Brett Halliday - One Night with Nora

“I was horrified at first because I thought he meant he had killed Ralph, but he swore he hadn’t done that. He said he was frightened when he heard about Ralph and was afraid I had done it, and so he had killed you to protect me.” She looked directly at Shayne as she spoke.

“I was terribly confused and didn’t know what to think. I hadn’t heard you were dead. Of course, I hadn’t seen you since — there at the hotel, and I didn’t know for sure what might have happened. And then there were the two of you, you know. You saying it wasn’t you who’d been working for Mr. Bates, and all that. So, I just didn’t know.

“Well, Ted went all to pieces and simply groveled and begged me not to tell. And about that time you called from downstairs and said you were coming up.

“As soon as I hung up I said to Ted, ‘You see. You didn’t kill Michael Shayne. That was Mr. Shayne on the phone, and he’ll be up here in a minute.’ Then Ted went completely crazy. He raved at me for turning against him, and said he had killed Ralph for my sake; and now it was all over and he was going to kill himself and finish it. He got that pistol from inside his shirt and waved it around. I tried to stop him and just then you knocked. He jerked away from me and — and did it. I never — I just can’t believe it of Ted,” she ended brokenly. “I never suspected him for a moment. I still can’t really believe he killed Ralph.” She leaned against the Wilmington lawyer and began sobbing afresh.

“He did his best to kill me,” Shayne said grimly. “I wonder, now, if for a different reason than the one he gave us. Not to protect you, but to protect himself because of something the pseudo Michael Shayne knew. Did he say anything about how or why he killed your husband?”

“There wasn’t time. It all happened so fast. Just while you were on your way up.”

“You knew all the time he was here in Miami last night,” growled Gentry. “Didn’t you suspect him?”

“No. I didn’t,” she cried vehemently. “I just couldn’t think Ted would kill anyone.”

“You knew that he knew you were supposed to see your husband,” Shayne charged.

“Yes. I told him yesterday afternoon, right here in this room, after he trailed me from Wilmington. He was begging me to let Ralph go ahead and get the divorce so I could marry him, and I told him flatly that I loved Ralph and didn’t intend to give him up. And to make him realize it was final and definite, I told him what I was going to do, and made him go away.”

“You didn’t happen to give him the key to your husband’s room?” asked Shayne cynically, “and then get a duplicate of my key so you could pretend there was a mistake, and put yourself in the clear on whatever happened to your husband?”

“I certainly did not. I don’t know why I was given the wrong key, unless you did it yourself,” she ended with unexpected spirit.

“How do you suppose Granger found out where to locate your husband?”

“I don’t know. I may have told him the name of Ralph’s hotel, but I don’t think so.”

“But not the room number,” Shayne suggested. “Not one-sixteen instead of two-sixteen?”

“No. I’m certain I didn’t give him the number. Just the name of the hotel. I was so angry with him for following me down here—”

“That might begin to add up to something,” Shayne cut in, turning to Gentry. “If Granger went away from here in the afternoon knowing she planned to see her husband last night, and if he was determined to prevent her from doing so, it’s possible that Granger could have gone to the hotel and asked for Carrol, and that he got hold of a duplicate key to two-sixteen somehow, or had one made. But nothing in all this explains why Mrs. Carrol was given the key to my room. And we still don’t know who impersonated me on the job.”

“We can still check Margrave,” said Gentry doubtfully. “They’re bringing him in. We’ve got the ticket seller and the hostess from the four-twenty flight coming in to see if they can identify the man who called himself Michael Shayne. You willing to stand in a line-up with Margrave, Mike?”

“Of course.” Shayne nodded abstractedly, deep in thought. “You’ve also got an ejected forty-five shell from my car to check with this gun of Granger’s.”

Attorney Bates had sat tight-lipped and quietly consoling the widow. Now, he rose from the bed and said firmly, “If you’re through questioning Mrs. Carrol, may I suggest that I take her down and transfer her to another room. Unless you prefer to return to Wilmington immediately,” he added gently to Nora. “In that case I’ll be glad to—”

“Mrs. Carrol had better stick around awhile,” the chief broke in bluntly. “We’ve quite a bit of checking to do yet, and there may be further questions. But put her in another room, by all means, so my men can have a free hand in here.”

Bates took Nora’s arm, assisted her from the bed, and escorted her from the room.

Chief Gentry called the homicide squad in, then said to Shayne, “That’s all for us here, Mike. Margrave is probably at headquarters by this time.”

On their way to the elevator, Gentry asked with interest, “How does it look to you now, Mike? Anything smell about this setup?”

“No,” said Shayne honestly. “Everything Mrs. Carrol said checks with what little I heard outside the door. Of course, we’ve only her word for any of it, but if everything else checks out, I don’t see how we can disprove it.

“But there’s still a guy around Miami who’s been taking my name in vain,” he went on angrily, “who gave her the wrong key and the wrong number last night. He’s the man I want to get my hands on right now.”

Gentry was quiet in the elevator, but when they were in the lobby and moving toward the front door, he said, “I still like Margrave.”

“But why, Will? When I gave you Margrave, I was postulating the whole hoax on the belief it had been a deliberate and carefully premeditated plan to get rid of Carrol. But if Granger is the killer, that knocks Margrave out. He had no motive for impersonating me.”

“We’ll know more about that if the airport employees identify him. Coming along?” he asked when they reached the sidewalk.

“In a few minutes,” Shayne hedged, going to his own car. “I still want to have a go at finding out one thing from Ann Margrave, and I only hope she’s still sober enough to tell me.”

The waiter in the small bar off Collins Avenue recognized Shayne with a broad grin when he entered. The place was now well filled with late lunchers; but the waiter led Shayne to the rear where Ann Margrave still sat at the same table where they had talked earlier. She was leaning forward with her left elbow on the table, her chin cupped in her palm, the remains of a highball close to her right hand.

“Still working on the money I left you?” he asked the waiter.

“Yes, sir.” He glanced at his tab. “She’s only had ten since you left.”

“In that case,” said Shayne gravely, “by all means bring her another. And a double cognac for me.”

“Yes, sir.” He smiled amiably and went away. Shayne put his finger tips on Ann’s shoulder and said, “Hi.”

She lifted her head slowly and looked up at him with disinterest. Her eyes had a glazed expression, but she enunciated perfectly when she answered, “Hi, yourself. And who the hell are you?”

“Your favorite detective. Remember?” He moved around and slid into the seat opposite her. “The one who pays for all your drinks,” he added.

“Oh, that one.” She tilted her glass and squinted at the contents. “Then why the hell don’t you?”