Stranger in Town

19

They hadn’t long to wait. When his bell rang not more than ten minutes after he finished telephoning, Shayne was glad the man had turned out to be an undertaker instead of plumber.

He opened the door and found a short, rotund man in the hallway, with a cherubic, moonlike face that expressed tactful sympathy for his host’s supposed bereavement.

He intoned, “Mr. Shayne? Johnson is my name, sir. You asked me to call on you…”

“I know I did.” Michael Shayne stood with his body blocking the doorway and made no move to step aside. “I’m sorry to have bothered you, Mr. Johnson, but I’m afraid I’ve changed my mind in the interim. Later, perhaps? The next time something of this sort happens…”

The elevator stopped again at the fourth floor as Shayne spoke, and Mr. Johnson turned his head to see the man who got off and hurried toward them. His round features tightened in an unpleasant grimace, and he turned back to Shayne with asperity. “I’m afraid I don’t understand why you called both Mr. Magner and me. It’s hardly ethical…”

“Just changed my mind,” Shayne told him heartily, leaning out to look down the corridor and make certain that Mr. Magner was, indeed, the man Jean Henderson had been supposed to point out the night before.

Shayne recognized his mild, horselike face immediately, and he drew back, telling the other undertaker, “After phoning you, I suddenly recalled that I had met Mr. Magner before and had promised to give him all my business. Sorry, but that’s the way it is.”

Mr. Magner came up as he spoke, and stopped to address his competitor in surprise: “Mr. Johnson. Do you consider it good ethics to try and push in ahead like this when it was I who was summoned?”

Johnson grunted something indistinguishable as Shayne stepped out to shoulder him aside and take Magner’s arm firmly. The smaller man gasped and tried to shrink back when he saw the detective’s rugged face, but Shayne pulled him forward through the door and closed it firmly in Johnson’s face.

Mr. Magner stood aside helplessly, his face ashen and his eyes flitting nervously from the girl curled up in the deep chair across the room and back to Shayne.

He gulped deeply and said in a high, thin voice, “You… you are the man last night, aren’t you?” He wet his lips desperately and turned back to Jean. “And… and Miss Buttrell there…?”

“Not Buttrell,” Shayne said flatly. He put his hand on Magner’s shoulder and pushed him back toward a chair. “We’re going to have a long talk, so make yourself comfortable. Her name is Jean Henderson and she’s told me about how you picked her up on the road and ducked away after dropping her in front of the hospital.”

“I had done everything I could for her under the circumstances. I assure you that I had.”

Shayne sat down in front of him and waved his protestations aside with a big hand. “That’s not the point. If she had come up to you in the bar last night instead of stopping at my booth… those men would have killed you outright. Thinking I was the man they wanted, they tried to kill me instead. Why?”

“I don’t… that is, I… if you knew how terribly I felt last night, sir, when I saw that awful thing happen right in front of my eyes. I realized it was some terrible mistake. I was so taken by surprise to see her come in the door. I’d thought I was perfectly safe coming there… that she was in Miami and no one could possibly recognize me. And I was simply petrified when those thugs assaulted you. I beg you to understand and forgive me for not speaking up manfully to say there had been a mistake.”

Shayne said, “None of that matters now. Stop snivelling and pull yourself together. Who were the three men who jumped me and why did they do it?”

“I recognized only one of them, and him only by sight,” muttered the distraught undertaker. “His name is Eugene Forbes, I believe. His reputation in Brockton is not good at all. He has… well… a great deal to do with the management of the Sanitarium. That’s why he was there last night, Mr… ah… Shayne, was it? He was after me, of course. I do not deny it. It was foolhardy of me to think I could successfully challenge the Sanitarium. But I had worked out such a careful plan. I didn’t see how it could fail. And I was intentionally moderate in my demand upon them. Only ten thousand dollars. That’s all I asked for my silence. It was so little to them, yet it meant so much to me.”

“You were trying to collect blackmail from the Sanitarium,” Shayne said harshly. “For what? As a price for your silence about what?”

