Shoot the Works

Chapter nine

There was a police car parked up the street from the apartment house on Fortieth when Shayne stopped in front. He strode into the foyer and found the button above “James Wallace” and pressed it. There was a speaking tube near the inner door with a receiver on a hook, and Shayne took it down and put it to his ear. In a moment a gruff voice said: “Who is it?”

“Mike Shayne. I’d like a look around.”

“I dunno,” the voice said doubtfully. “Mike Shayne, huh?”

“Who’s speaking?”

“Ed Donovan up here.”

“Didn’t Chief Gentry tell you I’m working on the case?” asked Shayne impatiently.

“I heard you were, but he didn’t tell me to let you in.”

“Then call in and ask him. Try the brokerage firm of Martin, Wallace and Tompkins, if he isn’t at headquarters. I left him there a short time ago.”

There was a short pause and Shayne knew that Donovan was weighing the redhead’s known friendship with Chief Gentry against the fact that he hadn’t been issued direct orders to admit him. But the body had been removed and the Homicide Squad had been over the place with a finetooth comb and there was no real reason for refusing the private detective admittance, and Donovan said grudgingly, “I guess it’s all right.” The release buzzer sounded and Shayne opened the inner door and went up to the fourth floor.

The door of the Wallace apartment stood open and the bulky figure of the city detective was standing half out of it when Shayne got out of the elevator. They knew each other slightly, and there was a look of good-natured curiosity on Donovan’s broad face as he asked, “What you want in for, Mr. Shayne?”

Shayne said truthfully, “I don’t know. More a hunch than anything else. I was here last night after Will’s boys finished and I don’t suppose they missed anything, but it won’t hurt to look again.”

“I guess not.” Donovan stepped inside and Shayne followed him. A highball glass stood on a table in the entrance hall, and Donovan picked it up with a deprecatory cluck. “It’s a dry job sitting here to answer the phone if it rings… which it hasn’t. It’s a cinch Wallace won’t miss a little of that good scotch in the kitchen, but I just as soon you didn’t tell the chief.”

Shayne said, “I won’t, Ed. I may join you after I look around. Keep an eye on me, huh, so you can swear I didn’t plant anything or take anything away?”

Donovan said good-naturedly, “I’ll do that for sure.” He took a sip of his drink while Shayne opened the door of a hall closet and looked in.

A woman’s woolen coat and a topcoat, and two raincoats hung neatly on hangers, and there were rubbers on the floor and two umbrellas, and both male and female headgear on the upper shelf. Shayne moved the hats on the shelf and looked behind the coats on the floor to make certain there was no attaché case there, then lifted down the topcoat and searched the pockets while Donovan watched him idly.

The pockets were empty and Shayne replaced the coat on its hanger, passed Donovan into the living room and looked around with a frown.

It was just as it had been the preceding midnight and he didn’t see any hiding places that might have been overlooked. He started for the bedroom and Donovan said behind him, “Those two partners of Wallace’s were here earlier and they poked around a little. But when I told them they’d have to get an okay from the chief, they said to skip it and left without bothering much. Wouldn’t tell me what they were looking for.”

Shayne nodded and said over his shoulder, “I suppose they went through the bedroom?”

“Started opening drawers and such until I told them they’d have to get permission. One of them, the slim one, acted like he was going to offer me a pay-off, but I guess he got cold feet when he saw the way I looked when he reached for his wallet.” Donovan’s voice was thick with self-praise. “I didn’t say a word, mind you. I thought to myself, just let him try and see how fast I run him in for attempting to bribe an officer.”

Shayne muttered, “Very laudable.” He stood in the bedroom doorway and studied the room. There were chalk marks on the floor showing where the corpse had lain. The suitcase still lay empty on one bed, the piles of clothing on the other. The wallet was gone, of course.

He thought about the wallet for a moment, tugging at the lobe of his left ear. It would be at headquarters with an inventory of its contents. If Wallace had checked the loot before returning to pack his bag, the check or locker key would most likely be in the wallet, and Gentry would already have investigated anything like that. But he made a mental note that it was something to check with Will.

There were two bedroom closets, well-filled with dresses and with the broker’s suits, and Shayne looked cursorily in both for the attaché case while Donovan stood negligently in the doorway and watched him, sipping from his highball glass.

From the closets he moved to a chest of drawers with a man’s toilet articles on top, and began opening the drawers and making a superficial search through the contents, though he wasn’t exactly sure why he did so. Except that the two surviving partners had been so insistent that he promised to make a thorough search and he felt he had to go through the motions to earn the fat retainer he planned to charge them.

He found the small, folded note in the third drawer from the top, under a pile of neatly folded sport shirts. He had his back to Donovan, and his big fingers closed over it and cupped it in his palm, and he continued to look through the drawer, without pausing or giving the detective any indication of his discovery. When he closed the drawer he casually dropped his hand to his side and slid the folded paper into his pocket, then opened the next drawer and continued to go through the motions.

