Shoot the Works

Chapter four

Shayne grinned across at Timothy Rourke, and the reporter closed one eyelid in a slow wink. Shayne lit a cigarette and listened inattentively while Mrs. Wallace told Gentry in detail about unexpectedly picking up an afternoon airplane reservation and cancelling her upper berth which would have put her in Miami at noon the next day.

“And you didn’t notify your husband of your changed plans?” Gentry commented sourly.

“I tried to catch him at the office after lunch. He wasn’t in, and I’d made it a person-to-person call, so I let it go until I arrived. You see, Inspector, I had absolutely no reason in the world to feel it was important or would particularly change Jim’s plans one way or the other.”

“Yet when you did arrive you claim you refrained from coming directly home for fear of surprising him… embarrassing him?”

“I’ve explained that,” Mrs. Wallace said steadily. “It was a foolish pact we made a long time ago. When we were both much younger and less sure of the sanctity of our marriage vows.”

“And you expect me to believe that while you had absolutely no suspicion at all of your husband, nevertheless, after a long and tiring train trip, you stopped off at a restaurant to eat a dinner you didn’t want just because he wasn’t home to answer the phone?” Will Gentry bore down hard on the sarcastic tone of the question, and color appeared in the widow’s cheeks and she wet her lips nervously.

Before she could reply, Shayne interposed, “She hasn’t said she expects you to believe anything, Will. She answered your question.”

“Keep out of this, Mike.”

“Not if you’re going to grill her that way. If she’s a suspect, take her down and book her and let her have a lawyer. You don’t have to answer any more questions, Mrs. Wallace.”

“I don’t really mind,” she faltered. “I want to do everything I can to help the police.”

“I think you’ve done all you can for the moment,” Shayne said shortly. “There’ll be time enough for this sort of interrogation later,” he added impatiently to Gentry. “You can see Mrs. Wallace has had a severe shock and needs rest. Why don’t you take her to your place for the night, Lucy?”

“I’ve already phoned Bob Pearce and he’s on his way over,” Lucy told him. “She felt she should be with Helen tonight.”

“I explained that you’re here on sufferance, Mike,” Gentry said angrily. “Remember, you don’t know all the facts. Like, for instance, that it looks as though Mr. Wallace was in the act of packing for a long trip when he was killed. Or did Lucy tell you that over the phone?”

Shayne shrugged. “Is it significant?”

“I think it is. Here was a man expecting his wife home at noon tomorrow… evidently preparing to skip out before she got here. How does that square with the picture she is trying to give us of a devoted husband… a perfect marital relationship?”

There was a bustle at the outer door, and a heavybodied, blond young man pushed past the guard and hurried belligerently into the room and toward Mrs. Wallace, exclaiming, “Mother! Oh God, Mother.” Tears streamed down her cheeks as she rose with outstretched arms. He held her tightly, patting her shoulder and comforting her with the awkward words that men use under such circumstances, and Lucy got up and moved over to Shayne with her own eyes glinting wetly.

“Do you think I should go home with her, Michael? I think Helen might like it and I hate to think of them alone together.”

Shayne nodded and took her arm to draw her over to Gentry. He said wearily, “Let’s not get at cross purposes, Will. Let Lucy and her son-in-law take her home for the night. She’ll keep.”

“Just don’t get in my hair, Mike,” Gentry said gruffly. “You get anything out of Martin?”

“Nothing. He saw Wallace at the office this afternoon, and says they had an important business conference slated for tomorrow morning. That seems to rule out any plans for a trip.”

“You can’t rule it out,” Gentry argued, rolling his cigar from one corner of his mouth to the other. He sighed and spoke to Pearce. “All right. Take your mother-in-law home and let Miss Hamilton go along if she wishes. If she wants to pack anything, I’ll have a man…”

“That won’t be necessary.” Mrs. Wallace drew away from Pearce, drying her eyes with a damp handkerchief. “I have my bag still packed just as I brought it from the plane.”

“Oh, yes.” Gentry frowned at a closed bag on the floor. “You mind opening it for us to have a look before you take it away?”

“Why should she?” demanded Pearce angrily.

“We didn’t find any gun here in the apartment,” Will Gentry told him.

“What’s that got to do with a bag she brought from New York?”

