Blue Murder

CHAPTER 2

Michael Shayne, the private detective, waited a moment before getting out of his Buick. He was in the parking lot of a new upper-income condominium in Bal Harbour, at the northernmost end of the Miami Beach strip. He was here to see the Honorable Nick Tucker, who for the last four years had represented the Miami district in Congress.

Shayne had few friends among full-time politicians, and Tucker possessed every quality he disliked about that profession. He was a great practitioner of the head-fake, looking one way and going another. He had learned his sincerity as a TV actor. His political start was a result of a series of commercials for a major automobile company, whose public relations department had been so impressed that they hired him, on a large annual retainer, to tour the country speaking to business conventions and sales meetings.

His basic speech had been worked out by experts and honed to a fine edge in hundreds of appearances before sympathetic groups. Others on this circuit had used patriotism and anti-Communism, or had taken a strong stand in favor of law and order. Tucker’s subject was pornography. He opposed it, of course. He had film clips of the things he was attacking, samples of magazines and books that were being sold in big-city bookstores, under the protection of Supreme Court rulings. This was heady stuff. He became known, campaigned for Congress using his basic speech, and won. Somehow, during his freshman term, he wangled a resolution setting up a House Select Anti-Pornography Committee and became its chairman. He made CBS Evening News twice that first winter.

The important people in his party let him put his name on a few bills and saw to it that he had no trouble raising funds for his reelection campaign. Now he had his eye on the next rung, and he was going for governor. The general feeling among political experts was that he was likely to make it. His main opponent was a former state’s attorney, a competent man with a good record, and the prospect of Tucker’s success didn’t appeal to Shayne. But undoubtedly the state would survive, as it had survived floods and droughts and other natural disasters.

So that was Nick Tucker, and ordinarily Shayne wouldn’t have taken him as a client. His friend Tim Rourke, a longtime reporter on the Miami News, had wanted him to go to the trotters tonight, then on to a party in Fort Lauderdale. But there were angles to this, and Shayne had decided to come here instead, to let Tucker tell him about his problem.

Tucker lived among wealthy neighbors, with ocean under his front windows. He met Shayne at the door and thanked him gravely for coming. If he was upset about anything, he was enough of an actor not to show it. He had a short scar on one cheekbone, from a long-ago accident, strong lines at the corners of his mouth. His hair was still thick, but going white. Naturally his teeth were extremely good. A white suit was one of his trademarks, and that was what he was wearing now, with white shoes and a tie. Shayne, by contrast, had been drinking in an Opa-locka bar after a round of golf, and he still wore golf clothes.

After shaking hands with a politician’s grip, Tucker took Shayne into a room filled with plants, with glass on two sides. While he was making his guest a drink, he replenished his own.

“I don’t know how much Judge Nickerson told you,” he said, turning. “My wife has left me.”

Shayne accepted the drink. The nominating convention was less than a week away, and if Tucker was having domestic trouble, it might cost him some support. A wife who photographed well and did what she was told was a big help in politics at this level. But of course Shayne wasn’t here because of an interest in Tucker’s career.

“Nickerson said something to me about Frankie Capp.”

Tucker’s lip came back in a quick grimace, not quite a smile. “That was to get your attention. We had a hunch you might not consider my wife’s departure the major calamity of the week. Nickerson tells me you don’t usually take husband-and-wife cases. Capp, yes. She’s been seen with him. I understand you thought you had him on something last year, and he was too quick for you.”

Shayne swirled the cognac in the small bouquet glass. “He bribed two jurors. He’s one of the names on my list. How long has she been gone?”

Tucker drew a long breath and suddenly looked older. “I’m not sure. Bear with me for a minute. People in public life are fair game for gossip and rumors. I don’t know what you’ve heard about Gretchen.”

His fingers were white around the glass. Shayne waited a moment.

“I didn’t even know Gretchen was her name. Politics isn’t my subject, and I was out of town during the election. If I’ve seen her on television it didn’t stay with me.”

