Brett Halliday - This Is It, Michael Shayne

“It’s all right,” Beatrice said. “I’m all right now. I can breathe again. I’ll take another sip of water, please.”

Gentry held the glass until she had it firmly in her hand. She took larger swallows now, draining the glass. When Gentry took the glass and set it aside, Miss Lally squinted up at Shayne and asked:

“What happened? You said you’d be waiting for me.”

“Tell me exactly what I did say.”

“Don’t you remember?” She frowned and rubbed her hand weakly across her eyes, murmuring, “My-glasses.”

“I didn’t phone you at Miss Hamilton’s,” he told her patiently. “It was some other man.”

“His voice-sounded like yours,” she faltered. “He called me by name and said he was you and I was to meet him right away in his hotel room. Number three-oh-nine,” she went on, her voice growing gradually stronger and her breathing freer. “But I wasn’t to tell anyone where I was going. Not even Miss Hamilton. And I shouldn’t come directly here by cab because it might be traced, but to get out at a corner and walk a block or so. And I did, and-” Her voice trailed off and she began rubbing her eyes like a sleepy child. “Please, may I have my glasses? My eyes hurt and I can’t see very well.”

“Your glasses are broken,” Shayne told her. “You say someone struck you?”

“The minute I opened the door.” She shuddered with the memory. “I knocked and a man asked who it was. I still thought it was you. I told him my name. He said to come in. I opened the door and took one step inside. Then the lights went out and something hit me on the head.” She touched the bruised spot with shaking fingers. “I didn’t see anything or anyone. It was just black-like death-until I sort of half came to. But I’ve told you about that. If it wasn’t you, Mr. Shayne, who was it?”

“I don’t know,” he said soberly. “Try to recall the voice. Could it have been Ralph Morton?”

She frowned briefly, closing her eyes to concentrate. “I don’t think so. Oh, I don’t know,” she cried out in despair. “How can I tell? I thought it was you.”

“I think we’ve got enough from her right now,” Gentry said gruffly. “There’s an ambulance downstairs. She’d better get to a hospital for a thorough examination.”

The back of her chair was toward the bed. Shayne and Gentry each took one of her arms and helped her up. The other men stood back, and with Shayne’s body blocking her short vision she was carried out without discovering the sheet-covered body of Ralph Morton.

In the hallway Gentry turned her over to the ambulance driver and his assistant, waited until they were in the elevator with the door closed, then turned a quizzical gaze on Shayne and asked:

“What do you make of it now, Mike-with all the inside information you’re holding out on me?”

“I’m not holding out anything, Will. That is-” He hesitated, shrugged his rangy shoulders, and said, “Not any more, I’m not. With Garvin tied into this so closely, you’ll have to hear where Burton Harsh comes in and decide for yourself.”

“Do you think Morton lured her here-attacked her and locked her in the closet and then either shot himself or was shot by someone who came in after she passed out?”

“I don’t know. How would Morton have known where to phone her?”

“I thought you might tell me that,” Gentry rumbled mildly.

“I want to talk to Garvin. And I’d like to get my hands on one Edwin Paisly.” Shayne started to the door next to 309 and Gentry went with him. He had his hand on the doorknob of 311, and before turning it he asked in a low voice:

“Do your boys make Morton murder or suicide?”

“Could be either from the preliminary examination,” Gentry told him. “But they’re inclined toward murder. No suicide note-several small indications-”

Shayne nodded and pushed the door open.

Carl Garvin sat dejectedly on the edge of the bed with his face buried in his hands. Gentry dismissed the officer on guard with a gesture and closed the door when he went out, then stood with his back against it while Shayne walked over to Garvin.

“What time did you come here tonight?” he asked.

Garvin lifted a wretched face. “It was about twelve-thirty. I don’t know exactly. I was brooding about things and wondering how to get hold of enough cash to satisfy Gannet. As I told you, I didn’t know at that time that Miss Morton had been murdered. I decided to come and talk to Morton about the proposition he made me. I knew, of course, that I couldn’t help him to persuade her to leave the state before she got the divorce, but thought I might be able to get some money from him by pretending I had thought of a way.” He drew in a deep breath and expelled it like a long, bitter sigh.

“The rest of it happened just as I told you,” he went on in a high-pitched monotone. “When I saw him lying there and smelled fresh gunsmoke I thought he had just shot himself. I realized that if I reported it to the police I’d have a lot of explaining to do, and I was too confused and upset to think clearly. I didn’t even go into the room. Just stood in the doorway for a moment and went away.”

“Directly to Burton Harsh to report to him that Ralph Morton was dead?”

“Yes. I thought he should know. It was all mixed up with Miss Morton blackmailing him, you see, and I still didn’t know she was dead. He told me that part of it when I got there.”

“Had you discussed Ralph Morton with Harsh? Given him the name of this hotel?”

“No. I swear I didn’t. I don’t believe Mr. Harsh knew anything about him until I told him tonight.”

“Leo Gannet told you Miss Lally left his place with me. Did he also tell you where I took her?”

Garvin removed his glasses and blinked up at Shayne in bewilderment. “No. I wasn’t interested in Miss Lally.”

“How and when did Harsh communicate with you between midnight and twelve-thirty?”

“He didn’t. I hadn’t seen him since we parted after dinner. I stopped for a few drinks-as I told you.”

“I know what you told me,” growled Shayne. “Miss Lally received a phone call from some man pretending to be me, which brought her to Morton’s room just before or after you were there. What do you know about that?”

“Nothing. I swear I know nothing about her being here.” Garvin covered his face with his hands and bent forward until his hands rested on his knees.

Shayne turned away, took a few steps toward the door, then whirled back to the moaning man.

“Isn’t it a fact that you and Harsh met outside your office at a quarter to seven and drove straight to Sara Morton’s hotel and murdered her before going to dinner? If she published Harsh’s story he’d be ruined financially and couldn’t raise the money to pay off your debt to Gannet. If you didn’t pay off you knew Gannet’s punks would take care of you in the usual way. Maybe Sara Morton didn’t suspect you of sending the threatening notes, and you’d be the one person she’d unlock her door for. It was a perfect set-up, wasn’t it, Garvin?” he ended savagely.

“No-no!” Garvin swayed and fell sideways on the bed and his body shook violently.

Shayne stood for a moment looking down at him with deep disgust, then went over to Gentry and said, “Call in your man, Will.”

Gentry opened the door and called the guard in. He went out with Shayne, and they stopped midway between the two doors while Shayne explained the Burton Harsh-Carl Garvin aspect of the case more fully.

“All three of them,” he ended grimly, “Harsh, Garvin, and Morton, had a reason to get Sara Morton out of the way fast. Leo Gannet, too.”