Gentry sighed and addressed the widow directly, “Do you mind opening your bag for Miss Hamilton to check it, Ma’am?”

She said, “No. I don’t mind. Because there isn’t any gun concealed inside, I can assure you.”

She knelt beside the bag and unfastened the snaps. Lucy helped her open it and take out some of the things. Lucy checked through it carefully and informed Gentry with biting sarcasm, “No gun or other incriminating evidence, Chief. Now, may Bob and I take Mrs. Wallace to her daughter?”

Gentry nodded stolidly, and stepped back to the door into the bedroom and conferred briefly with one of the men while Lucy helped Mrs. Wallace close her bag. When the three of them went out, Gentry walked back with a tall man in plain clothes beside him. “You know the Pearce address, Mike?”

“It’s on the Beach.” Shayne gave it to him. “Don’t you trust Lucy to keep track of her, Will?”

Will Gentry sighed and said, “Lucy works for you, Mike.” He nodded to the plainclothes detective who went out. “I know you’re both pulling for Mrs. Wallace,” he went on mildly, “but you know as well as I do that nine times out of ten when a hubby gets gunned it’s because he’s been playing around and wifey catches on.” He took the cigar out of his mouth and looked distastefully at the chewed and saliva-soaked end, and then replaced it between his lips with a sigh. “She did come back unexpectedly and catch him in the act of packing for a trip she knew nothing about. How does it add up to you?”

Shayne shrugged impassively, conscious of the damning airplane tickets in his pocket. “Maybe he was getting ready for a trip he planned to take tomorrow afternoon.”

“Maybe,” said Gentry briefly, “though I never knew a man to start packing a bag the night before.” Timothy Rourke yawned and got up from his chair, replacing a wad of copy paper in his sagging coat pocket. “Have the boys turned up anything here in the apartment?”

“Nothing that helps,” Gentry grunted sourly. “Someone stood in the bedroom doorway and let Wallace have it between the eyes. With a thirty-two, most likely. We’ll have a P.M. and a bullet for comparison if we find a gun to match it up with.”

The police doctor and two other men came out of the bedroom as he spoke. Rourke intercepted them to ask the time of death.

“Around ten o’clock, give or take. He died instantly.” The doctor shrugged and went to the door. “I may be able to give it to you closer after the P.M.”

“How well did you know the Wallaces,” Gentry demanded of Shayne after instructing his men to take the body out.

“Lucy knew her quite well… through their daughter,” Shayne evaded a direct answer.

“What sticks in my craw,” said Gentry stolidly, “is why she telephoned Lucy instead of the police. Did Lucy explain that when she phoned you?”

Shayne shook his head. “Stands to reason though,” he said equably. “She finds her husband dead, and her first thought is to get the guy that did it. So her second thought is, naturally…”

“Mike Shayne,” put in Timothy Rourke happily. “Natch. Who else would you think of in Miami when you want a murder case solved?”

Will Gentry gave a disgusted snort. “So she wasted all that time waiting for Lucy to get here. Sitting here quietly with her beloved husband’s dead body getting cold in the other room. Nuts! She called Lucy first for some specific reason. And I expect Lucy to tell us what it was, Mike.”

Shayne said, “Lucy is a very candid and forthright girl. I’m sure she wouldn’t hold out on you, Will.”

“Let’s think about that open bag in there and the stuff laid out on the bed,” said Rourke. “How would it work out if she fixed it that way while Lucy was getting here? To make it appear he was planning a trip?”

“Why?” Gentry and Shayne asked the question simultaneously.

Rourke shrugged his thin shoulders. “That’s for you sleuths to dope out.”

“It just gives her a better apparent motive,” argued Shayne. “It’s more likely she’d do the opposite. Close up the bag and put the stuff away if she were going to tamper with evidence at all.” He moved toward the door, asking Rourke, “Haven’t you got a deadline to hit?”

Rourke looked at his watch and followed swiftly. “I better file something. Give me a lift?”

Shayne nodded and the two friends went down in the elevator together. They didn’t speak until they were outside and settled in Shayne’s car and it was moving away from the curb. Then the reporter said casually. “If you’re heading for the Beach, you can drop me off.”

“Why should I be?”

“Just a hunch that you’d be wanting a private talk with Lucy.”

Shayne looked at him in amusement. “The same hunch that Will is riding? That Lucy is holding something back?”

