The Corpse Came Calling

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Pearson nodded to Shayne when Gentry said he thought they had met before, then stood quietly with arms folded and let Gentry take the lead. Pearson’s air of unruffled competence remained despite the ugly swelling on his jaw where Shayne’s fist had connected. A thoughtfully furrowed forehead was Pearson’s only outward reaction to the presence of the dead man.

“Isn’t this pushing your luck a little bit?” Gentry queried in a deceptively mild tone.

Before Shayne could answer Gentry’s thrust, a rush of footsteps came from down the hall. The redhead swung on his heel and glowered uninvitingly as Tim Rourke hurried through the open door. Lean and swivel-hipped, a reporter for the Miami News and an old friend of Shayne’s, Rourke had profited by many scoops in the past by following the detective’s cases.

Rourke grinned, unabashed by Shayne’s manifest displeasure at his presence. He said, “I figured it was a hot tip when they told me down at the station-” He broke off as his gaze strayed past Gentry and Pearson to the corpse.

“Looks like another birdie. What’s par for this course, Mike? And with a little toy pistol, at that.”

Shayne didn’t say anything. Helen’s small weapon still hung carelessly by the trigger guard from his forefinger.

Gentry thrust his hands deep into his coat pockets and, chewing solemnly on a fat cigar, strolled forward to survey the dead man. He shook his head and said, “I hope you’re not going to feed us another story about this one just wandering in and dropping dead, too, Mike.”

Shayne’s upper lip twitched. He said, “You’ll get the truth-as you always have, Will. Here’s the gun that killed him. You should have heard the shots while you were coming up. He came in asking for it,” he went on explosively. “I tried to stall him until you got here, but you can see by that gun in his hand that it was self-defense.”

Will Gentry sighed and stepped back from the body. He held out his hand and took the small revolver from Shayne by its two-inch barrel. He frowned at it. “A twenty-two, Mike. Where did you get this relic? They haven’t manufactured these since the Civil War.”

Shayne said, “I picked it up somewhere for Phyl. In my business you never can tell when she’ll need one. You know I never carry a rod. But it was lucky that thing was around here when he started throwing his weight around.”

From long habit as a homicide man, Gentry got out a handkerchief and folded the obsolete weapon in it so the fingerprints would not be spoiled. Shayne laughed shortly and protested, “You’ve got me cold, Will. I’m not going to deny I blasted him.”

Gentry shrugged and slid the gun in his pocket. “Two in one day is more than even your rep will stand, Mike. You’d better start coming clean.”

“What do you mean-two in one day?” Shayne demanded hotly. “You know damn well Lacy was a dead man when he reached my office.”

“But it looked bad,” Gentry complained. “Hell, we’ll have to set up a private shuttle system between your place and the morgue if this keeps up.” He sank into a chair and added, “Pour me a drink.”

Shayne went to the cabinet. With his hand on a glass he turned inquiringly to Rourke and Pearson. “Either of you join us?”

Pearson shook his head. There was a speculative light in his calm gray eyes, as though his thoughts were remote, totally withdrawn from the actual scene before him. He had not moved or spoken since entering the apartment.

Rourke nodded fervently and said, “Lord, yes. I can do with a stimulant, Mike.”

Shayne poured two drinks and handed them to Gentry and the reporter. He faced Pearson and hesitated, then said, “I suppose I should be sorry for what happened over in Lacy’s hotel room. If you’d told me who you were first-”

Pearson inclined his head soberly. “I quite understand that you’re the impulsive type, Shayne. That’s behind us now. No real harm done,” he ended genially.

In a wondering tone, Shayne said, “Hell, you’re not a bad guy after all.” He sat down near Gentry and asked, “Are we going to turn this into a wake?”

Gentry rumbled, “You’d better give out on this killing before we start anything else. I’ve got to decide what the charges are to be.”

Shayne snorted. “Charges? When a fugitive from the pen breaks into a man’s home and flashes a gat, hasn’t the householder a perfect right to protect himself?”

“A fugitive?” Gentry raised grizzled brows.

Shayne gestured toward the dead man. “His name is Mace Morgan. Recently escaped from the New York pen. I don’t know any more about it than you do,” he went on angrily. “He pushed in here and raved about me turning over something he seemed to think I’d got from Jim Lacy this afternoon. When I told him I didn’t know what he was talking about, he pulled that gun and threatened me. Well,” Shayne shrugged wide shoulders, covertly watching Pearson, “there he lies.”