“I only wish you’d seen her on television,” Tucker said dryly. “That would be highly unlikely, I’m afraid. I may have some sharp things to say about the woman, and she’s been absolutely maddening, impossible, but damn it, I still hope we can get back together…”

He broke off and began again after a swallow of Scotch. “One of the things she refuses to do, one of the many things, is to make appearances with me. There aren’t many unmarried congressmen. There are occasions when it’s considered peculiar not to show up with your wife. But two years ago, at breakfast one morning, Gretchen announced that she was through with all that. If there was any political angle — and there’s a political angle to everything, if you look hard enough — that would be my affair, not hers. She didn’t intend to spend the rest of her life humbly helping me get reelected, over and over. Well, fine. We haven’t had children. I want her to be independent. The old-style political wife isn’t that much of an asset anymore. But just to goof around the house watching soap operas—”

He swallowed the rest of that sentence, along with more Scotch. “Hell, Shayne, she wouldn’t ask people in for drinks. That would be playing politics. She not only refused to go out for dinner, she lost the invitations. You can’t stay in this business long that way.”

“Why haven’t you divorced her?”

“The subject has come up. Obviously. Divorce used to be a dirty word in politics, but less so now.” He gave Shayne a sharp look. “Does that make me sound like an opportunistic bastard? Politics is how I make my living.”

Shayne started a question, but Tucker overrode him. “I’m also considering Gretchen’s health and well-being, believe it or not. She’s in some kind of trouble. Maybe I had something to do with that, I don’t know. I don’t think I love her anymore, if I ever did. But I can’t stand aside while she smashes herself into pieces, and there’s a good chance that may be happening now. She was twenty-five when we married, I was ten years older. Shayne, to begin with,” he said painfully, “she was — absolutely — marvelous. Marvelous! She seemed to understand what I was trying to do. She enjoyed the wheeling and dealing. That lasted about a year. God knows what happened then. She started refusing me in bed. Naturally it isn’t easy to talk about this, but it may have a bearing. I was putting in long hours. The first time around, I barely squeaked through, with a plurality of a hundred and fifty, which was reduced to a hundred and fifteen on the recount. I think I did more work for my constituents than any other freshman on the Hill, and I had no trouble the next time. Meanwhile, Gretchen was drinking too much, new people had come into her life, there were a couple of drug episodes that scared me. I got her to a shrink, and she’s been seeing him regularly since.”

“What kind of drugs?”

“Hallucinogens, barbiturates. When I say I was scared, I also mean disgusted. I simply do not understand people who are willing to take chances with that delicate thing, the brain. But the doctor asked me to hang on, not pull the rug out. She was getting new insights, more self-understanding, you know the way they talk.”

“When was this?”

“Six months ago. We’ve been drifting since. This happens to be a fairly touchy moment for me. People tell me I have the nomination sewed up. But it’s going to be close. The wrong kind of story will kill me. I tried to get her to see this, to agree not to embarrass me publicly, and after the election she could have anything she wanted in the way of a property settlement, alimony. The funny thing is, I don’t think she’s really so desperate to get a divorce. It’s been too much fun bugging me. She isn’t the easiest person in the world to talk to. After about one and a half rational statements, she starts fighting dirty. In the end, I may have to do it the hard way and bring in the drugs and the disappearances and the rest. But in addition to her other qualities, she’s extremely intelligent. If she decides the intelligent thing to do here is to hurt me, I’m afraid she’ll be able to think up a way to do it.”

“Wouldn’t she wait till after you get the nomination?”

“I’ve been wondering,” Tucker said. “You asked me how long she’s been gone. I try to get away from Washington every weekend, Thursday to Monday usually, and Gretchen decided — unilaterally, as usual — not to go back at all, but to stay here through the week. That was all right with me. I don’t enjoy this tension and bickering. I didn’t press her to find out how she was spending her time, or with whom. She did volunteer, though, that she’s been logging three or four hours a day reading for the blind. Anna Karenina, three chapters a day. Needless to say, I was pleased to hear it. Well, we were getting out a piece of campaign literature, and my people wanted to stick in something about Gretchen, more or less to prove that I’m married. I told them about this reading program, and they used it. A couple of days ago we had a phone call. Apparently she’s never been near the program for the blind. Why did she bother to invent such a story? Who the hell knows? I suppose she thought I’d relax and wouldn’t check up on her. When I came down last Thursday, she wasn’t here. No note, nothing. I don’t know how much she took with her. Our things are mixed up between Washington and here. I think a suitcase, but I’m not positive. Her birth control stuff, her typewriter, some jewelry. She cashed a check for five hundred, which cleaned out her account.”

“Who saw her with Capp?”

“A friend, no one in particular. I need some more Scotch. How about you?”

Shayne finished his cognac and gave him the glass. Tucker went on talking while he made the drinks.

“Gretchen and Frank Capp — an appalling combination. She’s a lovely woman still, and from what I’ve heard about Capp—”

“He’s anything but lovely, but he manages to be seen with good-looking women.”

