Brett Halliday - When Dorinda Dances

Shayne ground out his second cigarette and stood up.

“Don’t worry about Godfrey,” he said. “If he’s on that plane the New York police will keep him under surveillance.”

He turned away and hurried out of Gibson’s private office, jamming his soiled Panama down over his unruly hair. He glanced at the blond secretary who appeared intent upon copying a long legal document. She didn’t look up.

Outside, in the arcade, he looked at his watch. It was nearly twelve o’clock — time for a telephone call from Washington and a showdown with Judge Lansdowne.

Lucy Hamilton had the receiver pressed against her ear and was saying, “I expect Mr. Shayne any minute, operator,” when Shayne burst into the outer office.

“Hold it, Lucy,” he called out, and long-legged it into his private office where he sailed his hat toward the rack on his way to the desk. He grabbed the receiver as he lowered himself into the swivel chair and said, “Michael Shayne speaking.”

A deep, resonant voice inquired, “Mr. Shayne? I don’t believe—”

“You don’t know me, Judge. I’m a private detective in Miami, Florida.”

“I was informed you wished to speak to me about my daughter,” said the judge.

“That’s right. Do you know where Julia is?”

“Of course. She’s visiting a college friend in Palm Beach during vacation. Has anything happened to her?”

“I hope not,” Shayne told him sincerely. He drew in a long breath and chose his words with care. “We have something here which probably involves an impostor — or a case of mistaken identity. A girl came to me last night claiming to be your daughter. Later she disappeared under mysterious circumstances, and we haven’t been able to locate her. If she is your daughter, she may be in trouble. If not — Well, I’d like to know definitely.”

“What sort of trouble?” the judge asked anxiously.

“It’s a long and complicated story,” Shayne parried. “The important thing is to establish her identity. Can you give me the name of her friend in Palm Beach?”

There was a brief silence. Then Judge Lansdowne said uncertainly, “I’ll have to contact my wife’s social secretary to get the name. In the meantime, tell me what—”

“Please do,” Shayne said urgently. “And call me back at once. But while we’re connected there are a couple of other things. I understand Mrs. Lansdowne is quite ill.”

“For quite some time, and recently she had a severe relapse. What about—”

“Do you know a Mrs. Davis who is one of your wife’s closest friends?” Shayne cut in sharply.

Again there was silence. Longer this time, and when the judge spoke his voice rasped with impatience and worry. “I am sure I know all of Mrs. Lansdowne’s intimate friends. I don’t know anyone named Davis.”

“Probably another case of mistaken identity, Judge,” Shayne said gently. “One thing more, and I can clear the whole thing up in a hurry. Do you have any close personal friends in Miami?”

“A great many who visit Miami during the season,” the judge said. “What are you getting at, Shayne? I know of you by reputation, but I never thought—”

“I’m referring to residents here in Miami. Do you have any close friends among the people in business here?”

For the third time there was silence at the other end of the wire. Then the judge said, “Of course. A young man named Godfrey. He worked with me during the early days of the New Deal. He’s in the fruit business, and always remembers me.”

“Hiram Godfrey?”

“Yes. I haven’t seen him for several years, but—”

“Thanks, Judge. Call me back the minute you get the name of the girl Julia is visiting in Palm Beach.” He hung up, rocked back in his chair, and tugged at his left ear lobe.

So, that was one more item of Dorinda’s story verified. Who else would know that Godfrey was a friend of Judge Lansdowne’s? Since it was Godfrey and not Brewer, it explained why Mrs. Davis hadn’t recognized Brewer when they met in the outer office.

But what the hell else did it mean? And who and where was Mrs. Davis?

He reached out and dragged the receiver from its cradle. When Lucy answered he said, “See if you can reach Will Gentry. Put him on this line and hang up. If Washington calls while I’m talking, put them right on.”

He lit a cigarette and waited. When Chief Gentry’s voice rumbled over the wire he said, “I expect to have definite word from Washington on the Lansdowne girl soon. You got anything there?”

“Not one damned thing,” Gentry growled. “What did Black say about the pictures of Godfrey?”

“About what I expected. He’s pretty sure the man he tailed was Godfrey, but refuses to positively identify him from the pix. Put Godfrey in a line-up and he’ll say yes or no.”

“I knew Rourke’s idea was crazy all the time.”

“Yeh? Well, here’s an improvement on it that maybe you’ll like better, Will. Elliott Gibson handed me a theory for free.”

“My God,” groaned Gentry. “Maybe you and I had better close up shop. Who does Gibson think the stiff is? Hitler?”

“No. He’s sticking to Brewer like a fly on fresh flypaper. That much I like better than Tim’s guess. Gibson thinks Godfrey hired somebody to pose as him and provide an alibi while he was bumping off Brewer after he left my office — which is one explanation for Brewer not turning up at Gibson’s.”

“Nuts,” Gentry said wearily.

“Wait, Will. That New York plane will be landing soon, and I think enough of Gibson’s story to have the crew interviewed as soon as they land. Particularly the stewardess. Try to find out if there’s any possibility that the man who gets off with Godfrey’s ticket stub is not the same man who boarded the plane in Miami this morning.”

Will Gentry took time to think before saying slowly, “I see what you mean. If Godfrey changed places with an accomplice somewhere along the line, his alibi will be shot to hell and we can bring him back to confront Black. By God, Mike! Maybe you and I should turn our badges over to that lawyer.”

Shayne grinned and said, “Maybe.” He hung up, came to his feet, and began pacing angrily up and down the office while he waited for final word from Judge Lansdowne.

There was a strong possibility that Gibson had stumbled on to the truth about Milton Brewer’s death, he admitted. But what did that have to do with the disappearance of Dorinda and Mrs. Davis? Nothing, probably. Yet there was that tenuous connection between Lansdowne and Hiram Godfrey. And the coincidence of the two clients showing up in his office within a few minutes of each other.

The phone rang. He swooped it up and heard Lansdowne’s voice say calmly, “Shayne? You can stop worrying about Julia. I’ve just talked with her. She’s in Palm Beach, and tells me she hasn’t been in Miami for months. She hasn’t heard anything about anyone impersonating her in Miami, so there has evidently been some mistake at your end. If I can be of any further help—”

“You can,” Shayne cut in hastily. “I’d like the name and address of the people she’s visiting.”

“Certainly. But I assure you Julia is perfectly well and safe. One moment. A Miss Elizabeth Connaught. She lives with her parents.” He gave Shayne a West Palm Beach street address and telephone number.

Shayne made a note of it, thanked him, and his wide mouth was set in grim lines when he cradled the receiver.

This information meant that Dorinda had lied like hell to him last night — or Julia Lansdowne had lied like hell to her father today. The latter was just as possible as the former, but why the devil, if she were Julia Lansdowne, had she hurried back to Palm Beach without letting him know where she was after leaving his apartment? She must have realized he would start a search for her when she didn’t go to Lucy Hamilton, and that he would almost certainly contact her parents when he failed to find her.