Gentry’s heavy features became less morose. “An escaped con? Why didn’t you say so? I guess that puts you in the clear this time.”

Pearson turned his head. He spoke in a voice that was pleasant but held a ring of authority. “I’m glad to verify Mr. Shayne’s statement. The man is Mace Morgan. I rather expected him to turn up in Miami after we traced Lacy here.” He sauntered forward as he spoke and knelt beside the dead convict.

He unbuttoned Morgan’s coat and began methodically going through his pockets and clothing. The other three men watched him silently, with Shayne and Gentry evidencing professional approval for the thorough manner in which he made the search.

Pearson rolled the dead man over with no more show of feeling than he would have rolled a straw dummy, tested the lining of his coat, painstakingly covered every inch of the body, the inner waistband of his trousers, and finally removed the corpse’s shoes, examined the inner lining and the soles. He rocked back on his heels when he finished and turned his head to frown at Shayne. In a deeply worried voice he asked, “Did you take anything off him before we got here?”

Shayne set his glass down with a thump. He growled, “I’m tired of being accused of corpse robbing. First Jim Lacy and now Morgan. What’s missing?”

Pearson stood up and carefully dusted off his knees. In his precise, unruffled voice, he said, “I think I’ll ask you for that drink now.”

Shayne got another glass of cognac and handed it to Pearson. Pearson thanked him, sniffed the bouquet approvingly, and tasted it with a further nod of approval. He remained standing before the three seated men, and there was a hint of accustomed authority in his voice when he spoke directly to Will Gentry.

“I haven’t been introduced to this man yet.” He nodded toward Timothy Rourke.

“Tim Rourke,” Gentry said, “reporter for the Miami News. Mr. Pearson of the FBI, Tim. And Tim’s a right guy. Go ahead with what you’ve got to say.”

“It must be understood that my name cannot be mentioned in the press,” Pearson said. “You realize, Mr. Rourke, that our work requires the utmost secrecy. So I must ask you to leave us.”

Rourke scowled and hunched his shoulders forward. “If you chase me out of here now I’ll make up a story to fit the few facts I’ve picked up. Remember that beautiful word ‘alleged,’ Mr. Pearson? I guarantee my story’ll be a honey.”

Pearson’s deceptively mild features tightened. “I’ll have to demand your promise that you’ll print nothing-not a single word-about any of this.”

Rourke’s scowl deepened. “You can demand and be damned. We’ve still got a free press in this country.” He got up and started for the door.

Gentry restrained him. He warned Pearson as Rourke stopped, “You won’t get very far trying to push Rourke around.”

Pearson’s lips were compressed in a thin line. He said, “Your point about the free press is excellently made. But let me point out that one of the reasons it has remained free is because our newspapers have gladly co-operated with the government by accepting voluntary censorship over news that might be of value to the enemy.”

Rourke turned back to his chair. “Co-operation-now that’s a word I like. Hell, I’ll play ball if you quit treating me like a child who can’t be trusted with a secret.”

Pearson glanced inquiringly at Will Gentry. The detective chief nodded. “I’ve known Rourke a long time. He’s never printed anything I asked him to hold back.”

“Very well,” Pearson said. “I’m perfectly willing to accept your judgment.” He sat down and took a long, slim cigar from his breast pocket while Rourke resumed his seat. “It’s a rather long and complicated story,” he began, “with many points on which my information is somewhat sketchy.”

When he paused to light his cigar, Gentry got up and went toward the bedroom. “The phone is in here, isn’t it?”

Shayne nodded. His features tightened and his eyes were worried while Gentry opened the door. He relaxed when the bedroom lights came on and nothing happened. He got up and walked to the bedroom door. The door of the clothes closet stood open about an inch. Evidently Helen had decided to obey him and stay out of sight this time.

Gentry dialed a number and ordered the coroner and an ambulance around to pick up Morgan’s body. Shayne waited at the door, and when Gentry came out, leaving the door open, Shayne did not close it. Returning to their chairs, Gentry said, “I never feel good with bodies lying around.” He sat down and Pearson began talking in his quiet voice which made his words more impressive than if he had delivered an oration.