“If I were in your place, I’d find out what Lucy has to say before getting in too deep.”

“What, exactly, do you mean by that crack, Tim?”

“Mrs. Wallace must have had a hell of a strong reason for calling Lucy first, Mike, and then sitting there until she came, without calling the cops. That’s what sticks in Will’s craw. We all admit you’re pretty hot stuff in Miami, but don’t tell me you’ve fallen victim to your own publicity and have such a swelled head you think for a minute that people think of you before they think of the cops when they have a murder on their hands.”

Shayne’s look of quiet amusement turned into a wide grin. “Could be, Tim. You’ve written most of the newspaper stories about me.” Then he sobered and asked, “How do you figure it?”

“Just about the way Gentry does right now. That Mrs. Wallace came in unexpectedly and found him planning a trip, or maybe with some gal, even, and gunned him on the spot. That’s when she’d start thinking about Mike Shayne instead of the cops. Particularly knowing Lucy so well.”

“And you think Lucy and she fixed up a story between them?”

Timothy Rourke sighed and said equably, “Not if she told Lucy the truth. I don’t think the girl would actually connive at covering up murder, but I do think it’s quite possible that Mrs. Wallace sold her a bill of goods and Lucy has some private information she’s aching to pass on to you. You know damn well Gentry will have the phone bugged at her daughter’s house and you don’t dare call her. That’s why I thought you might be headed for the Beach.”

Shayne hesitated a long moment before deciding not to explain to Rourke the real reason why he didn’t feel it necessary to confer with Lucy privately. They were long-time friends and the reporter had often played along with him in the past, keeping certain information confidential while Shayne was investigating a case, but the knowledge of the airline tickets in his pocket was a little too much to burden Rourke with at this point. Instead, he argued:

“Don’t you and Will realize that the timing makes it impossible for Mrs. Wallace to be the murderer? There was no gun in the apartment. Don’t tell me you think Lucy helped her dispose of it.”

“No. But what was there to prevent her slipping out and ditching the gun before she called Lucy?”

Shayne frowned, thinking back to Mrs. Wallace’s statement to Gentry which Rourke knew he had overheard. At that juncture, Gentry had previously listened to her story of what happened after the plane landed, and this was information Rourke didn’t know Shayne possessed. To avoid disclosing that he had already heard the account from her own lips, he suggested, “How about you filling me in on that part of it? I assumed she phoned Lucy as soon as she walked in and found her husband dead. Let’s stop some place for a drink.”

“Fine.” Rourke looked at his watch. “The bar at the Olinar should still be open.”

“Why that joint?” protested Shayne. “Sammy’s is closer.”

“The Olinar is the restaurant where she claims she stopped for a dinner she didn’t want on her way from the airport,” explained Rourke. “She claims she and her husband are known there and she signed the tab. Won’t hurt to check.”

Shayne shrugged and checked the cross-street, drove on six blocks and turned to the right one block to pull up across the street from the Olinar, a quiet and sedate restaurant mostly patronized by native Miamians.

They got out and crossed the street, and Shayne said, “Oh, oh,” when he recognized one of the vehicles parked in front as an unmarked police car. He grunted, “Looks as though Will had the same idea,” and they went through a side door into a well-lighted cocktail lounge, and paused to look at the half-dozen drinkers at the bar and the few tables that were occupied so late at night.

Rourke nudged Shayne and jerked his head toward a corner table occupied by a man who sat alone with a glass and a bottle of beer in front of him. They moved toward the table together and he looked at them with pretended disinterest as they pulled out chairs.

“If you don’t mind our joining you, Sergeant,” Shayne said with exaggerated politeness. “I’ll even buy you something better than that swill you’re drinking.”

Sergeant Adams of Homicide looked distastefully at his glass. “Guess I’ll stick to beer. I’m waiting for the chief.”

Shayne said, “We’ll wait with you.” He told a hovering waiter, “Cognac with water on the side, and a rye and soda.”

“What you got, Sarge?” Rourke asked eagerly. “Mrs. Wallace’s story check out okay?”

“I’ll save what I got for the chief.” Adams’ voice was cool but not particularly unfriendly. He knew that both Shayne and the reporter were close friends of Gentry’s and didn’t wish to antagonize them, but he was also disinclined to give out information without Chief Gentry’s okay.

