering. “What do you know about it?”

“I saw you parked in the street in front of the house. You drove away as I passed.”

“So that was you — with the spotlight,” Lance said. “I parked there for an hour trying to get up enough nerve to go in. I didn’t know whether she’d want to see me or not. I’ve changed a lot myself.”

Shayne sat down on the bed and sipped his drink thoughtfully, then asked, “What were you doing in that Juarez alley last night?”

“Does that matter?” Lance answered irritably. “I was there. I grabbed her gun and killed Cochrane with it.” He slumped into a chair. “You suspected me all along, didn’t you? You knew I’d give myself up when I read the newspaper story and realized it was the only way to save her.”

“I knew that’s what you would have done ten years ago. But why did you kill him?”

“I’ve told you.”

“You gave me an answer that’ll sound good enough in court,” Shayne agreed. “I’d like the truth.”

“Why don’t you take me in?” Bayliss said roughly. He clamped his lips, and looked at the drink in his hand.

“There are still two other deaths to be accounted for,” Shayne reminded him.

“What do they matter now? I’ll hang for killing Cochrane. Forget the others.”

“I think they were all committed by the same person.”

“I didn’t come here to talk about any other murders. I gave myself up to you instead of the cops because I hoped I could make a deal.”

“What sort of deal?”

“I told you I was doing some undercover work. I’ve picked up a lot of stuff that should be turned over to the FBI, or the army. The police might not pay any attention to a confessed murderer. I hoped you would, Shayne.”

“What kind of stuff? Activities of foreign agents?”

“I thought that’s what it was at first,” Lance said despondently. “But it isn’t that important. There’s a ring operating in El Paso that makes a business of encouraging soldiers to desert the army, and smuggles them into the interior of Mexico for a thousand bucks a head.”

Shayne said, “I’ll see that your information is used. Who heads the ring?”

“That’s one of the favors I wanted to ask of you. Will you arrange to put off the round-up until after the election?”

Shayne’s gaunt face hardened. “Manny Holden and Honest John Carter?”

Lance Bayliss flung out his hands. “I’ve got to trust you with it now.” He finished his drink and set the glass on the floor. “I’ve got enough dope to put them both in Federal prison. All I ask is that you hold off until Carter is elected, then spring it. If we make it public now, Jefferson Towne will be elected mayor. Wait until he’s defeated.”

Shayne said, “Towne would make El Paso a good mayor.”

“We went over that once before,” Lance said. “He’s dangerous, Shayne. You don’t realize how he sees himself. Give him this first political triumph, and God knows where he’ll stop.”