Brett Halliday - Michael Shayne’s Triple Mystery

Quinlan said gruffly, “I recall Mrs. Wallace claiming she had a phone call from Groat. Claimed he had information about her husband and asked her to come to see him.”

“That’s right. So it was quite evident that Albert Hawley, who was at home when Wallace disappeared, had some guilty knowledge which he confided to Groat before he died. Right?”

“What has all this to do with a couple of murders?”

“I think it’s at the bottom of them,” Shayne told him calmly. “As you must have guessed, it was Groat’s diary that I got from Drake last night after Cross had told his lawyer where to find it. I’ve checked the diary carefully and I admit Cross told the truth — no material for blackmail, or murder.”

Mrs. Meredith sighed and relaxed in her chair.

Lawyer Hastings stepped forward and demanded, “Does the diary back up Cunningham’s story about Hawley not dying until the fifth day?”

Quinlan roared, “Sit down. We’re talking about murder. Are you saying it wasn’t Cross, Shayne?”

“I’m afraid his arrest was a mistake,” said Shayne pleasantly, “except it did provide a lever to bring the diary into the open so I could get my hands on it. And Cross was safer in jail.”

“I told you it was a frame-up,” Cross interjected angrily. “That janitor’s identification was a phony.”

“I’m afraid something like that did happen, Inspector. Not that I meant to frighten Jake. He didn’t understand me. Right now, I’m convinced Meany is the man who visited his wife in my apartment.”

Hastings got up again. “I protest that unfounded accusation, Inspector. You and I were present when the Negro positively identified this other man. He can’t change his testimony at Shayne’s whim.”

“He’s right,” Quinlan raged. “We’ll never be able to prove it was Meany now.”

“I don’t think we’ll need to. I think we can prove that Mrs. Meany’s murderer also killed Jasper Groat. That’s the only possible motive for her death. She was expecting Groat and must have seen the murderer attack him after he arrived by taxi at the Hawley house. The murderer thought she was going to spill everything to me, so he had to get rid of her before she did.”

Lucy came in with the newspaper. Shayne took the folded paper from her and placed it, front page up, on his desk. It carried big headlines proclaiming the rescue of the drifting seamen, with a picture of Groat and Cunningham taken at the dock. There was a photograph of Albert Hawley in civilian clothes, evidently dug out of the newspaper morgue for the occasion.

Quinlan grew restive. “Beatrice’s husband knew she was coming to see you,” he growled. “We know he found your address scribbled on a pad in her room, and followed her immediately.”

Shayne said, “But let’s get back to Groat’s diary and the secret confided by the dying soldier which weighed so heavily on his conscience.

“Unfortunately, Groat doesn’t tell us what that secret was. He doesn’t even mention Leon Wallace’s name. See for yourself, Inspector.” He took the book out and tossed it carelessly to Quinlan.

An audible gasp escaped Mrs. Meredith’s lips. She sat erect, her eyes blazing defiantly at Shayne.

Jake Sims wet his lips and frowned, glancing quickly from Shayne to Cunningham, who stood back with arms stolidly folded, dark brows drawn, and lips clamped together.

Hastings uttered an exclamation of surprise and stepped forward to peer over Quinlan’s shoulder as the Inspector flipped the pages after glancing hurriedly at the entries.

“There it is,” said Hastings triumphantly. He pointed a finger at the line. “There’s the death story in black and white. H died quietly during the night. That must be Hawley. He was buried on the fifth day. He died the previous night, before his uncle died.” He looked at Shayne sharply. “I understood you to say Albert did not pass away until after his uncle died.”

“I said that Cunningham was prepared to testify that way,” Shayne reminded him, and grinned crookedly. “I think Mrs. Meredith may have influenced him somewhat in that direction.”

“You dirty louse,” Mrs. Meredith said distinctly and with sharp emphasis. “I don’t know what your game is. I don’t know why you pulled that stunt on me a few minutes ago. If you’re going to accuse someone of accepting a bribe, maybe the Inspector will like to see this.” She took the signed copy of the agreement from her purse and flung it on the desk. Contempt dulled her eyes when she faced Quinlan. “Just before you arrived he induced me to sign that by promising that the diary would not be produced as evidence.”

“Which merely proves my innate honesty,” Shayne said with a cheerful grin. “That little document shows my ability to withstand temptation. It should convince even the Inspector, who has unjustly suspected me several times in the past.”

Quinlan’s cold eyes were glaring at him, frosty eyebrows drawn together in undisguised distrust.

“Let’s get down to a couple of murders,” Shayne went on harshly, ignoring Quinlan’s anger. “Since the diary contains no actual blackmail material, and no one connected with the case is presumed to have known the importance of the date of Albert Hawley’s death at the time Groat was killed, let’s see if we can figure out why he was murdered as he reached the Hawley house at eight o’clock and his body thrown into the river.”

Still glaring at Shayne, Quinlan slammed the book shut. “Let’s do that,” he agreed caustically. “All I get out of this, so far, is that Hawley told Groat something when he was dying and that it disturbed Groat’s conscience greatly.”

“Something about Leon Wallace,” Shayne said. “I think the whole thing goes back to that day two years ago when Wallace disappeared. A couple of significant things happened about that time. Albert Hawley was coming up for induction into the army. His wife went to Reno to divorce him. Why did she do that?” He looked at Mrs. Meredith. She wasn’t looking at him. “It wasn’t a very patriotic gesture, to say the least. It couldn’t have helped Albert much.”

Mrs. Meredith stiffened. “Albert’s induction had nothing to do with it,” she burst out. “We decided on a divorce, that’s all.”

“But you wouldn’t expect a man to be too happy about his wife deserting him just when he was to be drafted,” Shayne pointed out. “Yet Hawley seems to have approved your action. So much so, in fact, that he made a new will leaving everything to you in case of death, even though you remarried after your divorce. That’s something that has stuck in my craw all along.” Shayne lit a cigarette and puffed on it rapidly.

“Albert loved me devotedly,” Mrs. Meredith said acidly, her chin high. “He willed me everything because he wanted me to have it rather than his devil of a mother and that—” She caught herself up quickly and ended, “That no-good married to Beatrice.”

Gerald Meany said meekly, “That’s a falsehood. Albert and I were friends.”

Shayne glanced at Gerald through half-closed eyes. He was relaxed in his swivel chair. He said impatiently, “Someone furnished Leon Wallace ten thousand dollars in cash for his wife to prevent her from going to the police about his disappearance. Who? Wallace didn’t have any such sum. He worked as a gardener to earn money for his wife to keep their farm going. What service did Leon Wallace perform that was worth ten grand to someone — and two thousand a year thereafter as long as she kept quiet?”

“I’m sure I don’t know anything about it,” Mrs. Meredith said. “I scarcely remember the man.”

Shayne opened his eyes wide. “Do you know, Meany?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Meany muttered wearily. He was still standing. “I don’t know anybody named Leon Wallace. I don’t know the name of any of the servants except the butler.”