Murder in Haste

Chapter Nine

Norma Harris had a walk-up apartment on the Miami side of the bay. A moment or two after Shayne rang her doorbell, the lobby door opened and a dark-haired woman came out. She glanced at Shayne as she passed, turning back as she reached the outer door.

“You didn’t just ring Harris?”

“Yeah. Are you Mrs. Harris?”

“That’s me. You’re probably Shayne?” She put out her hand and looked him over frankly; he seemed to pass. “I was just talking to Rose on the phone. Some excitement you had out there this morning, and I wish you’d tell me what the hell it was all about.”

“Can I take you somewhere?”

“No, let’s go inside, o.k.? I was on my way over to that pipsqueak Painter. I have a piece of information for him, and this time there better not be any crap about not letting me in.”

She unlocked the door. They started up the stairs, which were too narrow to walk on side by side. Shayne was several steps behind. She was wearing a tight black skirt and very high heels, and Shayne had no trouble observing that she was trimly built.

She looked back at him. “Finding your way all right? Somebody’s going to kill himself on these stairs some day. Don’t lean on the banisters. I’d hate to lose you at this stage of the game.”

Shayne laughed. After four flights, she took him along a narrow hall and unlocked a door which let them into a small, almost airless apartment. Shayne got a better look at her as she took his hat. Her make-up was slightly excessive, but it had been put on carefully. Her figure was as good from the front as from the back. She had a small, stubborn mouth and hard eyes.

“Can I give you something?” she said. “All I’ve got in the way of liquor is gin, and I’m not going to offer you any of that because I want you to keep sharp. The time factor is terrific. The way you look, you could use some coffee.”

“Sure, if it’s no trouble.”

“Hell, I don’t have time for anything that’s trouble.”

She had a two-burner unit on a counter in a little alcove which could possibly be called a kitchen. She put on water to boil and spooned out instant coffee into two cups.

“What’s the matter with that little two-bit Hitler over on the Beach, anyway?” she demanded. “He solved a case once. Great. Everybody probably told him he was a marvellous detective, and he felt very respected. So now he’s got a vested interest. I tell him, solve the goddam case all over again. Prove Sam is innocent after all, and he’ll get tremendous publicity. He convicted a guy, but his conscience wouldn’t let him rest, and so on. They’d write editorials about it. A thing like that could only happen in America — you know how it goes. But he won’t listen to a word out of me any more, and the calendar is crowding us. Sit down, Mr. Shayne. This takes about a minute and a half.”

Shayne picked up a straight chair and turned it backward. “Maybe he already has a new solution, and he’s just holding it up so he can break it with a real splash.”

“What?” she said sharply. “How do you mean, a real splash? What’s he waiting for, the last half-hour countdown?”

“I don’t think even Petey would go that far. But he wouldn’t mind holding up a day or two, even a week or two, if he saw a chance to come out of it with bigger space in the papers.”

“Then it’s simple,” she said decisively. “Let’s get the newspaper boys together and blast him.”

“I like your approach, Mrs. Harris,” Shayne said, grinning, “but first let’s get something to blast him with. What’s this piece of information you’re taking to him?”

“I found out where Milburn is.”

“Who?”

“Fred Milburn. That won’t mean anything to you, I guess. How much did Rose tell you?”

“She said something about a letter.”

“Yeah — that’s how this started. Have you got a cigarette you can give me?”

Shayne fished one out for her and offered his lighter. She took a deep drag and breathed out smoke.

“Come on, damn you, boil,” she said, talking to the water on the burner. “Everything takes so damn long lately! I’ve been as nervous as a flea for the last month or so, and it seems to get worse. Here’s how it happened. I wanted something to take my mind off, and I was cleaning out some old trunks and junk, and I found this letter. You know about Sam’s defense? He said he couldn’t have robbed the damn bank because he was somewhere else that night. They asked him where. He said with me. Well, he wasn’t with me, and never mind how they proved that, but they proved it. This was all Painter’s doing, and it gave him a fixed idea about my morals, or lack of morals. You’re following this, I trust.”