“Our country is at war, gentlemen, and as you know, the Federal Bureau of Investigation is devoting most of its time and personnel to the task of combating the activities of spies and foreign agents in our midst. It is a tremendous job, and one which we have, thus far, carried out with a great deal of success.”

He paused to frown at the glowing tip of his slim cigar. “I’m giving you this preamble to impress upon you the tremendous gravity of the present situation involving Jim Lacy and Mace Morgan. Lack of success on my part may prove more costly to our country than the loss of an entire battle, of a great military campaign.”

Pearson paused again to let his words have their full effect. Shayne lifted the cognac bottle and looked inquiringly at the others. Gentry and Rourke shook their heads. Pearson’s eyes were half closed, apparently in deep thought, and he did not notice the gestures of the others. Shayne set the bottle back.

Pearson went on. “A few months ago the plans of a new and secret military weapon were stolen from a government research plant in New Jersey. I cannot tell you what the weapon was. In fact, I know only this much-it was an epochal discovery. Something, I am told, that will revolutionize all the basic precepts of defensive naval action against enemy submarines.

“By dint of perseverance and painstaking investigation, it was eventually established that the actual theft had been accomplished by two men, a New York private detective named Jim Lacy and a petty gangster named Mace Morgan. Both of these men are American citizens. Both are traitors to their country. Actuated by the basest motive known to man-a willingness to betray their homeland for a few filthy pieces of silver.”

Pearson’s voice trembled with scorn and indignation. He lifted one fist and closed it tightly, then let it fall into his lap. With determined calm, he continued.

“We know, of course, that the theft was instigated and planned by the agent of a foreign power. Germany, doubtless. Possibly Japan. It does not matter. We know, too, that after Lacy and Morgan had completed the theft they met some third party at a secret rendezvous. The third party is, as yet, unknown. We believe they had been promised payment of a large lump sum upon delivery of the plans.

“Something miscarried, however. The foreign agent was evidently unprepared to make immediate payment. Lacy and Morgan were in a quandary. They were unwilling to let go of the secret plans without payment in hand, yet they were afraid to keep such valuable documents in their possession lest their crime be discovered.

“We do not know the details of the discussion which took place, but we do know this-a compromise plan was decided upon. A plan which clearly indicated the distrust with which each of the trio regarded the others-none of them being willing to leave the precious, though dangerous, plans in the possession of another while waiting for the financial arrangements to be completed.”

Pearson paused once more to consider his audience of three. Timothy Rourke was hunched forward, his nostrils dilated like a hound on the scent; Gentry gently chewed on his fat cigar. Shayne was relaxed in a deep chair, one big hand twirling an empty cognac glass. Three deep creases came and went in his forehead.

“The compromise was put into effect,” Pearson resumed, “by packing the plans in a suitcase or trunk, or perhaps merely wrapping them securely in a parcel. Our information is vague on this point, but the bureau concluded they were shipped to some distant city where it was agreed the trio would meet on a prearranged date to claim the parcel and complete the original transaction.

“The shipping receipt, gentlemen, was torn into three pieces, each party retaining one piece to make it impossible for the plans to be claimed unless all three were present to put the three parts together and form a valid claim check.”

Pearson looked over his audience with a grim smile. “Do you begin to understand the setup that has eventuated in two deaths today, gentlemen?”

The three men nodded. Shayne tugged at the lobe of his ear and demanded, “You say all this happened months ago? In a situation like that I’d say speed was an important element. Why the devil haven’t Lacy and Morgan got together sooner to reclaim the parcel and collect for it?”

“That,” Pearson told him, “is where fate stepped in to upset the best-laid plans of traitors and spies. Two days after the theft of the plans, Morgan was involved in a holdup in New York. He was convicted and sentenced to the penitentiary. Naturally, he held on to his third of the claim check-and Lacy and the foreign agent were checkmated without it.”

“And Morgan wouldn’t trust Lacy to collect his end of the payoff and hold it for him until he got out?” Gentry guessed.

“Evidently not. We’ve had Lacy shadowed and he’s had no communication with Morgan in jail. We’ve been gathering our evidence slowly and it hasn’t been until the past few days that we began to get a clear picture of the whole thing.”

