Death Has Three Lives

Chapter Seventeen

A police car was just ahead of Michael Shayne when he swung into the block on 18th Street, slowing in to the curb in front of the house where Trixie had been strangled, and as Shayne drove past he saw a man getting out of the car and starting up the walk toward a uniformed man on guard at the front door.

Shayne went on without pausing, all the way around the block, and when he turned the corner again the police car was pulling away ahead of him.

Shayne parked two houses away from the one he wanted, got out, and went along the sidewalk briskly and up to the front door which no longer had a police guard. He opened the door and went in as though he belonged there, found himself in a small hallway lighted by a dingy bulb, with stairs leading to the two upper floors on his left.

He climbed one flight, looked for a number on the first door and found it was 21. It was dark, but light came through the transom from number 23, and the sound of a radio being played softly.

Directly across from the lighted door, Shayne stopped in front of 24 and tried the knob. It was locked, of course. But it was only a common indoor lock, and it opened easily with a skeleton key.

He stepped inside the silent room and pulled the door shut behind him, switched on a pencil flashlight to orient himself in the chamber where death had struck earlier.

It was an ordinary cheap bedroom, with neatly made double bed in one corner, veneered oak chest of drawers and chintz-covered easy chair, a straight wooden chair in another corner.

Shayne got the straight chair and carried it back to a position against the wall beside the closed door. He sat in it and looked at his watch, switched off the light and got Will Gentry’s gun from his pocket and laid it across his knees.

He would waste exactly fifteen minutes here, he decided. By that time, the Daily News broadcast would be on the air, and he couldn’t afford to wait longer than that.

He didn’t actually expect anything to happen during those fifteen minutes. The chances were about a thousand to one against it. But he had these few minutes to waste, and there was that one chance in a thousand that he would have a visitor.

There had been a policeman on duty ever since the murder until just a few minutes ago. If anyone had desired to get into the room, they would have been prevented from doing so. Now that the guard had been withdrawn from the front door, an attempt might be made.

It was stifling hot inside the dark room. In the night silence, the radio from across the hall sounded inordinately loud.

Shayne sat with relaxed muscles and waited. He made his mind as blank as he could, refusing to allow his thoughts to dwell on Lucy or what might be happening to her. He had done all he could now. There was this brief vigil to be kept, and if it fizzled out there was one further thing he could do. No use trying to plan further. No use trying to contemplate what would happen if he had guessed wrong and both plans failed. He refused to consider the possibility of failure. He had to be right. Too much depended on it for him to be wrong.

He shifted position after a time, got out the flashlight to look at his watch. Eight minutes had passed. More than half the period he had allotted himself.

He didn’t hear the man approach two minutes later. The radio across the hall drowned out the sound of footfalls, and Shayne’s first intimation of success came when the doorknob beside him was turned cautiously.

He sat very still and waited, gripping the butt of the Police Positive hard in his big right hand.

The door opened a cautious crack and there was a moment of hesitancy, then it swung wide and a figure stepped through swiftly and closed it behind him.

Shayne’s left forefinger was on the wall switch and he clicked it down to flood the room with bright light, rising in the same motion to ram the muzzle of his .38 into the ribs of a white-faced and cowering young man whom he had never seen before.

He was shabbily dressed and cringing with fright, with an improvised and bloody bandage wrapped like a turban around his head.

Shayne stood glowering down at him, and said grimly, “End of the line, Allerdice. Where’s your pal, Mark Switzer?”

“I don’t know.” The youth’s body was racked with sudden sobs. He slunk back to the bed and sank down on it, beaten and shivering like a whipped cur. “I haven’t seen him. Not since he shot Jack and beat me over the head and left me for dead, too, I guess.”

He dazedly put his hand to his bandaged forehead, looking around the room furtively. “What happened up here? Who are you? I don’t know—”

“Answer my questions fast if you want to stay alive. Did Switzer come up here alone?”