The water came to a boil, and she filled the cups. She gave Shayne one and sat down across the table. “There’s cream and sugar, if you want it, or maybe there is.”

“Black’s fine,” Shayne said.

“He made a pass at me at the time, I might add. I nearly chewed off his arm.”

“Painter?” Shayne said incredulously.

“He thought he’d found something available. I wasn’t that available, thank God, but it may explain this high-and-mighty-and-don’t-bother-me act of his lately. Where was I? Well, after his brilliant police work proved that Sam wasn’t with me that night, Sam said he’d tell the truth. He was sticking up a gas station in Alabama, with another guy. A great law-abiding citizen I’m married to, but such is life. They stuck up a few other stores and hit a small payroll, and that’s where the twenty thousand came from, that they found in his suitcase.

“I didn’t exactly believe him, myself. Somebody actually did stick up that gas station, though, and they took Sam up for an identification. Well, you know eye-witnesses. When you want them, they’re half blind in one eye and all-blind in the other. When you don’t want them, they’ve got twenty-twenty vision and a wonderful imagination. And this gas-station guy in Alabama said he’d never set eyes on Sam in his life. That kind of did it, as far as I was concerned.”

“Were you on good terms with him at the time?”

“Why shouldn’t I be? He played around, I played around, but we had a very good marriage, what there was of it. They were always busting him for something, and I didn’t exactly go into holy orders every time they turned the key on him for a few years. So I said to him, Sam, if you’re going to insist on that alibi, who were you robbing with? Because produce him, I said, let’s see what he has to say. But he wouldn’t. He said the guy had two felonies already, and the next time was for keeps. Well, it was his own fault, I said, if he went out sticking up places with a habitual hanging over his head, but Sam wouldn’t see it that way. Now nobody’s that public-spirited. I mean with the rap Sam was up against himself, and I made up my mind it was all talk, he wanted to cop a plea to armed robbery and get out of murder. Except it didn’t work.”

“How much did he pay the lawyer?”

“The court allowed something out of that twenty thousand, not a hell of a lot. All right. This letter. If you want to know the truth, I’d been through those trunks before, looking for something that might show where he’d stashed away all that extra dough, granted he actually robbed the with a jury? I didn’t find anything. This time I was going to give it one more run-through before I called the junk man Beach Trust, which I thought he had. Who am I to disagree to pick it up.

“And I found a letter signed Fred, all folded and rumpled up. I don’t even know why he happened to keep it, just one of those accidents. I know the damn thing by heart. Fred, whoever he was, said he’d meet Sam in such-and-such a hotel in Mobile, and not to chicken out because he had a couple of girls lined up. Then there was some more nothing stuff — he ran into so-and-so the other day, he wanted to send regards, you can see why I skipped over it the first time. The big point was, the date. It was dated three days before the bank bust, and it said for Sam to be in Mobile three days later.

“But there was no year on it, just the month and the day, and it could have been some different year, for all I knew. But it was the first thing gave me the idea he might be telling the truth. The next time I was visiting him, I threw in some innocent little question, like did Fred ever get in touch with him? He said who, Fred Milburn? And then he shut up fast. I asked around about Fred Milburn, and it turned out he actually had two felony convictions going against him, so that part of it fits.”

“Is he a local man?” Shayne said.

“From South Carolina, but he doesn’t stay put. I went up to that Mobile hotel and paid five bucks to look at the register for that day. Nothing. Naturally the boys wouldn’t use their right names, but I couldn’t see any handwriting that looked like my Sam’s. Of course I’m no expert, and Sam never wrote me many letters. What I had to do was find Milburn and turn him in, so the cops could try him on those old stick-ups. I know it’s kind of cold by now, but I thought maybe Milburn had caught that habitual and he wouldn’t have anything to lose.