“Then Lacy beats it to Miami under an assumed name,” Shayne muttered. “Morgan immediately makes a crash-out and also comes here. The plans must have been shipped here originally.”

“It seems likely, though we had nothing on that point except the meeting of the two men here. Lacy eluded our shadow in New York and we lost trace of him until yesterday. It appears definite, however, that Morgan’s escape was planned and financed by the foreign agent in a desperate effort to get the two men here together, each with his piece of claim check. A prison guard was heavily bribed to allow Morgan’s escape,” he added by way of explanation, “and he must have had further help in eluding the police and getting to Miami.”

The tramp of feet sounded in the corridor, and a knock on the door. Shayne got up to admit the coroner and two ambulance attendants with a stretcher. Gentry went over and conferred with them in low tones for some time, and then the body was loaded on the stretcher and carried out. Gentry came back to his chair, and the conversation was picked up where it had been interrupted.

Shayne said, “Granting that all your facts and deductions are correct, is it your idea that Lacy was killed on his way to my office this afternoon by someone who was after his part of the claim check?”

Pearson regarded him steadily. “Was Lacy killed on his way to your office? Mr. Painter appears to doubt your story about what happened.”

“Painter would doubt the word of Jesus Christ,” Shayne retorted. He turned impatiently to Gentry. “Give him the report you have on that, Will.”

Gentry repeated to Pearson the report he had given Shayne over the telephone earlier. “I questioned the couple carefully,” he ended, “and I think there’s little doubt they witnessed the actual attack on Lacy-subject to confirmation from the autopsy that Lacy could have lived with those bullets in him.”

“They must have got what they were after,” Tim Rourke interjected. “There wasn’t any piece of a claim check found on Lacy’s body, was there?”

“There was not,” Gentry replied.

“Then it couldn’t have been Morgan who shot Lacy,” Shayne put in quickly. “Morgan came here tonight demanding that I give him what I took off Lacy. He didn’t describe what he was after, but your story makes it clear enough, Pearson.”

“And now Morgan is dead.” Pearson sighed. “And his piece of the claim check is missing. If a third party was responsible for both deaths-has gotten hold of both missing pieces-then, gentlemen, I have failed. An enemy plot has succeeded. One which may possibly mean the winning or losing of a war.” Spoken soberly, with no attempt at dramatics, his words had far greater impact than if he had shouted or pounded his fist.

Shayne regarded Pearson thoughtfully. In a curiously soft voice, he asked, “What do you imply by suggesting a third party may be responsible for both deaths? You know I killed Morgan.”

Pearson looked levelly into Shayne’s eyes, disregarding the danger signal glittering there. He asked, “Why were you going through Lacy’s room this evening?”

“Because it was my business. Lacy died in my office. I wanted to know what the lay was. Lacy had called me just before he was shot. He was so anxious to see me that he refused to die before he reached me. Naturally I wanted to know what was behind it.”

“How did you know the number of his hotel room-the assumed name of James he was using?” Pearson’s voice had become hard and inflexible.

Shayne shrugged. “I’m a detective. Do I have to divulge my methods to an FBI man?”

“I think you had better,” Pearson said. “Otherwise we may suspect that Lacy did tell you something-that you searched him before the police arrived.”

Shayne turned to Gentry. “Tell him, Will, that I didn’t get to my office until after the police were there.”

“That’s right,” Gentry agreed. “His wife telephoned the report about Lacy. Mike wasn’t there.”

“All right. It could have been his wife,” Pearson pointed out. “How do we know what Lacy told Mrs. Shayne-what she may have found in the dead man’s possession?”

Shayne growled, “My wife doesn’t lie-unless I tell her to. If she had taken anything off Lacy, she would have told me.”

Pearson made an impatient gesture. “I’ve been checking on you this afternoon, Mr. Shayne. Your professional ethics are lax, to put it charitably. I think no one who knows your reputation will seriously doubt that either you or your wife would withhold an article of great value if a dead man stumbled into your office with it.”

Shayne got up slowly, doubling his big, bony fists. In a thick voice he said, “I don’t like that kind of talk from anybody, Pearson.”

Pearson remained seated, unperturbed. He said curtly, “You can’t intimidate an agent of the government, Shayne. You’re a fool to try it. Where is your wife? I’d like to question her.”