“Why… about this young lady. The night I found her wandering along the road with no memory of what had happened. I didn’t realize the truth that night, of course. I saw no sign of the car then. But later when I read about Mr. Harris burning up in his car at the bottom of the ravine, I realized that was almost exactly the spot where I had found her, and that she must have been in his car with him when it was wrecked. And him being a State’s Attorney, and that in the paper about him asking his way to the Sanitarium earlier in the evening… well, I can put two and two together and make four, Mr. Shayne.”

“That’s more than I can do right now,” the redhead growled. “Suppose she was in Harris’ car when it went over the bank, and was thrown clear, maybe, with a bad concussion. How does that add up to blackmail material against the Brockton Sanitarium?”

Mr. Magner wet his lips and looked at Jean appealingly. “I’ve just suddenly realized… did you say her name is Jean Henderson?”

“That’s right.” Shayne glanced with him at the girl. She was sitting erect in her chair, hands clasped tightly in her lap, and her blue eyes were alight with excitement.

“I thought you said Henderson. She… had a sister named Jeanette. Perhaps you don’t know that she is supposed to have been killed in another automobile accident near here a month ago.”

“I know about that. And some passerby like you picked her up and took her to the Brockton Sanitarium for emergency treatment and hurried away without leaving his name. Don’t tell me you were in on that rescue also?”

“Oh, no. No indeed. In fact, Mr. Shayne, I…” Mr. Magner paused, his voice harried and his face tortured with fear and indecision. “How far can I trust you, Mr. Shayne? What is your interest in this matter? In short… who are you, sir?”

“I’m a detective from Miami. My interest is to settle scores with Gene… and whoever is behind him. What actually goes on out at that sanitarium, Magner? What sort of secrets do they keep locked up behind a steel fence?”

“It is widely rumored in Brockton that most of the patients are young women who… who come there for illegal operations. You… ah… understand?” He darted an embarrassed glance in Jean’s direction, and Shayne said for him:

“An abortion mill, eh? Seems rather a small town to support anything like that.”

“They don’t come from Brockton. I have heard it said, in fact, that they consistently refuse to admit any local patients. It is said their clientele is drawn from larger cities throughout the state… and that fabulous prices are charged in many cases.”

“So that’s it!” said Shayne grimly. “I guessed something of the sort. You were about to tell us about Jeanette Henderson and her accident.”

“Yes. But it was no accident, Mr. Shayne. Believe me, I know her death was not the result of an accident. I had… ah… it devolved on me to… ah… prepare her mortal remains after she passed away, and I am prepared to swear, that her death did not come from an accident. It was definitely the result of an illegal operation during which she succumbed while under the anesthetic. To hide the hideous truth, I suspect they deliberately drove her car out onto the highway and wrecked it. And then told the story about her having been brought to them for emergency care during which she died on the operating table.”

“Wasn’t there an autopsy?” demanded Shayne.

“There was not.”

“Did you report your suspicions to the police?”

“No, Mr. Shayne, I confess I did not.” Mr. Magner’s face was a tragic mask of fear and self-hatred. “I am in business here as you know. I freely confess it was weakness and fear that prevented me from speaking out. But it was easy to be silent. And so difficult to speak up. And where could I turn? It is a well-known fact that Dr. Winestock at the Sanitarium is the brother-in-law of our chief of police, Ollie Hanger. It was Chief Hanger who investigated Jeanette Henderson’s death personally, and who arranged to have me take charge of the remains. Who could I have trusted? Who would have listened to me?”

“I’m beginning to get the picture straight. Having rubbed up against Ollie a couple of times, I see what you mean. And I heard today that the gunman named Gene is a sort of pal of his. All right. So you came to the conclusion that Jean here was likely in Harris’ car when it went into the ravine, but could recall nothing about it. What sort of lever did you figure that gave you against the Sanitarium?”

“I was the only person who knew where she was picked up that night,” Magner explained simply. “The only person who could place her in the vicinity of Harris’ so-called accident. Because I realized at once it had probably been no more of an accident than the death of the Henderson girl a month ago. I assumed that Mr. Harris and the girl had actually gone to the Sanitarium together after asking directions from the filling station man, and they had somehow learned who Harris was. I even theorized that he might have gone there on official business and threatened prosecution. That would explain the accident. Having been successful in staging a similar accident a month ago, it seemed likely to me they would try the same method again. Criminals do, I believe, tend to follow a sort of pattern in whatever sort of crimes they commit.”

