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

As he drove, Shayne could feel the grimmest of smiles tugging at his mouth. He wasn’t looking forward to this confrontation, but it couldn’t be avoided, either.

The trail led north out of Corpus, the way Shayne and Aguilar had gone earlier in the day. Full night had fallen now, and the taillights of the car ahead led Shayne on past the turn-off to the oil rig, through the town of Aransas Pass and into a series of small resort communities right on the coast. Shayne drove past motels full of vacationers and lighted fishing docks packed with amateur anglers. They were after flounder, trout, and redfish.

Shayne was fishing in deeper waters. He was after a killer.

The car he was following pulled in at a small string of cabins for rent, across the street from a beach and a boat basin full of shrimp boats. Shayne drove on past and made a right into the parking area beside the beach. He killed the lights and the engine, then got out of the car quietly, listening to the lapping of the waves against the sand.

He knew damn well he wasn’t licensed to carry a gun in Texas, but his pistol rode in its holster anyway. He wasn’t licensed to track down murderers here, either, but some things didn’t have much respect for state lines. Quickly, with long strides, he crossed to the cabins and found the one he was looking for. The car he had followed was parked beside it.

The small cabin was lit up inside, but curtains closed off the windows and kept him from seeing in. As he stepped up on the little cement porch and leaned toward the door, though, he could hear the voices coming from inside. All it took was a few words to prove that he had been right.

Now he could get the rest of the answers for Lomack.

Shayne slipped the gun out and clasped it lightly in his hand. He couldn’t open the screen door without making any noise, but that didn’t matter. Even if the wooden door was locked, it looked flimsy enough that he knew it wouldn’t slow him down.

There was no point in waiting now. Shayne grasped the screen door, threw it back, twisted the knob of the wooden door, and slammed into the cabin.

The man inside whirled, his hand going toward the revolver he wore at the small of his back. Shayne lined his sights on him and snapped. “Hold it, Aguilar! Don’t touch it!”

As Lieutenant Travis Aguilar froze in front of Shayne’s gun, the blonde woman lying on the bed sat up sharply and let a curse rip from her mouth. Shayne’s gaze flicked over to her, and he said harshly, “You stay still, too, Maggie. I hope you don’t mind me calling you by your first name, Mrs. Lomack.”

Aguilar looked stunned. His dark eyes flicked from Shayne’s face to the barrel of the gun, and his tongue came out and licked over suddenly-dry lips. He said huskily, “What the hell is this, Shayne?”

“The end of your plan,” Shayne told him flatly. “The score stops going up now, Aguilar. There won’t be any more murders.”

“Wh-what are you talking about?” the blond woman quavered. “There haven’t been any murders—”

“Forget it,” Shayne cut in. “Your boyfriend almost had me fooled, till I turned things around and looked at them from a different angle.” Aguilar stiffened, but he tried to put a confident look on his face. “Look, Shayne,” he said, “you’re already in trouble for busting in here like this and threatening us. Don’t make it any harder on yourself by coming up with all kinds of wild accusations.”

“Not just accusations.” Shayne shook his head. “I’m going to come up with proof that you’re behind this whole thing.”

Aguilar snorted in derision. “You can’t prove that I had anything to do with that platform sinking.”

“That’s right,” Shayne admitted. “You didn’t. I think it was just a tragic accident. Lomack and everybody else admitted that was a possibility, but sabotage seemed so much more likely. The investigation that you pressed, plus Earl Craig’s interest in it, made it seem even more sinister. But the only thing sinister about it was the opportunity you saw to get what you wanted — Maggie Lomack and her husband’s money.”

Aguilar started to gesture angrily, stopped the movement when he saw Shayne’s finger tightening on the trigger. He said hotly, “What if she is Maggie Lomack? That doesn’t mean anything. I was just hiding her out so that the killer wouldn’t find her.”

“Then why didn’t you tell anyone else? Secrecy, protection for Maggie?” Shayne nodded. “Plausible enough. You thought it through pretty well. Some of it just doesn’t quite jibe.”

“Like what?” Aguilar challenged.

“Like the fact that Dennis Winslow just barely had enough money to keep his business hanging on, from what I heard. How did he get hold of enough cash to pay off Morrall to sabotage the rig? You were the one who kept suggesting that theory, Aguilar.”

Aguilar shook his head. “How do I know where Winslow got the money? We’ll find out when we catch up to him. Why else would he shoot Morrall if he wasn’t involved?”

“He didn’t shoot Morrall.” Shayne jerked his head at Maggie Lomack. “She did.”

“You’re crazy!” the woman exclaimed.

“You called her,” Shayne pressed on, “before we went out to the drilling rig where Morrall was working. After you gave me that phony story about your radio not working, so that you could make a call in private. Maggie was hiding out somewhere, but she got there first and waited until we showed up, then put a bullet Morrall.” Shayne’s voice dropped. “He didn’t even have the slightest idea why he died. He never knew he was just a pawn in the game you two were running. Like Winslow.”

“And what does that mean?” Aguilar asked. “We might as well hear all of this fairy tale.”

“You knew that Lomack and Winslow had been having troubles. You decided to set Winslow up as the villain behind all of it. After sending the notes to Lomack, notes that had to come from somebody on the inside of the investigation, you made it look like Winslow and Morrall sank the rig and that some grief-crazed relative of one of the dead men blew up Lomack’s house. That way you had patsies to blame for all the trouble, and for Lomack’s murder.”

“But Lomack’s not dead,” Aguilar protested.

“That much of the plan didn’t work,” Shayne said, watching them closely. “Lomack was supposed to be back from Miami when the bomb went off. Instead, the only one unlucky enough to be there was the maid who must have come by for some unexpected reason. You hit her, probably harder than you intended to, and went back to setting up your bomb. Then you shot the guard as you were leaving. Too bad your time was so short. Otherwise you could have taken the maid’s body with you and she wouldn’t have been mistaken for Maggie Lomack.”

Aguilar was still shaking his head, as if he didn’t believe a word of it. The blonde was looking a lot more worried, though, Shayne noticed.

“That changed your plan quite a bit.” Shayne went on. “Instead of Lomack being dead, you had to accept the fact that Maggie couldn’t return now, not as long as Lomack was still alive. If she did, then the two of you would be right back where you started. No, all you could do was let Maggie stay dead in everyone else’s mind. The two of you would just have to be content with what Maggie’s been skimming away from the company ever since she worked for Jack.”

“I’m not going to tell anybody anything except that you’re a lunatic, Shayne. You’ll see how wrong you are when we catch Winslow.”

“That won’t happen,” Shayne said. “You killed Winslow after making him call his secretary and tell her he was going out of town. I imagine you dumped him in a bay somewhere.”

“You’ll still have to prove that,” Maggie Lomack hissed, ignoring Aguilar’s urgent shake of his head.