When he finished with the bottom drawer, he straightened up and told Donovan sourly, “I know this is nuts, but it’s a job. Will’s boys don’t miss anything on a job like this.”

Donovan said, “That’s what I told Wallace’s partners when they were fooling around that bureau this morning. I always did wonder why people put out good money to a private dick for a job the cops do better for free. I guess it’s just human nature, huh? To think something you get free isn’t as good as what you pay out dough for. Damned good dough, too, from what I hear about the fees you charge, Mr. Shayne. I wouldn’t mind being in your racket myself.”

Shayne said, “It’s a living, Ed, but there’s times I wouldn’t mind having a steady salary coming in.” He looked around the bedroom with a shrug. “Let’s try the kitchen?”

Donovan brightened as he looked down at his empty glass. “Why not? There’s some imported cognac along with the scotch.”

He led the way out and down a short hallway to a small but pleasant kitchen with sunlight streaming in through ruffled red and yellow curtains. It was neat and clean with nothing disarranged or out of place, and he squatted down in front of the sink to open a drawer and gesture inside. “I’m surprised there’s anything left after last night, but I guess the chief hung around until most of the boys left.” He chuckled and lifted out a squat bottle of scotch and hesitated. “Cognac for you? Or is that just newspaper talk that you’re always swilling it?”

Shayne said, “I’ll have a small one just to keep you company.” He stood quietly while Donovan got ice cubes from the refrigerator and a clean glass. He poured brandy over two ice cubes while Donovan sweetened his drink with three fingers of liqueur scotch and added a dollop of tap water, and then they drank companionably.

Shayne rinsed out his glass, dried and replaced it and said, “Much as I hate to leave good company, Ed, I don’t believe there’s anything here for me.”

He started out briskly, paused and stepped aside as the telephone rang in the living room. “You’d better take that.”

Donovan lumbered past him to the telephone and lifted it. Shayne stood behind him and listened, fingering the folded sheet of paper in his pocket.

The detective said, “Yes? Who is this speaking?” and then the change of expression that came over his face was ludicrous. He squared his shoulders and stiffened his body and his features tightened and he said, “Yes, Chief. Donovan here.”

He listened some thirty seconds, turning his head slowly to look at Shayne while he hastily set down the highball glass he still held in his right hand. He had a stricken look as he said smartly, his voice practically making a snappy salute: “Yes, sir, Chief. I certainly do understand. You can definitely count on me, Chief. And I’ll report it to you immediately if he does show up.”

He listened a second and shorter period, and said, “Yes, sir. You’ve made it very clear.”

He hung up the telephone and reached down to pick up his drink. His broad face was mottled and his voice sounded hollow, as he took a long swallow, and then turned slowly to face the redheaded detective.

“That was Chief Gentry on the phone,” he announced unnecessarily.

Shayne said, “I gathered it was.”

“He said that if you showed up here and tried to get in the apartment that I was to kick you in the teeth, Mr. Shayne. I swear those were his very words. And I always thought you and the chief was like that.” His voice became accusatory as he held up his right hand with the first two fingers tightly crossed.

Shayne grinned and said lightly, “Will Gentry and I have our differences sometimes. Did he say why he didn’t want me in here?”

“No, sir, he didn’t. And I didn’t know what to say when he jumped in like that, Mr. Shayne. I don’t know what he would’ve done if I’d told him you were here right now and I’d already let you go through the joint. I’ll be in one hell of a mess if he ever finds out.”

Shayne said warmly, “He won’t find out from me, Ed. I’ll beat it and you forget I was here. There’s no real harm done.”

“That’s real swell of you, Mr. Shayne,” said Donovan eagerly. “I sure won’t forget it. Like you say, there’s no real harm done and what’s the use of both of us getting in Dutch, if we don’t have to?”

Shayne said, “I’ll get away from here before anyone sees me. Watch the scotch and don’t let it creep up on you.”

He hurried out the door and down in the elevator. He got in his car and pulled away from the curb, drove several blocks before he parked again and took the folded sheet of paper from his pocket.

It was a heavy, square sheet of plain, white notepaper, with no address or date at the top. The message was written in green ink in flowing feminine handwriting:

Shayne sat in the car and read the brief note several times. The single sheet of notepaper had been folded and refolded so the creases in the paper were quite heavy, but the handwriting looked fresh to him.

His face was deeply trenched as he refolded it on the same creases and put it in the inner pocket with the pair of airline tickets that Mrs. Wallace had given him the preceding night. He sat for several minutes with his big hands tightly clenched on the steering wheel while he stared straight ahead and wondered what had caused Will Gentry to make the telephone call to Ed Donovan. Did Will have some inkling that such a note as this was secreted in the apartment? Or had he some other reason for ordering Shayne kept out?

He shrugged fatalistically and put his car in motion again. Thus far, he was about three steps ahead of Will Gentry on the case, though he didn’t know what help any of them might be toward reaching a final solution.