Brett Halliday - When Dorinda Dances

“Why doesn’t Godfrey sell his share, if he wants to run away with Betty?”

“The offer is for all or nothing,” said Brewer. “Besides, there are two other very good reasons. Hiram and I each carry fifty thousand dollars partnership insurance payable to the other. Also, my wife will inherit my estate. Together, Betty and Hiram will have everything if I die, and Hiram will be able to dispose of the business as he wishes.”

“Motive enough for murder,” Shayne agreed absently. “What happened this afternoon?”

“I foolishly agreed to go for a run on the bay with Hiram in his power cruiser. Frankly, I was anxious for us to work harmoniously again, in spite of Betty. We’re a good team, as I told you, and he has been quite pleasant these past few weeks. I hoped we might talk the whole thing out and come to some amicable agreement.”

Mr. Brewer paused. His eyelids twitched and his face was pale. “We were alone on the water,” he said jerkily. “We’d had a pleasant day, but when we turned back toward the mainland Hiram suggested I take the wheel. I told him I didn’t know much about steering, but he assured me he would be right back. Said he wanted to get a bottle of beer.

“I — well, I admit that I was enjoying steering, and I was intrigued with the instruments. Hiram was gone for quite some time. I heard him moving about and uncapping the beer. Then there was a long silence. I can’t explain it, Mr. Shayne, but I felt something. It was like a cold chill running down my spine. I turned my head instinctively, and called out to Hiram.” Mr. Brewer shuddered convulsively and covered his eyes with his hands.

Shayne waited silently for him to continue.

He recovered quickly, murmured an apology, and went on in a shaky voice. “Hiram didn’t answer. He was three feet behind me, moving like a cat with a boat hook lifted high, and there was murder in his eyes. If I hadn’t looked back at the instant I did, I would be floating in the bay with my skull crushed in.”

“A boat hook is a nasty weapon,” Shayne agreed. “You were unarmed, I presume. One swing would have been enough. Why didn’t he take it?”

“Because Hiram is a coward. He was capable of striking me down from the back, but his nerve failed him when I faced him.” He stopped suddenly, and frowned reflectively.

“What happened then?” Shayne prompted him.

“Nothing. I was afraid to force a showdown, and I had to think fast. I pretended to believe him when he explained why he happened to have the boat hook. I also had the presence of mind to suggest that we were off our course and that he had better take the wheel. He did, and I stayed behind him until we moored the boat in his private slip. Then I came directly to your office.” Mr. Brewer took a fresh linen handkerchief from his hip pocket, mopped his face dry, picked up his glasses, and pinched them on his nose.

Shayne turned the cognac glass slowly on the plastic coaster, studied the man for a moment, then asked, “What do you expect me to do?”

“Follow Hiram tonight. Don’t lose him for a minute. I know your reputation, and you can save my life if any man can.”

“I’m not for hire as a bodyguard,” Shayne told him flatly. “If your partner is determined to kill you, there are dozens of ways he can get at you, no matter who’s tailing him. I strongly advise you to go to the police. Tell them your story, and they’ll assign a couple of men to protect you — unless you want to swear out a warrant and put Godfrey in jail for the night.”

“No. I can’t do that, Mr. Shayne.” Mr. Brewer shook his glossy black head slowly. “If I go to the police with my story they’ll insist that I confront Hiram, accuse him of attempted murder. I can’t do that. Not any more than he could kill me with a boat hook.”

Shayne shrugged his wide shoulders, picked up his glass, and drained it. “Then you had better put a tail on your partner,” he said with a note of finality. “A good man who knows the score and what he’s to look out for. That way, you might live through the night, if you’re lucky.”

“You’re the one man in Miami I trust, Mr. Shayne. Use as many operatives as you need to do the job thoroughly.” Mr. Brewer heaved a sigh of relief.

“I have no operatives,” said Shayne. “This is a one-man agency.”

“Then do it alone. I know your reputation.”

“What you need is two good men on Godfrey.”

“Very well. Get another man to help you,” said Mr. Brewer. “Hiram is at our plant on West Flagler now. You can pick him up there when he leaves. He drove to the plant to clean up any last-minute things on his desk before leaving in the morning. His car will be parked outside. A blue Buick convertible. I’ll write down the license number for you.”

Shayne shook his head emphatically. “You’ll have to get someone else, Mr. Brewer. I’m all tied up.”

“Whatever you’re working on can wait for one night,” Brewer returned with the arrogance of a man accustomed to getting whatever he wanted by paying for it. He had his wallet out and was taking bills from it.

“I have another client,” said Shayne.

“Forget it. I’ll pay you twice whatever—”

“Put your money back. I don’t sell out one client just because someone else walks in and offers me more money.”

Mr. Brewer looked shocked. “What can I do? I had depended on you, Shayne.”

“There are other men in Miami. Good men.”

“But where will I find one this time of day?” Brewer’s lower lip was pouted and trembling. He looked as though he’d start crying any minute. “I don’t know how long Hiram will stay at the office — or where he may go after that. If he isn’t picked up there—”

“Relax,” said Shayne. “I’ll get you a man.”

He dialed a number, and Henry Black’s nasal twang came over the wire. “Black’s Agency.”

“Mike Shayne, Hank. Busy tonight?”

“Not tonight, last night, nor the night before. Miami is getting too damned moral. You got something, Mike?”

“A job I can’t handle. Your client is right here.”

“Hold on, Mike. If it’s too dirty for you to touch—”

“It’s clean enough,” Shayne assured him. “I’m tied up. You got another man handy?”

“Mathews and Belson are both on my payroll, but I’ll be damned if I know why.”

“Mathews,” said Shayne. “There’s a hundred apiece for you—” He paused and looked speculatively at Brewer, then added, “and expenses. You’ll have to get on it fast.”

“Who do we bump?”

“Your client is Milton Brewer of Brewer and Godfrey. Fruit shippers on West Flagler. He’s afraid his partner is going to murder him tonight, and you’re to prevent it.”

“Oh, sure. Brewer want both of us to sleep with him?”

“I advise you to stay on the partner. Hiram Godfrey. Make it a two-man job, and you may have a live client to collect from in the morning.”

“Give me the rest of it,” said Black wearily.

“Just a minute,” Shayne said. He asked Brewer for further details and repeated them piecemeal to Black.

“Godfrey is leaving for New York by plane tomorrow morning at eight o’clock. Pick him up when he leaves his office — any minute now. You’ll find a blue Buick convertible parked outside if you get there fast. Here’s his description, so you can’t make a mistake:

“About five-feet-ten, medium weight, thirty-five years old but looks older. Light blond hair. Always goes bareheaded. Very careless in his dress. He was wearing sloppy corduroy slacks and yellow polo shirt when last seen by your client half an hour or so ago.” He repeated the license-plate number, and added, “If the blue Buick is gone from in front of the office when you get there, Hank, you’d better get in touch with Brewer fast. He’ll be at his attorney’s office for the next hour — Elliott Gibson in the Midtown Building just a block from here.”