Brett Halliday - Date with a Dead Man

“Hawley?” Gentry’s voice was ruminative. “The rich ones? With a son who died on a life raft with Groat?”

Shayne said, “You’re getting the picture. They all deny that Groat was there last night. Look, Will.” Shayne’s voice became urgent. “Were there any papers on Groat? Anything like a diary, for instance?”

“Nothing like that. Just a wallet with identification. Enough cash in it to rule out robbery. What else can you give me, Mike?”

“Nothing else right now. I mean it, Will,” Shayne went on hastily when he heard an angry snort from the other end. “This changes things and I’ve got to move fast. Follow up on the Hawley end, and I’ll be in touch.” He replaced the telephone before Gentry could protest further, and sat very still for a moment, scowling across the office.

One down and one to go. With Groat out of the way, that left Cunningham as the only living person who could testify to the exact date of Albert Hawley’s death. Cunningham and Groat’s diary.

He lifted the pair of nested paper cups and drank off the rest of John Exshaw’s excellent cognac, turned his head slowly to look at Lucy Hamilton as she appeared in the doorway.

“I listened in on Will,” she said breathlessly. “Isn’t it terrible about Jasper? Poor Mrs. Groat.” She stopped and swallowed hard. “No matter how long I work for you,” she said angrily, “I can’t get used to corpses popping up all over. I keep thinking about Mrs. Groat going through all that period when she knew her husband’s plane had crashed and giving up all hope for him. And then he did come back to her safely… only to be murdered a few hours later. It just isn’t right, Michael.” Two tears rolled down her cheeks as she advanced toward him.

Shayne said, “Lots of things in this world aren’t right, angel.”

“Do you think it had something to do with Mr. Wallace? About Mr. Groat calling Mrs. Wallace and making a date to see her this morning to tell her something important. Is that why someone killed Jasper Groat last night?”

Shayne shrugged his shoulders and said mildly, “All we can do right now is a lot of guessing. It stands to reason that if Albert Hawley had any guilty knowledge about Wallace’s disappearance last year, he might have confided it to Groat when he knew he was dying on the life raft. From Groat’s wife and Cunningham, I gathered that Groat was some sort of religious fanatic who would feel it his bounden duty to reveal any deathbed revelations made to him. But how many people knew he had telephoned Mrs. Wallace and arranged to see her this morning?” He stood up abruptly behind his desk, his gaunt face tightening. “That’s one more question we have to get an answer to.”

Lucy started to say something further, but turned her head toward the outer office with a questioning look as she heard the outer door open. She moved out into the reception room, and Shayne heard her say, “Is there something I can do for you?” as she closed the inner door behind her.

Shayne stood undecided behind his desk for a moment, glowering down at the two paper cups. He picked them up after a moment and carried them across to the water cooler to dispose of them. Turning, he saw Lucy stepping back inside his office again.

“Two people to see you, Michael. Jake Sims and a woman. A Mrs. Meredith, he said. Shall I send them away?”

“On the contrary,” Shayne told her happily. “I can’t think of any two people I would rather see.”

“But you don’t like Jake,” she reminded him. “Don’t you remember a couple of years ago…?”

“I don’t have to like Jake to want to see him,” Shayne told her, moving back to his desk and dropping into the swivel chair. “Up to this moment I’ve been wondering how I was going to make a buck out of this affair. Does Mrs. Meredith look as though she has any bucks to spare?” He looked at Lucy hopefully.

She tightened her lips and said, “Mrs. Meredith looks to me as though she is in the habit of paying off her obligations in some other coin instead of United States currency, Michael Shayne. Do you still want to see her?”

“More than ever,” Shayne told her heartily. “After all, we’re not exactly broke. Send her in, Lucy.”

Michael Shayne remained seated behind his desk when Sims and Mrs. Meredith were ushered in. The lawyer had a folded copy of the Daily News in his hand, and he slapped it against his thigh as he advanced and asked belligerently, “What do you know about all this, Shayne?”

Shayne asked, “All what?” his gaze going past Sims to concentrate on Albert Hawley’s ex-wife.

She met his gaze coolly and with candid appraisal, folding her hands in front of her and staying back demurely as her companion leaned over Shayne’s desk and blustered:

“You know what. You knew who Mrs. Meredith was at Hastings’ office without being introduced. Hastings refused to admit that you’ve been retained to manufacture evidence that may deprive my client of her rightful inheritance, but I can’t imagine any other reason why he would be consulting a man with your reputation.”

Shayne continued to look past his angry face at Mrs. Meredith. “Can you think of any good reason why I would wish to deprive you of an inheritance, Mrs. Meredith?”

A faint smile quirked her lips and her lissome body appeared to sway slightly even while she stood motionless. “I don’t know you very well, Mr. Shayne. Only what Mr. Sims has told me.”

He leaned back and nodded toward a chair by his desk. “Why don’t you sit down and get better acquainted?”

“I’d like to very much.” She sat in the chair, moving it slightly so her elbows rested on the desk, cupping her chin in her palms not more than two feet from Shayne’s face.

“You haven’t answered me, Shayne.” Sims was breathing hard and his voice became increasingly hostile.

“I hardly ever answer people who come in my office making accusations.” Shayne turned his attention back to Mrs. Meredith and asked her, “Do we have to have Jake Sims in on this?”

“I suppose we do.” She made her voice regretful. “He is my lawyer and I need all the advice I can get.”

Shayne growled, “Then sit down, Sims, and watch your manners. One more nasty crack and I’ll throw you both out. I didn’t know you were in Miami, Mrs. Meredith.”

“I flew in this morning.”

“You know the terms of Ezra Hawley’s will?”

She nodded, keeping her round eyes fixed steadily on his face. “Mr. Hastings informed Jake Sims yesterday… knowing that he represents me.”

“And I see you know all about Jasper Groat’s diary.” Shayne glanced significantly at the folded newspaper in Sims’s hand.

“We just read about it,” the lawyer told him. “What I want to clear up first of all, Shayne, is how you got into this? What is your interest in the matter?” He had grudgingly seated himself opposite his client, and he took a thin, dappled cigar from his breast pocket and bit off the end with yellowed teeth.

Shayne said, “I became interested after meeting Cunningham and Mrs. Groat last night. An interview with the Hawleys this morning intrigued me further.”

“Is it true that Mr. Groat has disappeared?” asked Mrs. Meredith.

“Who told you that?”

“Peter Cunningham.”

Shayne said, “You didn’t lose any time getting in touch with him.”

“I made it a point to contact him last evening,” said Sims hastily. “We want to know if Groat has turned up yet.”

Shayne hesitated a moment. But he knew it would shortly be common knowledge so he said, “He’s turned up all right. Dead.”

Mrs. Meredith closed her eyes slowly and tightened her lips. “Dead?” exclaimed Sims. “How? What happened to him?”