A choked gasp from Jean’s throat brought both their heads around to her. She had one hand at her throat, and her eyes were wide and staring. “Jeanette,” she whispered as though in agony. “Jeanette! I… I’m beginning to remember. Oh, God in heaven, yes! Jeanette!”

Shayne was instantly by her side, peering down into her eyes and to her contorted face. “Take it easy, Jean. Don’t try to make it come back. It will all come eventually.”

“But I want to,” she cried out clearly. “I remember part of it now. It’s vague, like a nightmare. With parts that are clear and parts that are black. My little sister! I knew there was something terribly wrong. I knew there was. But she wouldn’t tell me. She wouldn’t let me help. She denied it, but I knew. Yes, she was pregnant. And she went to that place and they murdered her. They butchered my sister…”

Her voice was rising angrily and Shayne clapped his hand over her mouth. He said grimly, “You’ve got to help us, Jean. Don’t go to pieces yet. Think back now to a month ago. You suspected your sister was pregnant though she denied it. Did you know she was going to the Brockton Sanitarium for an abortion?”

“No. I don’t think I knew. It’s all clouded and indistinct. I remember her clearly. I remember I was worried when she wouldn’t tell me. And I remember…” Her voice dropped and she shuddered. “I remember now that she died. And it was an accident and I was almost glad. Because Father didn’t have to know and she didn’t have the shame of it. And then… oh, I don’t know. It’s mixed up. There was the Sanitarium in it. And a doctor. And then that man… Gene…” She broke down and sobbed frantically.

Shayne patted her shoulder and told her again, “Take it easy. This is all adding up to tie in with Magner’s story. I’m sure you’ll remember more and more as we go on.”

He turned back to the undertaker and said, “So you figured they had tried the same thing again with Randolph Harris and the girl. That she had somehow escaped death in the bottom of the ravine with him and got back to the road where you picked her up.” He nodded approval. “That makes sense. It gives them a damned good reason for arranging to have a man appear at the hospital and claim to be her father because she was a definite danger to them as long as she was alive and might regain her memory. And you saw a chance to pick up a piece of change by offering to keep quiet about where you had picked her up that night. So you tried to put the bite on them for ten grand. That right?”

“Yes, I…” Mr. Magner’s face was flushed with shame. “It sounds so much worse when you say it out loud that way. I… I suppose I rationalized my conduct by telling myself I had no real proof. Nothing I could go to the police with. And I needed money so badly. Just enough to get away from Brockton with.”

Shayne said, “I’m not sitting in judgment on you. Exactly what did you do about the situation?”

“Well, I telephoned the Sanitarium first. From a pay-station and I disguised my voice. I spoke to Dr. Winestock and told him I wanted ten thousand dollars in old hundred-dollar bills for my silence. And I told him I would call again Monday to explain how the money was to be delivered, and then I hung up on him. And over the week-end I thought of a plan for getting the money that seemed safe to me. You see, they had no idea in the world who I was, and I didn’t think they could possibly identify me by sight. So far as I knew she…” He nodded at Jean. “… I thought of her as Miss Buttrell, of course, was safely out of their hands and in Miami, and she was the only person who could identify me. So my plan seemed safe enough.”

“What was your plan?”

“I selected that bar-room as the place because it is on the other side of town from me and not at all the sort of place any of my acquaintances might frequent. I went there Monday morning and took a list of three songs that are on the juke-box there, and when I phoned again Monday afternoon I had it all worked out in detail. I told Dr. Winestock he was to have a man go there at eight o’clock Tuesday night with the money in a long envelope. That he was to put three nickels in the jukebox and punch the numbers of the three songs in the order I gave him. Then he was to sit in a vacant booth and order a drink, and while no one was looking he was to fasten the envelope on the underside of the table with scotch tape, and then get up and leave. I planned to be there at eight and watch for the man playing the songs I had ordered. Then it would have been a simple matter to wait until he left the booth, sit down there myself and detach the envelope at my leisure. I was waiting in the rear booth, and was simply bowled over when she walked in the door. I simply sat frozen in my seat and died a thousand deaths while she walked back toward me.

“Then… she stopped at your booth instead. I couldn’t hear what she said because Gene and that other big tough came in right behind her and… well, you know better than I do what happened then.”

