Murder in Haste

Chapter Six

There was a second’s pause. Wing said alertly, “Are you still on, Mike? Need some help?”

“I think so,” Shayne said slowly, pinching the lobe of his ear. “If we do this right, maybe we can find out something. Get a radio car up to 96th. They’d better hold up at the toll booths. If this black sedan comes through before I’m in position, tell them to grab it. It’s a four-door, I’d say two years old, and the first two numbers of the license are seven-three. A Florida tag. Keep the circuit open so they can shoot down to the Heminway house if I need them. Have you got that?”

“Got it, Mike.”

Shayne broke the connection, flipped through the book until he found Rose Heminway’s number, and dialed it.

“Mrs. Heminway,” he said when she answered. “Lock up all around and don’t let anybody in, no matter who it is. Do you understand that?”

“But what on earth—”

“Just do it. I’ll explain later. Lock up and don’t let anybody in.”

He hung up. The attendant said, “Shayne, eh?”

“I’ll give you my autograph some other time,” Shayne said, and ran back to his Buick. He waited approximately fifteen seconds, thinking hard. He could park on the shoulder of the causeway and get back to the island on foot, but that wouldn’t accomplish what he had in mind.

He turned left on Collins and took another left to the Haulover Beach charter docks. In a moment he saw a captain he recognized — Jean Prideaux, a Frenchman from Martinique. He left the Buick double-parked with the motor running, and slid a Miami Beach police department courtesy card under the windshield wiper.

Prideaux hailed him. “Mike! Not see for months. Come out with me today and kill a sailfish?”

“Not today, Jean. I want some taxi service — ten bucks down to the Bay Harbor islands and back.”

The fishing captain looked at him in amazement. “You charter a deep-sea boat to go to Bay Harbor?”

“This is business,” Shayne said briefly. “I want to sneak up on some people, and they know my car. Fifteen bucks.”

“Sure, Mike, sure,” Prideaux cried. “Make it quick because I got a party coming.”

Shayne jumped in and Prideaux called to a boy at the gas pump, “Tell them I back quick, o.k.?”

“And keep an eye on my car!” Shayne shouted.

Prideaux cast off and gunned the motor. They rocketed away from the dock. Prideaux grinned back at Shayne.

“Noisy, to sneak up on people.”

“Take her out past the Haulover and back in,” Shayne shouted.

Other fishing boats were heading out toward the Stream with charter parties, and the upper bay was dotted with sails. Prideaux veered to the left, and at a signal from Shayne cut sharply toward the causeway and then swung back toward the islands. The private docks along the water were screened from the single street by palms and hedges. Shayne saw the long, low modern house where he had had breakfast. He let Prideaux pass the dock that went with the house, then signed to him to cut his motor and coast in.

Shayne grabbed at the dock belonging to Rose’s next-door neighbor. “Don’t tie up,” he said in a low voice. “I could be leaving fast.”

Prideaux tapped his wrist watch, reminding Shayne that he had paying customers waiting. Shayne stepped onto the dock. He skirted the boathouse and went across the lawn, parallel to the water’s edge. An elderly woman having breakfast alone on the back terrace of the next house looked at him in surprise. He waved cheerfully and went on. As soon as he was hidden behind a flowering hedge, he ran, bent over, to the Heminway house.

He tried the back door. She had done as he had told her; it was locked. He tapped lightly. There was no response from within. As he moved off the small porch and started along the back of the house he could hear the electric pump hammering in the basement. All the windows on that side of the house were shut and locked, and an air-conditioning unit was sealed into a bedroom window. He reached the single frosted glass window of the bathroom. The shower was running. He tapped sharply on the glass with his fingernail, but the noise of the shower drowned it out. He went to the corner of the house and looked around carefully.

The black sedan had moved up in front of the house. The front door was open. Shayne could see only one of the two men. He was sitting sideways in the front seat, his feet on the curb. Shayne’s eyes closed down to slits. He didn’t like this man’s looks. He was overweight for his height, with heavy jowls and a thick neck. He hadn’t shaved yet this morning, and he needed it badly. The stubble was grayish and dirty-looking. His hat was pushed back on his head. He had a loose, careless look, as though nothing mattered to him.

Shayne pulled back, moving slowly so he wouldn’t attract the man’s eye. He thought for a moment and went back to the bathroom window. Taking a half dollar from his pocket, he clinked it against the glass. It sounded very loud to Shayne’s ears, but it didn’t seem to penetrate the noise of the shower. He flicked open a pen-knife. Reaching up to his full height, he slipped the blade through the crack between the upper and lower sash and forced the catch. Then he raised the lower sash just enough so he could work his fingers beneath the bottom. He raised it without difficulty.

“Mrs. Heminway,” he whispered. “Rose.”

He heard a noise from the front of the house and sprang up, getting the upper half of his rangy body in across the sill. He wriggled headfirst into the bathroom and came down on his hands. He had just turned to close the window when the shower went off and Rose Heminway opened the door of the shower stall.

She gasped and raised one hand, as though to hold him off. “Michael Shayne!”

