Бретт Холлидей - Mike Shayne Mystery Magazine, Vol. 46, No. 9, September 1982

The steady rumble of the derrick’s engines filled their ears as they approached the trailer and Morrall. It was a familiar sound to Shayne, well-remembered from his past.

They never even heard the rifle shot.

But its results were all too evident. Morrall jerked back, grabbing at his chest, slumping against the trailer. His mouth opened wide, but the agonized cry he must have given was lost in the roar from the derrick.

Shayne launched into a run, covering the distance to the trailer with a few strides of his long legs. Aguilar was right behind him. Expecting more shots at any second, Shayne took hold of Morrall’s arm and dove into the trailer, pulling the wounded man with him. Aguilar followed, whipping his gun out and spinning to cover the area behind them as he leaped into the trailer.

Shayne was aware of shouts coming from outside. The men on the rig must have seen part of what happened and wondered what was going on. They would be running over to check on the safety of their boss.

“I don’t see a damned thing,” Aguilar snapped, raising his voice enough so that Shayne could hear him.

“Must have been a rifle,” Shayne said, crouching beside Morrall’s limp body and searching for a pulse. “Could have come from anywhere around here.”

Aguilar glanced over his shoulder, his face tight and worried. “How’s Morrall?” he asked.

Shayne’s heavy sigh was answer enough. The bleak look on his face and the grim words just confirmed the situation.

“He won’t be telling us a thing,” Shayne said. “He’s dead.”

It was touch and go for a few minutes. All the angry roughnecks knew was that Morrall had been shot, and Shayne and Aguilar had been found right there with the dead man. Aguilar’s badge had bought them some time, though, and the lieutenant was able to convince the men that he and Shayne had had nothing to do with the murder.

There was a phone in the trailer. Aguilar got on it as soon as he could and called for help. More officers and a technical crew were on the way now, but until they got there, all Aguilar and Shayne could do was sit in the trailer with the corpse and try to figure out what had happened.

“It’s got to be Winslow,” Aguilar said fervently, obviously furious now. “He’s been keeping an eye on Morrall, and when he saw us come up, he decided that he couldn’t risk us questioning Morrall.”

“Because Morrall was acting on Winslow’s orders when he planted the bomb on the oil platform?” Shayne speculated.

“That’s the way it looks to me.”

“Was there any history of trouble between Morrall and Jack Lomack?”

“None that my investigations turned up,” Aguilar admitted. “But every man’s got his price.”

Shayne looked thoughtful. The moment of silence following Aguilar’s comment stretched out as Shayne reached up to pull on his earlobe and frown.

“It’s only a matter of time now,” Aguilar finally went on. “We’ll catch up to Winslow. I really figured he’d be a long way away from here by now, but I guess he felt like he had to hang around to take care of Morrall if we got too close.”

“Yeah,” Shayne said. Distraction was evident in his face and voice.

Aguilar watched the big detective from Miami for a minute, then shrugged and stepped outside the trailer. Shayne stayed where he was.

Death was following death in this case. First the twenty-five men on the oil rig, then the guard and the woman in the house, and now the man sprawled at Shayne’s feet, covered with a blanket Aguilar had found. There seemed to be no limit on murder here in Texas.

Or was there...?

The police technicians and more detectives showed up within half an hour, and Shayne and Aguilar each went over what had happened several times. The angle of the fatal bullet was calculated as best it could be, which was only roughly, and uniformed officers were sent out to search in that direction for several hundred yards. Shayne had his doubts that they would find any evidence of the sniper.

The body was taken away, and after what seemed like forever, Aguilar was ready to leave, too. Shayne caught him before he left and said, “How about a lift back to my car, Lieutenant? I left it outside of Winslow’s office, you’ll remember.”

“Sure,” Aguilar nodded. “Come on.”

The two men were fairly quiet on the ride back into Corpus Christi. Aguilar seemed convinced now that his theory about Winslow and Morrall was correct. Shayne wasn’t so sure, but he didn’t feel like discussing his doubts with the policeman.

It was late afternoon before they got back to where Shayne had left his rented car. As Shayne got out, he said, “Thanks for letting me tag along, Aguilar. I wish the day had turned out better.”

“At least we’ve got a pretty good idea what happened now,” Aguilar said. “Winslow won’t be able to run far enough to get away forever, and I’ll bet when we start looking closer into Morrall’s finances, we’ll find out that he got richer all of a sudden lately.” The lieutenant paused and sighed wearily. “It’s not a happy ending for any of us, but it’s an ending. Like I told you, I’ve known Jack and Maggie for several years; I think he’ll at least have more peace of mind if he knows the reasons behind what happened.”

“Yeah,” Shayne grunted, closing the door. “So long.”

Aguilar leaned over and asked through the open window on the passenger side, “Going back to Miami, Shayne?”

Shayne lit a cigarette and looked out at the rays of the late afternoon sun slanting down on the Gulf. “Soon,” he said. “I thought I’d stop by the hospital first and see Jack. He may still be knocked out, but I’d like to pay him a visit anyway.”

“I understand. Adios. ”

Shayne watched Aguilar drive away, then got in the car and pointed it toward the hospital.

As he drove, his mind was clicking over rapidly, going over everything he had seen and heard since meeting Jack Lomack in Miami only twenty-four hours before. He thought back on the things he had been told by Lomack and Lund, and by Aguilar and the insurance investigator, Earl Craig.

There was something... He had his fingers on it, and then it slipped away...

The nurses at the hospital weren’t too happy about letting Shayne into Lomack’s room, but they didn’t stop him. The oilman was still full of sedative, as Shayne had suspected he would be. He wasn’t completely out, but he paid no attention when Shayne came into the room. Lomack gazed up at the ceiling through slitted lids, looking wan and drained. Shayne felt a wave of sympathy go through him, and he didn’t like the feeling. Jack Lomack had never been the type to want sympathy.

But he would want answers. Aguilar had been right about that much. Lomack would want to know why and how this trouble had come to him, even if the answers might hurt worse than ignorance.

Shayne’s eyes narrowed. It was there, the thing that had been bothering him, and he had his hands firmly on it now. Once it was in his grasp, the other facts started falling into line with it.

No, Lomack wouldn’t like the answers. But now Shayne could give them to him.

Shayne knew he had been lucky. He had figured the whole thing out in time to get where he needed to be in order to follow the man he needed to follow, but it had been close. He had spotted his quarry as the man pulled out of a parking lot and fallen in behind him, tailing a little bit closer than he would have in Miami, simply because he wasn’t as familiar with the city. It wouldn’t matter, though; the man wouldn’t be looking for a tail. He would be convinced by now that Shayne and everyone else were following the false trail he had laid out for them.