Tucker made a small face. “Ouch. All right, it’s possible. But there are two things about Gretchen. She’s excruciatingly moral. She’s also totally innocent about the way the world works. She thinks something should be done about crime, for example, preferably by me, as a member of Congress. Why should I concern myself with small pornographers while all these Mafia types are floating around in their Cadillacs? Frankie Capp — anybody who reads Miami newspapers knows the name. Gretchen wouldn’t be with him unless something very peculiar was going on. He was paying toll on the Venetian Causeway. In a black Fleetwood, naturally, the automobile of choice among that particular subspecies. There was no question that the lady in the front seat with him was my dear unstable wife. She was laughing,” he said with extraordinary bitterness. “For me that was the bad part. What joke could that particular couple have in common? I haven’t seen her laugh in months.”

“Have you notified the police?”

“No!” He added, “Fair’s fair. Put yourself in my shoes, Shayne. How would it look if it turned out she went somewhere to walk on the beach for a few days? To tell the truth, at first I was relieved! The shoe had finally dropped. But the next day I couldn’t keep my mind on what I was doing, and I made a few unnecessary mistakes. I thought we had an agreement to cool it till after the convention. I had to wonder what she was up to. There are four people in town I can trust. I mean trust. I told them she’d checked out and to let me know if they heard anything. Late last night — Frankie Capp. Laughing. I haven’t slept since.” He left his chair, looked at the reflection of the room in one of the glass walls and came back.

“I want to try not to be hypocritical. I don’t want her in any serious trouble, and Frankie Capp, by definition, is serious trouble. I also don’t want to lose that nomination! It doesn’t matter which of those reasons you believe. They’re both true. It’s the Capp sighting that worries me the most. It would be greatly to that man’s advantage to see me out of politics, back making TV commercials.”

“To his advantage in what way?”

“You know he’s got quite a bit of capital tied up in blue movies?”

Shayne had thought he was an expert on the subject of Frank Capp, but he hadn’t known that. He looked a question.

Tucker said: “That hard-core outfit in northwest Miami, the Warehouse. They make some of the filthiest films in the country.”

“Where does Capp come in?”

“He’s their Shylock. Short-term unsecured loans at twenty-five percent. You know my Anti-Porno committee. I don’t know if you followed our latest series of hearings…”

“More or less,” Shayne said. “Mostly less.”

Tucker crossed his legs carefully, picking up the skepticism in Shayne’s comment.

“I don’t want to get into that particular argument tonight, if you don’t mind. Does the open display of this kind of material have an effect on the moral climate of the republic? I maintain that it does. There are intelligent people who disagree with me. You may be one of them. Beside the point. The fact is that I’ve been given a mandate by the voters to do what I can to stamp out this traffic and put the traffickers behind bars. The high court of the land doesn’t happen to view the matter in the same light, and until we can succeed in turning some of those five-four decisions around, we’ll have to rely on exposure and good old-fashioned harassment, to skirt the constitutional problem. We’ve had a few successes. We’re pushing these people hard. We’ve cut their outlets in half, so they have a backlog of filth they haven’t been able to run through the sewer because certain district attorneys have been knocking over their theaters for building-code violations, arresting their projectionists for being behind on alimony payments and the like. Prints of their pictures have been seized and burned. Their legal expenses have been heavy — ruinous in a few cases. They’re all short of cash, and they’ve had to go to people like Capp. I don’t know how much he’s put up, what kind of control it gives him. I thought you might want to find out for me.”

“A couple of questions first,” Shayne said. “Do you have any more hearings scheduled?”

“Definitely, right after the convention, and I predict that one of the stars of the new series is going to be Armand Baruch, the Miami genius. He writes, directs, produces, and he’s one of those picturesque people who don’t believe in washing under the arms. He likes to be in the vanguard, one step ahead. He was the first to go into color, the first to show anal penetration, the first to use so-called literate dialogue. I look forward to getting him on the stand and watching him squirm. If we handle it right, I think public opinion will make it difficult for him to continue to operate in this town.”

“And if he has to close, Capp won’t be able to collect what he’s owed.”

“Exactly, which gives him an incentive. There are others on the committee, of course. I merely happen to be chairman. But to be frank, I think I provide the impetus, and if Capp and Baruch could discredit me in some way, the whole investigation would probably peter out in a matter of weeks. You can see what idea jumped into my mind. Gretchen would present herself to them as a weapon to use against me. So I’ve got to find her! I’ve got to stop her! Without publicity. Nickerson tells me you may be the one man in Dade County who can do it.”

