Murder and the Wanton Bride

14

Shayne turned off Denham’s main street two blocks before reaching the traffic light. He parked his car near the corner, walked the two blocks parallel to Main, then turned toward the light, and the bank squatting on the corner.

Halfway up the block an alley led behind the bank, and Shayne turned into the darkness of the ally gratefully. There were no windows at the rear of the bank building along the alley, but there was a solid iron door set in the middle of the brick wall, and the detective paused in front of it meditatively. There was an electric button in the casing beside the door which Shayne assumed would summon one of the two men if he pressed it, but he hesitated to do so because he knew the slightest miscalculation at this point would almost certainly bring the town cops down on him fast.

Yet, he had to see Barstow before taking off for Miami.

While he hesitated in the dark alley in front of the door, the problem was resolved for him. Inside, he heard the rasp of a bolt being withdrawn, and he stepped in quickly, flattening himself against the wall as the door was pushed open. A tall man stepped into the alley, holding the door ajar behind him, and Shayne recognized Vice-President Martin as he half-turned to say, “Good night then, Harvey. Are you sure you don’t want a lift home?”

“Thanks, Mr. Martin, but I’ll be another half hour at least. I’ll call my wife to pick me up.” It was Barstow’s voice, coming through the door opening from some distance, and the vice-president closed the door solidly and walked away from Shayne toward the street.

The detective waited a few minutes and then stepped back to the door and pressed the button. He didn’t know whether there was any prearranged signal for the use of the button or not, but hoped Barstow would think Martin had forgotten something and was seeking re-admittance.

He waited for at least ninety seconds before the door again opened, a cautious crack this time, and Barstow’s voice asked, “Is that you, Mr. Martin?”

Shayne’s hand was on the knob, and he pulled hard and stepped forward at the same time. Harvey Barstow confronted him in the lighted corridor, a ludicrous expression of surprise and fear blending on his pudgy features, his right hand gripping the butt of a stubby Banker’s Special.

“What are you doing here?” His voice trembled and he took a backward step, half-lifting the revolver to point it at Shayne.

Shayne grinned and said placatingly, “I’m not going to rob your bank, Barstow. Point that thing the other way. I just wanted a word with you.”

Barstow looked down at the revolver and lowered it hesitantly. “I can’t talk to you. I promised Mr. Painter I’d report to the police at once if you came back. He told me...”

“I’m sure Painter told you all sorts of things,” Shayne interrupted. “You can notify the police after you’ve answered a couple of questions.”

“No, Mr. Shayne.” Barstow’s voice was still shaky, but it was doggedly determined. “You stand right where you are while I...”

Shayne lunged at him and his left hand shot out to engulf the short-barreled weapon in Barstow’s hand. He wrested it away from the bank teller and stepped back, dropping it into his coat pocket and growling, “You can call the cops later. Right now you’re going to listen to me.”

Barstow wet his lips nervously and said, “But Mr. Painter told me he has proof you’re at least an accessory in Mr. Carson’s murder.”

“He hasn’t proof of anything,” Shayne snorted. “Did he ask you any questions about the blackmail Carson has been paying recently?”

“Blackmail? I don’t know what on earth you’re talking about.”

“I think you do, Barstow. You’re his secretary and write all his letters. Oh, you may not have realized the payments were blackmail. No reason for him to tell you that. But you must know he was paying out money to a man named Jeffery Walsh.”

“I don’t know anything about it,” Barstow insisted. “I don’t handle his private checkbook. He keeps that at home.”

“But you’ve seen letters to Walsh... or from him. I want his address.”

“I swear I haven’t. See here, Mr. Shayne.” Barstow was recovering his bravado now. “You haven’t any rights here. Mr. Martin and I know now that we were wrong in letting you in the bank today. You fooled us by claiming Mr. Carson had retained you, but we know now that he was killed last night before he ever reached your office. You got in here and went through his desk by false pretense today, and Mr. Painter says that’s a criminal offense. There’s a warrant out for your arrest right now.”

“And you’re going to be a big brave boy scout and turn me in, huh?” growled Shayne.

“I can’t do anything else. Even if you shoot me for it.”

“Forgetting Carson’s checkbook and his payments to Walsh,” said Shayne swiftly. “When you wrote to the hotel and to me in Miami, making the reservation and an appointment, who else did he write to for an appointment? Maybe he didn’t use the name of Walsh.”

“I don’t think... I’m sure he made no other appointments on this trip.”

“Think, damn it.” Shayne stepped forward and caught his shoulder and shook him roughly. “Forget what Painter said about me. Remember, I cashed Carson’s check today which officially made him a client of mine even if he was dead at the time. I want to know who else he was seeing in Miami... particularly an address.”

“You don’t have to manhandle me, Mr. Shayne,” said Barstow with sullen dignity as he tried to shake off Shayne’s hand. “I’m telling you the simple truth. So far as I know he planned to meet no one else in Miami.”

Shayne tightened his grip on his shoulder and shook him again. “And you still insist you don’t know what he wanted from me?”

“I have no idea. It wasn’t my place to ask Mr. Carson.”

“But you had a damned good idea, didn’t you? You were afraid he’d got wind of your messing around with his wife and was hiring a detective to get evidence against her.”

“I didn’t think that at all. I don’t know who you’ve been talking to, but there was never anything like that between Mrs. Carson and me. She’s a perfect lady and you’ve no earthly right to bandy her name around like that.”

“Belle Carson? A perfect lady?” Shayne laughed sneeringly in an attempt to arouse the younger man to anger and loosen his tongue. “You spent last night with her while her husband was in Miami getting himself killed, didn’t you? Well, didn’t you?” He shook Barstow again and glared down at his suddenly ashen face.

“I certainly did not. I don’t know who told you...”

“She did,” Shayne lied flatly. “Why did she if it isn’t true? Was she giving you an alibi for last night?”

“I don’t believe she did. Why should I need an alibi?”

“Maybe you don’t,” said Shayne slowly, releasing him and taking a backward step. “Maybe Belle is the one who needs an alibi for last night.”

“Damn you and your nasty insinuations! I’m not going to listen to any more.” Barstow’s voice was high-pitched and shaky, but he turned away courageously and started down the corridor.

Shayne took two long strides after him, caught him by the shoulder and spun him about. He said calmly, “I’m sorry, Barstow, but I still need a little time and your sense of civic duty bothers me.”

He swung his right fist in a short arc that connected solidly with the teller’s blunt jaw, and the pudgy features went lax and he sank to the floor like a rag doll.

Shayne stood over him breathing heavily for a moment, then stooped and got a clean handkerchief from Barstow’s breast pocket which he stuffed into his mouth. Another handkerchief from his own hip pocket completed a crude but effective gag, and with Barstow’s belt he strapped the unconscious man’s ankles together and trussed his wrists securely to them.

Barstow’s eyes were closed, but his features were relaxed and he was breathing evenly when Shayne left him lying on the floor of the corridor and hurried out the back door.

He had no idea how long the teller would remain like that without being discovered, but he could only hope it would be long enough for him to reach Miami before the alarm went out and a roadblock was set up to cut him off from his destination.