Brett Halliday - What Really Happened

“Was she married?” Shayne asked.

“No record of a marriage,” rumbled the chief.

Shayne was silently thoughtful for a moment, tugging at his left earlobe. Then he reminded the chief, “Jack Gurley first came to Miami with Capone. Was he picked up with her in Detroit?”

“No. I checked that particularly. There’s no mention of The Lantern.”

“Have you picked up Gurley yet?”

“We’ve got him,” Gentry growled, “but he isn’t talking. He’s sitting right on top of his constitutional rights and demanding that we charge him with something so he can have a mouthpiece.”

Shayne shrugged and said, “How does he explain Wanda’s letter accusing him of attempted murder?”

“He doesn’t. He’s not talking.”

Shayne said, “Remember I mentioned a possible connection between Wanda and pornographic movies. I understand that business has been taken over by television methods, and Prentiss may be able to give you something on that. He’s an assistant TV director.” Shayne was on his way out when he dropped that casual bit of information, and he closed the door before Gentry could ask any questions.

In his car, Shayne backed around and headed for the News building.

Timothy Rourke was waiting in a corner of the City Room when Shayne walked in. The reporter had a thick cardboard folder spread out on his desk and was working through a mass of newspaper clippings and jotting notations and dates on a sheet of copy paper.

He looked up when the detective pulled a chair up beside him, and said, “I don’t know what you’re looking for on Gurley, Mike,” irritably. “This file goes back to 1936 when he first showed up in Miami on Al Capone’s payroll.”

“I’m not sure what I want, either, Tim. But first, what about Henderson?”

“That bastard seems to be in the clear, damn it. Tom Merkle covered the meeting last night and took shorthand notes. They show that Henderson was definitely in there pitching from about nine-thirty until close to eleven. He presided, and had to recognize the speakers and all that.”

Shayne said, “I thought it would be that way.” He bent forward to look at the file on Gurley, and saw that Rourke had worked through the clips to 1942. “What have you found on The Lantern up to this point?”

“Nothing much.” Rourke glanced at his notes. “He was first picked up in ’36 on a concealed-weapon charge. In ’38, he applied for a license to run a bar and was turned down on account of his past association with Capone. But in ’40 he was getting respectable. He went in partnership with one George Stuart in buying a gin mill on the Trail, and since there was real money involved, there were no questions asked about past associations.

“He kept on getting respectable, and was married in ’41 to a local girl by the name of Isabelle Lancaster. They had a big wedding and went on a honeymoon cruise to South America.”

“Wait a minute,” said Shayne sharply. “That was 1941? Just eleven years ago. Did Gurley marry a widow?”

“I don’t think so.” Rourke leafed back through the clip pings and studied an item from the society page. “No.” He read: “‘The bride is the only daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Samuel Lancaster of Coral Gables. A recent graduate of Bryn Mawr, she has been one of the prominent members of Miami’s younger set,’ blah blah blah. Doesn’t sound like a widow.”

“Does it say Gurley is a widower?” Shayne probed. “Or have you run across any mention of him having a child?”

“No.” Rourke leafed forward through the clippings idly, then said abruptly, “That’s right. He has got a grown daughter now, hasn’t he?”

“She’s engaged to be married, so she must be at least eighteen,” Shayne told him.

“Here’s something,” said Rourke, lifting another item from the society page and showing Shayne a picture of a youthful woman and a young girl of ten or twelve.

“Mrs. J. Pierson Gurley of Coconut Grove,” he read aloud, “and stepdaughter, Janet, who has recently returned from boarding-school to make her home with her parents.”

Shayne said quietly, “I think we’ve got what we want, Tim. You check the license bureau here and see if Gurley admitted to a previous marriage when he took out his license. And get Will Gentry on the phone.”

Rourke glanced at him with feverish curiosity, but lifted his desk phone and asked for a number. In a moment he said, “Will? Mike wants to speak to you,” and handed the receiver to him.

Will Gentry said sourly, “My God, Mike, where’d you pick up this pansy? He wants to put me on television.”

Shayne grinned and said happily, “There’s millions in it, Will. In the meantime, check back with Detroit on Vital Statistics for ’33 and ’34. Find out if Wanda Weatherby had her baby there, and who is listed as the father. What sex and name, and what happened to the child.”

He hung up and said to Rourke, “This could tie up. I’ve been wondering from the first what the hell could be a strong enough motive to cause a man like Gurley to want to murder a woman like Wanda Weatherby. This could be it.”

“Not so fast,” the reporter complained. “You say Wanda had a baby in Detroit?”

Shayne nodded. “I hope she had it there. Will has a Detroit police report that she was released from custody in ’33 because she was pregnant. That would add up perfectly for Miss Janet Gurley who is now on the verge of marrying into Nashville society.”

“You think she and Jack Gurley were married in ’33?”

“Whether they were married or not, if she could prove that Janet was her child and that Gurley was the father, think what a hold she would have on him. If they weren’t married, she could prove the child illegitimate. And it they were married and not divorced, Gurley is a bigamist.

“Either way, there’s plenty of pressure on a man like Gurley who is trying so hard to be respectable and who evidently loves his daughter. With a motive like that to back us up, it wouldn’t be difficult to get a jury to convict Gurley.”

Rourke demanded angrily, “For having a bullet put into the head of a bitch like Wanda who would desert her own child and then use her for blackmail?”

Shayne raised his brows and his mouth twisted cynically. “Everything points to her being a bitch, all right. But the law has never declared an open season on women like her.” He stood up and went on gruffly, “You check the marriage license, Tim. If my hunch is right, this gives us three people with sufficient motive for murder. I still want a fourth.”

“Donald Henderson?”

“Yeh. The guy who has never even met Wanda — who suspects the accusation against him is a Communist plot and that anyone who goes along with it is a fellow traveler,” said Shayne sardonically. “Him, I’d like to throw the hooks into. I’ll check with you this afternoon.” Shayne went out swiftly and drove to a parking-lot near his office, went up in the elevator, and found Lucy Hamilton putting on her hat preparatory to going out for lunch.

Lucy’s eyes sparkled with interest when she saw the look of intense concentration on his face. She asked, “What did you find out, Michael?”

“We’re moving, angel. Did you contact the clipping service?”

“Yes.” She removed her hat and fluffed out her hair, picked up a memorandum pad and read from it.

“Wanda Weatherby wrote them from Los Angeles a little over a year ago, ordering a hundred clippings concerning J. Pierson Gurley and/or his family in Miami. They began sending them to her in weekly batches, and about six months ago sent her the hundredth one. She renewed her order at that time, but shortly afterward gave them a change of address from Los Angeles to Miami. They’ve continued sending the clippings to her ever since.”