Shayne said, “We’ll wait and listen to it with him.” He stretched out his long legs and lit a cigarette, lifted the inhaler glass when it came and took a sip while his gaze roved over the room to an archway on the right leading into a now-darkened room. “Dining room in there?”

Adams nodded. “And the telephone booth is there behind you.” He was facing the door and he half-rose as he spoke, lifting one hand to attract Will Gentry’s attention as the chief hurried in.

Gentry came to the table frowning heavily at the detective and reporter. “Thought you were making a deadline, Tim.” He sat down and took a long black cigar from his pocket, pursed his thick lips to hold it while the sergeant struck a match for him.

“Thought we might pick up something here to add to my story. Do we get it from Adams or do we have to do our own sleuthing?”

Gentry said briefly, “Let’s have it, Adams.”

The sergeant drew a notebook from his pocket and consulted it. “The maître knows Mrs. Wallace all right and confirms she came in with a travelling bag, alone, around nine… little before, maybe. She checked her bag there,” he nodded toward a check stand beyond the archway, “and ordered a club sandwich and iced tea and came in here to make a phone call before the food came. She didn’t eat much, but sat for half an hour or so dawdling with her tea, then signed the check. He was going to have a boy take her bag out, but she said no, she had to make a phone call first, and came in here again and that’s the last he noticed her. Says it was maybe around ten o’clock.”

Gentry nodded. “That checks,” he told Shayne absently. “Claims there was no answer and she sat in here for another half hour before trying home once more and then getting a taxi. Claims it was exactly ten-thirty-five when she finally left.” He rolled the cigar to the other side of his mouth and asked Adams, “Any confirmation of that?”

The sergeant shook his head decisively. “Nothing either way. When she and her husband eat here they sometimes have a drink at the table but never hang out here. So they don’t know her in here. No one noticed a woman of her description waiting here, but the place was pretty crowded and they wouldn’t necessarily. Check girl was just leaving when I got here and she recalls a dame checking a bag and taking it out, but no recollection of the time.”

“So that leaves the time element up in the air,” said Gentry stolidly. “There’s at least a half hour we’ve just got her word for. Unless we find the taxi-driver and he says otherwise, she could have got home about ten… just about the time Doc says hubby took the slug. Lucy says she called her about ten-fifty. Fifty minutes is plenty of time to stash a gun and fix things up the way she wanted it to look.”

“You’ve got no proof at all,” said Shayne hotly. “If it was that way, why didn’t she conceal the fact that he was packing for a trip when he was shot? That’s the strongest clue to a possible motive for her.”

Gentry shrugged and said blandly, “You never know how a dame’s mind works… particularly just after she’s gunned a two-timing husband.” He sighed and got up. “Maybe we’ll turn up the taxi-driver. Want a lift this time, Tim?”

Rourke finished his drink, studying Shayne anxiously. “I guess so. Nothing else we can do tonight is there, Mike?”

Shayne said, “I’m going home to sleep on it. Don’t get out on the Mrs. Wallace limb too far, Will. If Lucy says she’s okay, she is.”

Gentry said, “I have the greatest respect for Lucy’s intuition, but I’m not running my department on that basis. You stay off a limb, too.”

Shayne broodingly finished his cognac after they left, and paid the check, noting without surprise that Sergeant Adams’ beer was on it also.

The situation was really messed up now. The airplane tickets in his pocket were the best proof there was that Mrs. Wallace had not killed her husband because certainly even an hysterical woman would have realized the two tickets were damning evidence against her and would have destroyed them at once.

But it was too late to produce them now. He sat for a moment and silently cursed himself for having allowed Lucy to persuade him to conceal them in the first place, though, even as he did so, he knew that he would do the same thing under the same circumstances another time.

He left the bar and got in his car, drove on to his hotel garage and parked it, then walked around to the front and entered the lobby.

Dick was still at the desk and he looked up and made a hurried signal to the redhead as he walked in. Shayne paused and glanced around the lobby casually, saw a tall, bony woman get up quickly from a deep chair, half-concealed by a potted palm.

A series of bracelets rattled on both wrists as she hurried toward him with mannish strides.

He blinked doubtfully and then recognized her. She was one of Mrs. Martin’s bridge guests. The one who had come to the door to greet him when he arrived at the Martin house.