The redhead set his teeth together hard, staring down at Pearson. Then he relaxed and poured a drink. Over his shoulder, he said, “I don’t know where Phyl is.”

“Oh, come now, Shayne. There’s no use stalling.”

With his back turned to Pearson, Shayne took a sip of cognac. “I don’t know where Phyl is,” he repeated flatly. “If you can find her you’re welcome to question her.” He sank back into his chair and demanded, “Why don’t you accuse me of going over Morgan after I killed him? Hell! I might have both the pieces of claim check.”

“That,” said Pearson evenly, “is what I was about to bring up. With your reputation, it’s exactly what I would expect.”

Shayne said, “You’ve been listening to Peter Painter. He has been trying to throw the hooks into me for years, but I’ve still got my license to practice.”

“Lacy had a private license, also,” said Pearson. “That didn’t prevent him from double-crossing his government-his country-by selling them out to the enemy.”

“You’re accusing me of doing that?” Shayne grated.

“I’m accusing no one. On the other hand, I’m not taking anyone, a private detective least of all, on faith.”

Shayne started to his feet. Rourke grabbed his arm and soothed him. “Use your head, Mike. Pearson’s got a job to do. A tough job. He’s under a hell of a strain. You can’t blame him for checking every angle. You’d be doing the same thing, yourself.”

Gentry interrupted with a persuasive rumble. “I’ve known Mike Shayne for ten years, Pearson. He’s tough and he’s hell on wheels after the main chance, but he has never lied to me on a main issue. You’re crazy when you compare him to a cheap tin-badge like Lacy. Look, I’ll grant that under other conditions Mike might hold out something if he smelled a profit. But this dynamite of yours is something different. Shayne has been called a lot of names by a lot of people, but only a fool would suspect him of being a traitor. If he knows anything that will help recover those plans before they reach the enemy, he’ll give it to us. I swear he will.” He turned to Shayne. “How about it, Mike?”

“You’re damned right I would, Will,” Shayne answered.

“There you are, Pearson,” Gentry spoke with bluff cordiality. “Does that satisfy you?”

“It will have to,” Pearson said stiffly. He cleared his throat. “I apologize, Shayne, if my deep anxiety led me to suspect you wrongly.”

Shayne said, “That’s all right.”

“Let’s have a drink all around,” Rourke suggested, “to show there’s no hard feelings.” He poured four drinks.

Gentry asked suddenly, “If the stolen plans are as important as you say, Pearson, why are you fooling around taking a chance that they may be grabbed? The FBI certainly carries enough weight to search the baggage rooms for what you want. And it shouldn’t be difficult to locate a parcel or a bag or suitcase that has remained unclaimed for two months.”

“True enough,” Pearson agreed. “That’s the final expedient I’m prepared to take if all else fails. But that would allow the foreign agent who engineered the coup to remain free to continue his subversive work. I had hoped Lacy or Morgan would lead us to him. We didn’t know until yesterday that Miami was the city to which the plans had been shipped. Now, however, with all three pieces of the claim check missing and probably in the hands of the spy ring, I imagine an immediate search of the local baggage rooms is our best bet.” He hesitated, looking at Gentry. “If you’re willing to co-operate-use your local authority-”

“I don’t see any reason to do that yet,” Shayne interposed. “As you say, Pearson, you’d throw away months of labor-your chance to round up the spies. In a case like this it’s important to get the head man. Maybe you’re jumping to a hasty conclusion when you decide that someone has got both Lacy’s and Morgan’s pieces of the baggage receipt. Lacy’s perhaps, but you went over Morgan with a fine-tooth comb. It wasn’t on him. That’s logical enough. He wouldn’t be likely to carry anything that valuable and dangerous around with him. He’d have it stashed. If you can find where Morgan was holed-up-” He paused, his eyes looking from Gentry to Pearson.

Pearson’s face brightened. “That’s good, logical reasoning, Shayne. If we can’t get hold of one piece, we needn’t give up hope.”

“That’s something I’ll get my department to work on,” Gentry said. He finished his drink and got up. “Maybe you can help me, Pearson, knowing what you do about Morgan.”

“Gladly.” Pearson swung to his feet lightly. He looked at Shayne and Tim Rourke. “I have to trust you gentlemen to keep this entire matter absolutely confidential.”