“Yes. To see the girl. Jack had gone out and Mark made me stay outside to keep watch because I knew Jack and he didn’t. He came running out of the house just as Jack came up the street. I didn’t know he was going to shoot. I swear I didn’t. He acted insane. I never saw a man look like that. He pulled a gun and shot Jack without a word of warning. I yelled at him and tried to knock the gun up. Then he hit me just as a taxi pulled up in the street and Jack got in. I went down and he cursed and started to chase the taxi. I managed to stagger behind a hedge and then passed out. I came to and bandaged my head and saw a cop guarding the door here and didn’t know what had happened or what to do. I was to meet my wife here tonight. I don’t know—”

“Your wife is dead, too,” Shayne told him coldly. “Switzer killed her just as he killed Jack and the girl. Where do I find him?”

“Beatrice? She’s— Oh, God.” Hugh Allerdice slumped forward with his face in his hands and wept horribly.

Shayne stood looking down at him for a moment without a tremor of pity on his hard face. He pocketed the gun, took two steps forward, and swung the flat of his right hand against the side of Allerdice’s head. The youth sprawled sideways on the bed putting both hands up to fend off another blow.

“I want Switzer,” Shayne said flatly. “I don’t give a damn about your wife or you. Where will he be hiding out?”

“I don’t know,” wailed Allerdice. “I been passed out, I tell you. We just hit Miami early this evening. How did Beatrice—”

“Where did you ditch Jack Bristow’s sister?” demanded Shayne. “You brought her here from New Orleans, didn’t you? To use her to force Jack to give up the money if he tried to hold out?”

“Yes. It was Mark’s idea,” babbled Allerdice. “We didn’t know where Jack was hiding in Miami. I thought Arlene would know. I thought we were just grabbing her to get the address and then going to let her go. But Mark said no. He kidnaped her. I begged him not to.

“Every bit of it was Mark from the beginning.” He hurried on abjectly, straining away from Shayne. “I got to know him in jail and he kept talking about the money. I didn’t even know he’d planned that in the car on the way to the pen. I swear I didn’t or I’d have warned the other cop. But Mark hit him from the back before I knew.”

“I don’t give one goddamn about any of that. What did you do with Arlene Bristow when you got here?”

“I don’t know what Mark did. I swear I don’t. He didn’t trust me. I saw it more and more the closer we got to Miami. I saw he was crazy for the money. All of it. He was just using me to get it. Arlene and me. I would have helped her escape if I could. I would have done anything to get out from under and I think he realized it. But I’d told Bea to meet me here at this address tonight. I thought I’d get the money from Jack and everything’d be all right. That we could get away to South America.”

“Cut out the explanations and tell me where Arlene is.”

“I don’t know. I’m telling you. Here’s how it was. It wasn’t quite dark when we got here. He stopped out north on the edge of town and made me get out. He told me to wait there by the road until he came back. And drove off with Arlene. I didn’t have a cent, and I waited. About half an hour until he came back alone. He only said Arlene was put away safe unless we needed her to put pressure on Jack. I didn’t know then, you see, whether he meant to give me my half of the money or not. Jack, I mean. I trusted him in the beginning. But then when he never got in touch with Bea or didn’t send her any money or nothing, I just didn’t know. So I don’t know where Arlene is. Or where Mark is now. If he got the money from Jack—”

“He didn’t get the money,” Shayne said flatly. He looked at his watch. A few minutes yet before two o’clock.

He stooped and caught Hugh Allerdice by one thin arm, dragged him to the door and out, down the hallway and stairs to his car where he shoved him in the front seat and got behind the wheel.

Five minutes later he dragged his sniveling prisoner down the hall at police headquarters, jerked open the door of Chief Gentry’s private office, and shoved him inside so he fell sprawling on the floor.

“You get some of your tough cops to work on him, Will. If you can get anything out of him about Arlene Bristow’s whereabouts — that may be where Lucy is, too.”

“Who is he, Mike? What the devil?”

“Hugh Allerdice from New Orleans,” Shayne said shortly. “He’ll sob the whole sad story out on your broad shoulder, given a chance — and part of it may be the truth. In the meantime, Mark Switzer is still roaming the streets of Miami after killing three people tonight, and if he hasn’t killed Lucy and Arlene yet it’s just because he hasn’t got around to it.”

Shayne slammed the door shut and strode down the corridor before Will Gentry had time to ask further questions.