He was still in a slight crouch, breathing hard from the exertion. Her hair was pinned up on the top of her head, to get it out of the water’s way. The first thing Shayne noticed was that she was very clean, but that wasn’t all he noticed. He would have to report to Lucy Hamilton what had happened in Miami while she was in New Orleans, but on the whole, he thought, he had better not tell her he had climbed in through a bathroom window.

“It’s all right,” he said reassuringly. “It’s the only way I could get in. Those guys in front aren’t cops.”

One hand fluttered to her forehead and she reached out with the other for something solid to hold onto. “Mike, I feel so—”

“Don’t faint!” Shayne said sharply. “There’s no time for that. Here.”

He grabbed a large towel from the nearest rack and held it out. Her eyelids trembled. She tried to say something, but her breath came out in a sigh and she fell forward. He caught her under the arms, suppressing the profanity that sprang to his lips, and dragged her to the bedroom. He laid her on the bed, wet as she was, and toweled her roughly. She was only unconscious a moment. The cool air of the bedroom brought her back. She sat up and seized the towel.

“Just what do you think you’re trying to—” she began indignantly, but he cut her off with a peremptory gesture.

“No, Rose. That’s another thing there’s no time for.”

He saw her red robe thrown over the back of a chair. He got it for her. “Put this on. Never mind about getting dry first. Put it on. Right away, please.”

She put an arm into one sleeve, still trying to hold the towel in front of her. In Shayne’s opinion it was a little late for that.

She whispered, “What happened? Everything turned upside down.”

“You weren’t expecting anybody,” Shayne said. “There was too much steam in there. Never mind that now.”

Letting go of the towel, she put her arm in the other sleeve. She still seemed dazed. She looked down at herself suddenly, and snatched the robe together.

“Don’t worry about it, Rose,” Shayne said. “I’m over voting age. Did they try to get in?”

She nodded. “The doorbell rang. They’d seen me through the window, and I knew they’d think it was funny if I didn’t answer, so I turned on the shower. Then I thought I might as well actually take a shower. But if they aren’t police, who are they?”

“That’s what I want to find out. Can you stand up?”

She put her feet on the floor and leaned forward. Remembering that her hair was still up, she pulled several pins and it tumbled down almost to her shoulders. Supporting herself on the footboard, she came to her feet. She swayed dizzily. Shayne caught her arm before she could fall.

“They probably heard the shower go off,” he said. “They’ll give you a couple of minutes to get dressed before they ring the bell again. I want you to be on your feet and functioning.”

He helped her to the living room. He let her go for a moment, ready to catch her again, but she was able to stand by herself. She smiled at him weakly. He knelt beside the Venetian blinds at the big front window, and carefully lifted one of the flexible slats a half inch and looked out.

The man in the open doorway of the sedan drew deeply on a cigarette. Shayne had a better view of him from here, but he still couldn’t classify him. His skin was the color of paraffin, and he didn’t look as though he spent much time in the sun, or even outdoors. The man at the wheel, behind him, might have been a Cuban. He was dark, with a hair-line mustache.

Shayne motioned to Rose. She knelt beside him, with one hand on his shoulder, and peered out.

“No, I’ve never seen either of them before,” she whispered.

Shayne was thinking. By now Joe Wing’s cops ought to be waiting. They could be summoned by a phone call. He studied the heavy, unshaven face of the man in the front seat. To Shayne he didn’t have the look of a man who would blurt out his life history to the first cop who asked him. He had probably been questioned by cops before. There was only one way to find out why he was waiting to see Rose and who had sent him.

“We’ll take them one at a time,” he said.

He reached the door in two long strides. He turned the knob carefully and eased it open, enough so the latch was free. He gave her instructions in a low voice. She went to the bedroom.

Shayne looked out again through the blinds. The man in the front seat said something to his companion and flicked his cigarette into the grass. As he came out of the car, leaving the door open, Shayne saw that the driver was playing nervously with the ignition key. The other crunched up the path toward the front steps, prodding his shirt into his belt. Shayne glanced around and faded into the bedroom with Rose. She was at a dressing table, facing a large triple mirror. He stepped behind the door, which he left open. Looking through the crack, he found that he could see the front door. Rose was fiddling with a hairbrush.

Shayne got her attention and signalled to her to do something about the neck of her robe. She adjusted it so more of her shoulder was showing. He shook his head and went on directing her, and didn’t say when until most of one breast could be seen in the mirror. She raised her eyebrows. Shayne made a circle with his thumb and forefinger. He wanted the man to come inside and close the door, and unless he was completely wrong about what he had seen in the unshaven face, this should do it.

He heard footsteps on the porch. The chimes sounded.

“Come in,” Rose called.

She began applying lipstick. Shayne watched the door through the crack. The peal was repeated.

“Come in,” Rose called more loudly. “It’s not locked.”

The man pushed the door open and looked in. “Mrs. Heminway?”

“Put it down anywhere,” Rose called. “How much do I owe you?”