Shayne nodded, and Rourke said, “Not a peep until you give the word.”

On his way to the door with Pearson, Gentry asked, “Coming, Tim?”

“I’m sticking around.” Rourke stretched out his skinny legs and grinned. “There’s more liquor in that bottle than Mike should drink by himself.”

There was a long period of silence in the apartment after the door had closed behind Gentry and Pearson.

Then Shayne yawned and ruffled his coarse red hair with knobby fingers. He said, “I’ve had a tough day, Tim. Two corpses in the space of a few hours is more than I’m accustomed to. Believe I’ll turn in.” He stood up, yawning again.

Rourke did not look at him. He said, “Why don’t you tell Phyllis to come on out, now that they’ve gone.”

Shayne swung around. “What prompted that crack?”

Rourke shook his head. “It won’t wash, Mike. Why did you tell them you didn’t know where Phyllis was?”

“I don’t.”

“Yet you’re going to bed-just like that-and you don’t know where your wife is. You were in love with the gal last week.” Rourke popped his fingers loudly.

“All right,” Shayne snapped. “I’ll admit I am worried about her. I thought maybe you’d beat it and let me go on about my business if I said I was going to bed.”

Rourke shook his head sadly. His eyes were anxious. He said, “Maybe I shouldn’t butt in-but I’m afraid you’re going over your depth, Mike. Damn it, this is different from the other cases you’ve horsed around with. We’re at war. Vital plans for our defense are at stake. According to Pearson, those stolen plans mean a hell of a lot to this country.”

Shayne stood very still. “What’s on your mind?”

Rourke sighed. “I know Phyllis is here. Where is she? Under the bed? In the closet? You’ve got her hid out and I admit I don’t like it. Why, Mike? In the name of God, why were you afraid to have Pearson question her about Lacy?”

“That’s what you think?”

“What else can I think? You lied about her not being here.”

“What makes you think so?” Shayne’s voice remained dangerously even and low.

“Hell, I may not be a G-man but I’ve got eyes.” Rourke pointed to the open door leading into the bedroom. “I’ve been in and out of this apartment a lot since you and Phyllis were married. She’s one of the neatest housekeepers I’ve ever known. She’d never go out and leave the bed mussed and unmade. And I’ve never seen her clothes thrown over the back of a chair before, as many times as I’ve been around.”

“Maybe she went off in a hurry.” Shayne was wearily vicious.

“Yeh-she might. But I don’t believe she did.”

Shayne said, “That’s not much evidence to call a man a liar on.”

“All right.” Rourke made a gesture of disgust. He stood up and faced Shayne. “Here’s something else. Morgan was killed with a toy pistol. A twenty-two. That’s not your kind of a gun. It’s the kind a girl carries in her handbag.”

“Have you seen Phyl carrying one like it?”

“No. But if there was one like that around the place she’d be the one to use it-or some other dame.”

“You’re talking a lot without saying very much,” Shayne told his old friend.

“All right, think of an answer for this. Morgan had two bullets in his brain, Mike. I’ve been around with you plenty. You’re going to have to talk fast to make me believe you wasted bullet number two when number one killed the guy instantly.”

“So?”

“So it reads that you didn’t have hold of the gun at all. You’re covering up for Phyllis. There wasn’t time for her to get out of the apartment before Gentry arrived, so you told her to hide while you took the rap. Hell, Mike!” Rourke raved wildly, “I don’t blame you. The guy probably busted in while Phyl was in bed. She had to shoot him. I don’t doubt that at all. And you’d naturally want to keep her out of the picture. That’s all right, too. But you know me. If that’s the way it was, why not say so? I can pull the zipper on my mouth any old time.”

Shayne hesitated. He said, “You’re going to wish you had gone on and not played detective, Tim.”

Rourke shook his head stubbornly. “The only thing I don’t like is the way you lied to keep Pearson from questioning Phyl. I’d hate to go on thinking there was anything phony about that.”

Shayne’s face was bleak. He said, “I’m getting tired of being called a liar.”

He turned and strode to the closet inside the bedroom. He jerked it open and said, “You might as well come on out now, Helen,” and stepped aside to let Rourke see her emerge from her hiding-place, wearing Phyllis’s blue silk nightgown.