Brett Halliday: Date with a Dead Man

“You say your husband is missing too?”

“Yes. It’s been a little over a year now. I’d better start back at the beginning and tell you everything. I’ve held it in so long. I just didn’t know… I haven’t dared talk to anyone…” Her voice was still carefully modulated, but there was an undertone of rising hysteria that warned Shayne she was close to the cracking point.

He nodded encouragingly and got out a pack of cigarettes, leaned forward to offer her one and settled back to light one for himself when she shook her head and wet her lips desperately.

He said, “You can talk to me freely, Mrs. Wallace. Take your time and tell me everything you think may be important.”

“Leon and I were married a little over two years ago.” She dropped her gaze to her hands and slowly twisted a plain gold ring on her left hand. “Right after we both graduated from Agricultural College. We put all our money in a small truck farm near Littleboro and were completely happy. It’s what we both wanted to do. To live close to the soil and grow things and… raise a family.” She lifted her haunted eyes to Shayne’s and added breathlessly, “You must understand that. It’s important. We were in love and we were happy. There had never been anyone else for either of us after we first met when we were freshmen at college. Even when it was hard sledding on the farm and we had bad weather and two crop failures in succession. It was hard work, but we both loved hard work. We had a good farm and complete faith in ourselves. We knew there’d be crop failures and hard times, but we were prepared for that. But we were pinched for cash and Leon hated the idea of overextending his credit… and then suddenly I was pregnant. So Leon came to Miami to look for a job for a few months to get money enough to finance a new crop. And he was lucky. He found a fine job right away. Gardener for a rich family here in the city. The Hawleys.”

She stopped abruptly and Shayne narrowed his eyes and exhaled twin streams of smoke from his nostrils. “The Hawleys? The same family…?”

She nodded briefly. “The same family that is written about in the paper in the story about the airplane wreck. I remember Leon mentioning a son named Albert in one of his first letters. I don’t think he liked Albert much, but it was a good job and paid well. He had been there about two months when I got a letter from him, Mr. Shayne.” She reached for her handbag and unclasped it with shaking fingers and lifted out a long envelope which she pushed toward him. “You’d better read it yourself. You’re the first one… well, you can see why I never showed it to anyone else.”

It was a pre-stamped envelope with an extra stamp pasted beside the printed one. It was addressed to Mrs. Leon Wallace, Littleboro, Florida in firmly inked letters, and there was a return address in the upper left corner: Leon Wallace, c/o Hawley, 316 Bayside Drive, Miami, Florida. The envelope was worn and somewhat gray with much handling. It was postmarked in Miami slightly less than a year previously.

As Shayne opened the flap and took out a single sheet of plain, white bond paper, folded three times, Mrs. Wallace said, “There were ten one-thousand-dollar bills folded inside his letter, Mr. Shayne.”

He paused to study her face. “Ten one-thousand-dollar bills?”

She nodded. “Read it and see what you think.”

He finished opening it and glanced at the salutation. “I’ll read it aloud, if I may, so Miss Hamilton can take it down.”

She nodded again. “Of course.” She leaned back stiffly and closed her eyes, compressing her lips as Shayne read aloud the words which he knew must be indelibly engraved in her memory:

“Darling:

“Don’t be frightened by all this money. I haven’t robbed a bank or done anything really wrong. And it isn’t ‘hot.’ Better go to Ft. Pierce and deposit it in the bank there where they won’t ask embarrassing questions, and draw it out as you need it.

“I have to go away, Myra, and I can’t tell you where. This will take care of you and pay for a new crop and the hospital bills for the baby. I can’t write you any more, and you’ll have to trust me.

“Try not to worry, and don’t go to the police or anyone. Don’t ask any questions or try to find out anything. If you do exactly as I say, I will send you another thousand dollars every three months, but I will be in bad trouble and there will be no more money if you upset the apple-cart.

“Believe me, darling, I have thought it all out and this is best for you and me, and for the baby. This is more money than I could earn in a year.

“You can tell people I’ve re-enlisted in the army or something. Or that I’ve gone out West to another job.

“Just don’t worry! And don’t try to find out any more than I’ve told you. I love you and I always will. You will understand when it is all over.

“Kiss the baby for me when he comes… and please try to trust me to know what’s best. Your loving husband. LEON”

There was silence in the office when Shayne finished reading the letter. It was broken by the crackle of brittle paper as he carefully refolded the sheet into its original creases. Mrs. Wallace opened her eyes wide and swallowed. “Well? What should I have done, Mr. Shayne?” She turned to look at Lucy intensely. “You’re a woman, Miss Hamilton. What would you have done under those circumstances?”

Lucy shook her head slowly, her brown eyes warm with understanding. “If I loved my husband… and trusted him… I guess I would have done the same as you. But what does it mean, Michael?” she went on swiftly. “Ten thousand dollars! And another thousand every three months.”

He shook his red head at Lucy, asked Myra Wallace, “Did you hear anything further?”

“Only an envelope every three months, mailed from Miami and with another thousand-dollar bill inside.” Her voice trembled slightly. “It was addressed in his handwriting and had the same return address, but there wasn’t a scrap of writing inside. Just one bill. I’ve had three of them now. The last one about a month ago.”

Shayne replaced the letter in its envelope. “And last night Jasper Groat telephoned to say he had information about your husband… just before he disappeared?”

“That’s right. But he didn’t tell me what sort of information. Whether Leon was alive or dead.”

Shayne said, “I think it’s time you did some checking with the Hawleys.”

“I did! I telephoned out there this morning from Mrs. Groat’s apartment and asked for their gardener, Mr. Leon Wallace. Some servant answered. A Negro, I’m sure. And he said they hadn’t had any gardener for at least a year… and he didn’t know anything about my husband. That’s when I decided… I should come to you, Mr. Shayne. I’ve heard about you, of course,” she went on breathlessly. “Everybody in Florida has, I guess. I can pay you. I’ve saved most of the money Leon sent me. Just find him for me. I don’t care what he’s done. The farm’s doing fine now. We can pay all the money back.”

Shayne said, “I already have one client in this case, Mrs. Wallace. It seems to me that the disappearance of your husband and Jasper Groat are tied together somehow.” He hesitated, tugging at his left ear lobe and furrowing his forehead. “Have you kept those other envelopes the quarterly payments arrived in?”

“Yes. I have them at home. But they’re just like this one, Mr. Shayne. Addressed in ink in Leon’s handwriting. So I know he was alive and here in Miami just a month ago.”

Shayne said, “I’d like to have the envelopes, Mrs. Wallace. And a picture of your husband.”

“I have one at home I can send you.”

“Do that as soon as you get back. In the meantime, describe him to me.”