“So that’s what I took to Painter, the letter and the name. You’d think a cop could take it from there, because somebody with that many convictions, the cops tend to keep track of where he is and what he’s doing. And I practically had to beat Painter over the head before he’d touch it. What’s wrong with the guy? I gave him a week, and went back to see what he’d found out, if anything. He put me in the revolving door and revolved me right out. Grim. I came back the next day and the day after that and the day after that. They’re getting sick of me there in the upper brackets. The boys on the desk don’t mind. We kid around.”

“What made you think of Mrs. Heminway?”

“She’s a doll, isn’t-she? Well, the lawyer said he couldn’t do a thing through the courts without more to go on, and I was wondering how I could light a fire under Painter. I kept seeing her name in the paper, raising money for charity or something. I could use a little charity myself. We were pretty much in the same boat. She lost her husband. I lost mine. She and her poppa are the kind of taxpayers who can put the screws on a public servant and get a little action, or that’s what I thought. We had a good cry together, and she said she’d try. She landed on Painter like a ton of bricks, and to my great surprise, he gave her the same run-around he gave me. So what’s the point in being rich?”

“Can you think of any reason why somebody would want to shoot her?”

“God, Mr. Shayne, it really beats me.” A troubled look came into her eyes, the first sign of uncertainty Shayne had seen her show. “When she was just a name in the paper I thought I could use her to hit Painter with, and why not? The widow and the widow-to-be, it made a terrific combination, and I still don’t know why it didn’t work. But I don’t want anything to happen to her on my account. I don’t know how to say it. She’s terrific, that’s all.

“And don’t let that way of hers fool you. She wouldn’t pass out free samples, but if she liked somebody she’d be sexy as hell, you can take my word for it. Don’t get me wrong, that’s a compliment. She’s human. I thought at first Fred Milburn must be mixed up in this thing this morning, but what kind of sense—? No, the thing is, the dough. If Sam didn’t pull the Beach Trust job, whoever did sure as hell didn’t pay any taxes on it.”

Shayne looked down into his coffee cup. There was nothing left but the dregs. He swirled them around, but they didn’t fall into any recognizable pattern.

“I’m going to ask you a touchy question, Mrs. Harris.”

“You might as well call me Norma,” she said, breaking in, “especially if you’re going to start asking touchy questions.”

“Okay, Norma. What’s your main interest here, your husband or the money?”

She laughed. “You think that’s going to hurt my feelings? I can be interested in more than one thing at a time. If Sam did it and I can get a postponement, that gives me more time to worm out of him where he put it. And if somebody else did, maybe I can get him off and beat the cops to the dough. Why not? That’s why I got so enthusiastic when Rosie suggested hiring you. I know your reputation — and don’t you get your feelings hurt.

“But the story I hear on you is that when something extra comes your way, you don’t hand it over to the Salvation Army. I’m not thinking of the full amount, you understand. I’m a dreamer, but I don’t dream in Cinemascope. I know I couldn’t get away with it. I’m thinking about the percentage from the insurance company, and what I was going to suggest — if you get that percentage on the strength of information I give you, wouldn’t half the recovery fee be about right?”

She said quickly as Shayne frowned, “Which doesn’t mean I want Sam to get the chair. I’ve got the kind of mind that can think ahead. If Sam’s broke when he gets out, he’s just going robbing again.”

Shayne gave a short laugh. “Twenty-five percent would be generous. And if I get Sam off, which looks pretty doubtful at the moment, I’ll give it to him, not you. You won’t mind so long as it’s in the family.”

“You bastard,” she said. “A third?”

“A quarter. And I hope you realize we’re cutting up a percentage of something that may not exist.”

“Maybe, but I’ve got a feeling. If anybody can do it, you can.”

She stood up, smoothing her skirt down over her well-rounded hips, and came around the table. She touched Shayne’s cheek. Bending down, she kissed him on the mouth.

“You’re a nice-looking guy, Mike,” she said, “and I hope I can talk you into giving that thirty-three and a third percent to me and not to Sam. He’s not very good with money. He’d just throw it away.”

“Twenty-five,” Shayne said.