“They won’t move without getting in touch with you first, to give you a chance to bid. What does your wife think about your antipornography thing?”

Tucker chose his words carefully. “She thinks my concern about it is… exaggerated. Or put that in the past tense. We haven’t discussed it for a year. It isn’t something I like to joke about. The thing I fear most” — he gestured with his free hand — “and I do mean for her sake as well as mine. I’ve discussed it with her Washington doctor. She’s been having periods of — I don’t know, irresponsibility. A kind of heedlessness. The doctor has been afraid she would move on to more serious drugs, and Capp would have no difficulty supplying them, would he? That would explain her laughter in the front seat of the Cadillac. High on something.”

Less controlled than he had been at the beginning of the conversation, Tucker pressed his fingertips against his temples, an actor’s gesture. “I’ve had some wild ideas. The vote’s going to be so close! If she does some crazy public thing, like walking out on the floor and taking off her dress — or if she turns herself in at a hospital with needle tracks in her arm — or if she stands up in a TV studio and throws something at me — or a drunk scene, a quarrel. The switch of a half-dozen delegates would do it. If my wife can’t stand me, there must be something off-color about me that doesn’t show on the surface. If I can’t run my own marriage, how can the voters trust me to run Florida? That kind of thing.”

“Have you subpoenaed Baruch yet?”

“A few days ago.”

“How much trouble would it be to quash that?”

“I see what you mean. No trouble at all. We’ve announced the hearings, but we could substitute somebody else or take his testimony in executive session, or ask him a few formal questions. Various possibilities. But the Warehouse is a local operation, here in my bailiwick, and I can’t go on pretending it doesn’t exist.”

“Even as a trade-off for your wife?”

“I don’t accept that alternative!” Tucker said sharply. “A trade-off? This was hardly a kidnapping. I’m sure she went off of her own accord. Do you want the job, Shayne? Because if you say no I have to get busy and locate somebody else.”

Their eyes held for a moment. Shayne said, “Nickerson may have told you I owe him a favor. It’s a big one, and I don’t enjoy having it hanging over me, because I don’t like or admire the man. This would be one way to work it off. There are things about it I don’t like. I don’t think dirty movies do any real harm. I also think the present governor has done a pretty fair job.”

“That’s your privilege,” Tucker said through tight lips. “I disagree with you, of course. The man’s as slippery as a weasel. I don’t see that it matters. I’m not asking for your vote. I’m asking you to find my wife.”

Shayne nodded curtly. “As long as we understand each other. The fee’s a thousand dollars. I’ll take care of my own ordinary expenses unless I have to pay for information.”

“That’s fair.”

“I’ll need a picture.”

“I know, and that’s a problem.” He had an envelope ready. Opening it, he handed Shayne four snapshots. “Another thing she’s been refusing to do lately is have her picture taken. These were the best I could find. They won’t be much help.”

The four photographs might have been taken of different women. They had two things in common, blond hair and glasses, but the glasses were three different shapes and the hair was differently arranged each time.

“Which is the most recent?”

“This one,” Tucker said. “But she’s gone back to wearing her hair straight, unless she’s cut it again in the last couple of days, which wouldn’t surprise me.”

Shayne put the photographs away. “You’ve given me two theories — that Capp is hoping to use her, and that she’s hoping to use Capp. Which do you think it is? It could make a difference.”

“I don’t know. She dislikes me, and she dislikes herself. But does she hate me enough to want to destroy me? All I know, for what it’s worth, is that she voted against me in the last election. She urged our friends to vote against me. I haven’t forgiven her that.”

“What do you want me to do if I find her?”

“Put her in your car and bring her home,” Tucker said grimly. “Then we’ll get to the bottom of this Frankie Capp business.”

Shayne finished his drink and stood up. “It’s pretty vague. If she’s taken a few elementary precautions she can stay ahead of me indefinitely. I’ll start with Frankie. But I’ll need a better picture.”

“I’ll keep looking. There are some old ones in Washington, but she’s changed so much in the last year.”

“And you’d better get on the phone and start calling people. Call everybody who may have seen her. You’ll have to announce that she’s left you, but it won’t mean anything politically unless it gets in the papers, and I don’t see why it should.”

“You’re right, I know. But God, it’ll be painful.”

“If you hear anything, call me on the car phone.”