He came a step into the room, holding the doorknob. Rose swung around on the low bench, and her breath caught. The quick movement pulled the robe further off her shoulder. Shayne, watching the man’s face, saw it change.

“I thought you were the cleaners,” she said. “Come in and shut the door. I’ve got the air-conditioning on, and you’re warming up the house.”

She gave him a slow, provocative look, accompanied by a slight smile. Her breast had almost escaped entirely from the robe. “I don’t think I know you, do I? But do come in. I hate to shout.”

The man’touched his bottom lip with his tongue and swallowed. He held up one finger, signing to his friend that he would only be a minute. He took off his hat and let the door swing shut.

“Are you selling something?” Rose said gayly, and went on without waiting for a reply, “I know this is unconventional, but I want to finish brushing my hair. Come in and give me your sales talk.”

The man approached the door, holding his hat in front of him. “My name’s Cole. I wanted to find out if your father’s name was Chadwick? If you used to be married to George Heminway?”

“Why, yes! Did you know George? I don’t think I ever heard him mention anybody named Cole.”

“We were old friends.”

Now the open door concealed him from Shayne, but the redhead knew from his tone that he was watching the reflection in the mirror. Shayne was watching it himself. She leaned forward as though to adjust a slipper. The voice on the other side of the door sounded strained.

“Jesus, I’d like nothing better than to kill a little time here, but I’d be taking a hell of a chance, no matter how you look at it.”

“What are you babbling about, Mr. Cole?”

Cole took another step forward. “I hate like hell to do this to a dish like you, baby, but that’s how it is.”

He moved his hat, and Shayne saw a pistol, a long-snouted Lüger, equipped with a silencer. His shoulder lifted slightly, and his jaw muscles tightened.

Without conscious thought, Shayne chopped at his arm and spun him around. Cole must have caught the movement in the mirror, for he was already turning, trying to bring the gun between them. Shayne stepped in fast, hitting him with a hard low left to the body. He started to crumble, and as his head sagged forward the redhead clubbed him with a right behind the ear.

The gun thudded to the floor. Cole went down to both knees. His head rocked backward, his eyes showing only the whites. Shayne caught himself before his follow-through could take him off-balance, and came back with a slashing downward left that met Cole’s jaw forward of the hinge. There was a crisp little click of contact. They wouldn’t be bothered with Cole for some time to come.

Shayne caught him before he was all the way down, turned him and got his wallet. He looked up. Rose was still sitting at the dressing table with a hairbrush in her hand.

“Adhesive tape,” he said. “Quick. As much as you’ve got.”

There was over five hundred dollars in the wallet. Shayne left the money alone and shucked the cards and papers on the floor. The man’s name, if his driving license could be believed, was actually Cole, Albert Cole. He was a member of the Diner’s Club and Carte Blanche, and he had a union card, a credit card entitling him to friendly treatment at a chain of gas stations, and pictures of two young children. The only thing Shayne learned in the quick once-over was that his last address had been Baltimore.

Then Rose was back with two spools of adhesive tape. Shayne taped Cole’s wrists, ankles and mouth. He left him on the floor and picked up the gun, a murderous weapon which would have blown a hole through the wall. He snapped on the safety.

“No fooling this time, Rose,” he said. “Who is he?”

Except for her lips, her face had lost all its color. She was staring with horror at the gun.

“I don’t know! Mike!” she cried as the realization broke through. “He was going to shoot me!”

“That’s how it looked,” Shayne said grimly, taking off the silencer.

Her knuckles were pressed against her mouth. “What have I gotten myself into, Mike?”

“That’s what we’d all like to know. I think it’s going to turn out that killing people is this guy’s business. Why would anybody want to kill you?”

She made a helpless gesture. “I can’t even begin to guess. I’m the original innocent bystander, Mike. All I did was go to the police to find out why they weren’t taking any action on Norma’s letter.”

Shayne looked at her for a moment, then went to the phone and dialed the number of Beach headquarters. “Joe Wing,” he snapped, and to Rose: “Have you ever fired a gun?”

Her eyes widened. “No. You don’t mean you want me to shoot—”

“No, no,” Shayne said, and spoke into the phone. “Joe. I’m in a hurry, and this has to be done right. I need five minutes. Is your squad car in position?”

“Yeah, do you want it?”

“Not yet. Five minutes from now I want them to turn on their siren, good and loud. Keep that up another minute, and then come down to the island. Mrs. Heminway has somebody we want you to look at.”

“How about the Ford?”

“Let it go by. I want to see where it goes.”

He slammed down the phone. He held out the Lüger, and Rose took it gingerly in both hands. The long barrel was trembling.

“Point it the other way!” Shayne said. “This guy outside is just the wheel-man, and I think he’ll stay in the car and try to be patient. If he tries to get in, shoot him.”

“I couldn’t any more shoot anybody, Mike—”

“There’s nothing to it. The safety’s off. Just point it and pull the trigger. When you hear the siren, fire twice out the bathroom window. This is a bottleneck here, and he’ll want to get out of it in a hurry.”

“But Mike—”

He gave her a reassuring wink and let himself out the back door.