Straightening, she let one breast graze his face. “Hell, twenty-five. And that doesn’t mean I’m not thinking of Sam. It’s mixed up together, and I think maybe you’re one of the few people who might be able to understand it. Now you’ve got my mind running along the wrong lines.”

“All I’ve done is sit here and drink coffee,” Shayne said.

“Yeah. All you’ve done is sit there drinking coffee with pants on. How many men do you think I’ve had up here to give coffee to in the last three years?”

“You don’t want me to answer that, Norma.”

“No, I guess I don’t. I’d be insulted no matter what you said. I wish we had the time to give this more attention, but if we’re going to make any money, you’ve got to get out of here.”

She went back to her own side of the table. “I found Fred Milburn. And why that comic-opera gumshoe Painter couldn’t find him two weeks ago is something I’d like to have somebody explain to me. I called up everybody I could think of, and asked if they knew what had happened to good old Fred Milburn, because I had something I thought would interest him. Nobody did, but I told them to contact me if they heard anything, and this morning one of them did. He’s in the slammer. If it wasn’t serious, it’d be funny. He picked up a dozen parking tickets over a couple of years, and he threw them in the wastebasket. He’s doing thirty days hard labor, and that’s where you’ll find him, in the county jail. But this is the twenty-ninth day, so as much as I hate to say it, you’d better get moving.”

“In a minute,” Shayne said thoughtfully. “Do you know if Painter checked on that Mobile hotel? There must be pictures of Milburn he could use. Or did he put out a flier?”

“As far as I know he didn’t do a damn thing but sit on his butt, if you’ll pardon the expression.”

“Now don’t be jumpy, Norma. If Milburn’s in jail he won’t run away before I get there. Your lawyer’s cockeyed — he doesn’t need any more facts than you’ve given me to get Sam a postponement. If he drags his heels we’ll get another lawyer. The town’s full of lawyers who’d handle it for the publicity. But that’s just half of it. You’ve been thinking about this a lot longer than I have. If Sam didn’t rob the bank, who did?”

“I’ve been thinking about it, all right,” Norma said. “I keep asking myself questions, like why did George Heminway pick that one night to work late? Things like that happen, God knows, but maybe it wasn’t an accident, huh? In my experience, who goes into a bank these days without somebody inside steering them? The way the alarm was knocked out — I know damn well Sam didn’t do that. Other times he always paid an electrician good money to take care of the wiring. Well, you’re the Professor. You figure it out.”

“Have you run into Rose’s father?”

“Just to say hello to. He was itching to ask the butler to show me out, not that they have a butler. But he didn’t like his daughter to get mixed up with unsavory characters.” She laughed without rancor. “Rose said he practically tore up the scenery after I left.”

“Does Baltimore mean anything to you? Did Sam ever pull any jobs that far north?”

“No, he always stayed south of the Mason-Dixon line. He’s got an accent you can cut with a knife, and he was afraid it made him stick out.”

“Did he ever belong to the Truckers Union?”

“What’s that got to do with anything? Hell, no — Sam’s strong against unions. He thinks a good man can always get ahead on his own. I know he picked a funny way to prove it, but that’s how he is.”

“Do you know if he ever borrowed money from a shark on the Beach named Sticky Horvath?”

“I doubt it. If he did he never told me.”

He thought for another moment. “Norma, what were you doing last night? Where were you between eight and nine?”

“Right here,” she said promptly. “All by my lonesome.” When he looked at her skeptically she said, “Well, I was. And what was happening between eight and nine other places?”

“I’m trying to find that out.”

“Okay, be mysterious. What do I do now, Mike, go to Painter with this or not?”

He stood up. “Better not.”

“I didn’t think so.” She came to the door with him. “I want to keep this from Sam as long as I can. I mean that I’m the one who found Milburn. It may be hard to believe, but I really think he’d let them turn on the juice before he gave them anybody’s name. I’m not in that league myself, but maybe it’s not such a bad way to be. And finally, can you loan me fifty bucks?”

Shayne snorted. He took a ten out of his wallet and gave it to her. “Be thinking about that Truckers’ connection. Maybe something will come to you.”