Jean spoke in a quavering voice as he finished, “It’s all come straight in my mind now, Mr. Shayne. It’s like a miracle, the way everything has suddenly clicked into place. I did go to the Sanitarium with Randolph Harris because of what happened to Jeanette. I remember it all. After we heard about her accident, I was in her room cleaning out her personal things and in her desk I found a slip of paper with the words, Dr. Winestock. The Brockton Sanitarium.

“I remember how I sat and stared at it. I couldn’t believe it. The Brockton Sanitarium was where they had taken her after the accident for an emergency operation. But she had written it down there before the accident. As though she had had a premonition, I thought. But I knew that was silly and it couldn’t be a coincidence.

“I didn’t tell anyone and I brooded about it for days. The more I thought… with my suspicions about her condition… the more I came to believe that she had intended going to the Sanitarium when she left home supposedly to visit Lois Dongan. And I knew that she had gone to visit a strange doctor in Orlando named Dr. Jessup a few days before, and that she was different and happy when she came back from seeing him. She had been dragging around and listless before that, and then perked up right after seeing him.

“So I took a chance and went to see Dr. Jessup myself. I gave him a false name and told him I was a student at Rollins and lived at Miami, and that I was… in trouble, and I’d heard from some of the other girls at Rollins that he could help get rid of the baby.

“He was very stern at first and denied it and talked about professional ethics, and I wept and pleaded with him and he finally asked me how much money I had. I told him plenty, and then he talked some more and for a hundred dollars in cash he finally gave me a card with Dr. Winestock, Brockton Sanitarium printed on it, and his name signed in ink underneath.

“He told me to show that card at the Sanitarium, and take nine hundred dollars in cash with me, and not let anybody in the world know where I was going, and that everything would be all right.

“I went straight from his office with the card to see Randolph Harris whom I had met a couple of times at parties. I told him what I suspected and everything, and he got excited and said they suspected the kind of business the Brockton Sanitarium did, but never could get any proof. He said he thought they were hand in glove with the police department here and it wouldn’t do any good to make a complaint, but if we could get real evidence the State’s Attorney could go to the State Police and have it raided. And he asked if I was willing to take a chance helping him, and I said I was after what I knew had happened to Jeanette.

“So we planned it for the next week-end,” she went on rapidly. “I had a week’s cruise planned with some friends in Apalachicola and was supposed to leave by bus Thursday afternoon. Instead I phoned Mrs. Larch that I couldn’t make it and for them to go on without me. And Randolph picked me up in his car that evening and we came to Brockton. I had the card signed by Dr. Jessup that I showed at the gate and they let us in. We had it all fixed. I was to say I was pregnant and he was my sweetheart, and he had nine hundred dollars in marked bills for the operation. So we went in and talked to the doctor in his office, and then they took me off into a side-room to wait while he made the final arrangement.

“And I don’t know what happened in the office,” she went on with a shudder. “The first thing I knew two men came and grabbed me and hustled me out to Randolph’s car and hit me on the head and piled me in the back where he was already lying knocked out. They were Gene and Bill, I know now. I was dazed but not unconscious. I vaguely remember them driving away and stopping and putting us in the front seat and I kept on pretending to be unconscious but held onto the door handle. And they poured gasoline on the car and on Randolph, I guess, and steered it off the road. I fell out as it turned over, and everything went black. And the next thing I knew I was walking down the road and you stopped to pick me up,” she told Mr. Magner.

Shayne said, “That’s it, then, Harris was absolutely right about calling the State Police in to clean up the mess. There’s a station just outside of town.” He got up and lifted the telephone calmly and told the operator: “Get me the State Police barracks, please.” A voice spoke through the receiver into his ear at the precise moment that a key grated faintly in the lock of his door ten feet away. He whirled toward the door and spoke in. a low, terse voice into the phone:

“Hold the line open.” He rammed the instrument back into his hip pocket with the mouthpiece sticking up and clear, and moved in front of the telephone as the door opened and the big muzzle of a. 45 preceded the bulk of Chief Ollie Hanger into the room.

Sliding through the opening behind him with sinuous grace was Gene with a faintly pleased smile on his ascetic face and a short-barrelled. 38 dangling negligently from his fingers.