Бретт Холлидей - Murder in Haste

She went back to her own side of the table. “I found Fred Milburn. And why that comic-opera gumshoe Painter couldn’t find him two weeks ago is something I’d like to have somebody explain to me. I called up everybody I could think of, and asked if they knew what had happened to good old Fred Milburn, because I had something I thought would interest him. Nobody did, but I told them to contact me if they heard anything, and this morning one of them did. He’s in the slammer. If it wasn’t serious, it’d be funny. He picked up a dozen parking tickets over a couple of years, and he threw them in the wastebasket. He’s doing thirty days hard labor, and that’s where you’ll find him, in the county jail. But this is the twenty-ninth day, so as much as I hate to say it, you’d better get moving.”

“In a minute,” Shayne said thoughtfully. “Do you know if Painter checked on that Mobile hotel? There must be pictures of Milburn he could use. Or did he put out a flier?”

“As far as I know he didn’t do a damn thing but sit on his butt, if you’ll pardon the expression.”

“Now don’t be jumpy, Norma. If Milburn’s in jail he won’t run away before I get there. Your lawyer’s cockeyed — he doesn’t need any more facts than you’ve given me to get Sam a postponement. If he drags his heels we’ll get another lawyer. The town’s full of lawyers who’d handle it for the publicity. But that’s just half of it. You’ve been thinking about this a lot longer than I have. If Sam didn’t rob the bank, who did?”

“I’ve been thinking about it, all right,” Norma said. “I keep asking myself questions, like why did George Heminway pick that one night to work late? Things like that happen, God knows, but maybe it wasn’t an accident, huh? In my experience, who goes into a bank these days without somebody inside steering them? The way the alarm was knocked out — I know damn well Sam didn’t do that. Other times he always paid an electrician good money to take care of the wiring. Well, you’re the Professor. You figure it out.”

“Have you run into Rose’s father?”

“Just to say hello to. He was itching to ask the butler to show me out, not that they have a butler. But he didn’t like his daughter to get mixed up with unsavory characters.” She laughed without rancor. “Rose said he practically tore up the scenery after I left.”

“Does Baltimore mean anything to you? Did Sam ever pull any jobs that far north?”

“No, he always stayed south of the Mason-Dixon line. He’s got an accent you can cut with a knife, and he was afraid it made him stick out.”

“Did he ever belong to the Truckers Union?”

“What’s that got to do with anything? Hell, no — Sam’s strong against unions. He thinks a good man can always get ahead on his own. I know he picked a funny way to prove it, but that’s how he is.”

“Do you know if he ever borrowed money from a shark on the Beach named Sticky Horvath?”

“I doubt it. If he did he never told me.”

He thought for another moment. “Norma, what were you doing last night? Where were you between eight and nine?”

“Right here,” she said promptly. “All by my lonesome.” When he looked at her skeptically she said, “Well, I was. And what was happening between eight and nine other places?”

“I’m trying to find that out.”

“Okay, be mysterious. What do I do now, Mike, go to Painter with this or not?”

He stood up. “Better not.”

“I didn’t think so.” She came to the door with him. “I want to keep this from Sam as long as I can. I mean that I’m the one who found Milburn. It may be hard to believe, but I really think he’d let them turn on the juice before he gave them anybody’s name. I’m not in that league myself, but maybe it’s not such a bad way to be. And finally, can you loan me fifty bucks?”

Shayne snorted. He took a ten out of his wallet and gave it to her. “Be thinking about that Truckers’ connection. Maybe something will come to you.”

Michael Shayne angrily ground out his cigarette in the nearest ashtray, which was already overflowing. Three of the butts were his. He was wasting too much time. He threw aside the ancient copy of Life , the only magazine in the waiting room, uncrossed his long legs and stood up. The secretary at the desk near the door, a gray-haired woman with a masculine haircut and severe horn-rimmed glasses, continued to type as he approached.

“In confidence,” Shayne said, “is the warden really busy, or is this to make me realize what a big man he is?”

The secretary’s fingers lifted from the keys, and the corner of her mouth moved, “In confidence, Mr. Shayne, I only work here.”

“I’d forgotten how hard it is to get into jail when you want to get in.”

A buzzer sounded. “That may be for you, Mr. Shayne. Excuse me.”

She opened the door to the warden’s office and looked in, then opened it all the way. “You may go in now.”

Shayne gave her a half-wink as he passed. The warden looked up from an open folder, but he didn’t get out of his swivel chair or offer to shake hands. He was a plump man in glasses, and looked like an insurance salesman who hasn’t ever succeeded in selling much insurance.

“So you’re interested in one of my thirty-day men, are you?” he snapped. “Why?”

Shayne sat down without being asked to do so. “I’ve been retained to investigate a series of small stick-ups a few years ago in southern Alabama, among other things. I have information that Milburn may be involved.”

“You’re no novice, Shayne. You surely must know that there isn’t a prison warden in the country who would turn over one of his prisoners for questioning in a police matter. What’s your real angle?”

Shayne said carefully, “I understand his thirty days are about up. I’d like to find out exactly when you’re letting him out, so I won’t miss him. I had a hard time finding him, and I don’t want him to disappear again.”

“He won’t disappear.” He tapped on the desk with the sharp end of a pencil, reversed it and tapped with the eraser. “We’re through with him here at noon tomorrow. But you can save yourself a trip. I’ve got a hold-order on him. He’s being called for.”

Shayne relaxed visibly. “That’s fine. Sooner or later the law of averages catches up with everybody, even Petey Painter, and he does something right. That’s who’s picking him up?”

The warden looked at that question from all angles before deciding to answer. “I think it’s in order for me to give out that information. We’re turning the man over on an armed robbery warrant.”

“I wasn’t sure Petey was that up to date. Did he just have the one session with him?”

The warden threw down his pencil and looked at Shayne from beneath lowered brows. “What is this, a fishing expedition, by any chance?”

The redhead grinned. “You might call it that. You know Lieutenant Wing, don’t you?”

“Sure, I know Joe Wing. Why?”

“I didn’t think you’d make a prisoner available unless I had a cop with me, so I asked Wing to meet me here. You kept me waiting so long he ought to be showing up any minute. He’ll be in a hurry. Could you get Milburn down in the visitors’ room so we won’t have any more delays?”

“Dear God!” the warden exclaimed. “You’d think I had nothing else to do but run errands for the Miami Beach police. Milburn’s working. He owes the county one more day of hard labor. He’ll be delighted to talk to you boys about something that happened a few years ago. Just delighted. He’ll talk to you steadily all day, till he hears the five o’clock quitting whistle. A hell of a way to run a jail, is all I have to say.” He stabbed a button on his desk, and when his secretary put her head in again he said, “Fred Mil-burn. They can probably find him in the chair shop. Have him brought to Interrogation.”