Too Friendly, Too Dead

16

“These men say they are police officers, Sir,” Albert replied.

“Policemen? At this time of night?” Rodman lifted one eyebrow ironically. “Suppose you show Albert your credentials before you come any farther inside my house.”

“I didn’t say we were cops,” Shayne told him. “I said we’re here on police business. I’m a private investigator from Miami, and this is my associate, Mr. Rourke.” He got out his wallet and flipped it open to show the butler his I.D. card.

“A private detective?” said Rodman. “If this is police business, why aren’t the police here to conduct it?”

“You can have them if you prefer. In a matter of minutes,” Shayne told him. “I’m giving you a chance to answer some questions privately which may obviate calling in the police at all.”

“His credentials seem to be in order, Sir,” Albert said nervously, handing Shayne’s wallet back to him.

“Very well then.” Rutherford Rodman descended the stairs slowly, lowering the barrel of his pistol and letting it dangle at the end of his arm. “Show them into the library, Albert.”

The butler switched on another light and led them down a short hall on the right to a large, gloomy room with its walls lined with books. Rodman followed them in and crossed to a fireside chair and laid his automatic on a table beside it. He said, “That will be all, Albert, but remain on call.”

Albert said, “Very well, Mr. Rodman,” and soft-footed out.

“Now,” said Rodman. “What is this about? You say your name is Shayne?”

The redhead sat down in a chair near Rodman and nodded. “That’s right.” Rourke unobtrusively took a chair slightly behind Rodman and took some copy paper from his pocket.

“I’m investigating a murder that occurred here on the Beach last night,” Shayne explained amiably to his host. “I think you may be able to give us some valuable information. The dead man is Jerome Fitzgilpin.”

Rodman nodded thoughtfully, making a tent of his ten fingers in front of him. Not a flicker of expression showed that the name meant anything particular to him. “I read about it in the paper,” he said indifferently. “Really, I don’t know what sort of information you expect me to have.”

“You knew him, didn’t you?”

“A man named Fitzgilpin?” Rodman looked surprised. “Not that I am aware of.”

“You knew him in New York a year and a half ago well enough to ask him to be a witness at your first wedding.”

Rodman sat rigidly still, looking down at his hands and pressing the palms tightly together.

“Was that his name? The little fellow who stood up with us? I didn’t even know he lived in Miami, and his name has slipped my mind entirely.”

“Wouldn’t you like to change that to: You didn’t know he lived in Miami until you saw a write-up about him in the paper two weeks ago?”

Rodman looked up with a flash of anger. “No, I wouldn’t. What makes you suggest that?”

Shayne shrugged. “You do admit a former marriage in New York to a girl named Rose McNally at which Fitzgilpin was a witness?”

“I’ve stated I don’t recall the man’s name,” snapped Rodman. “Possibly it was Fitzgilpin.”

“And,” Shayne went on smoothly, “you admit you concealed your first marriage from your present wife?”

“Is that a crime? I consider it wholly a private affair what I may or may not have told my wife.”

“I suspect it was a bit of perjury,” Shayne told him cheerfully. “I believe you have to swear to the facts when you take out a wedding license. But we’re not interested in perjury. How about bigamy, Mr. Rodman?”

“I don’t know what you mean. I was legally divorced from Rose, of course.”

“Without her knowledge?”

“I’m sure she was served with the necessary papers. It was a Mexican divorce.”

“Do you have a copy of the decree handy?”

“See here, Shayne. I don’t like your attitude nor your questions. Both are insulting. What on earth has any of this to do with the murder you claim to be investigating?”

“Where were you last night?”

“Do I need an alibi?”

“The police are going to require one from you.”

“When they require it, I will produce one. In the meantime, I think I have had about enough of this.”

Shayne said, “Suit yourself. But if we leave, don’t bother going back to bed. The police will be here within fifteen minutes.”

For a long moment, Rodman’s glance locked with his. Then he relaxed and said sulkily, “If we can get this over without the police, naturally I prefer it.”

Shayne said again, “Where were you last night?”

“At what time?”

“From ten to midnight?”

“I was upstairs asleep in my own bed. I had a slight headache and I took a strong sleeping potion at nine-thirty and retired.”

“A lot of people seem to have conveniently taken sleeping pills last night. Can anybody swear you were at home between ten and twelve? Your wife? Servants?”

“My wife was out when I went to sleep. I haven’t inquired exactly when she returned and came to bed, but I assume it was not much later than ten. The servants know I went to bed early. Unfortunately,” he added sarcastically, “they are not in the habit of peeking in every half hour or so to ascertain whether I have remained in bed or slipped out.”

“What sort of sleeping pills do you take?” Rodman’s mouth dropped open in surprise. “What on earth has that to do with it?”

“Do you mind telling me?”

“Of course not. Do you also wish to know my favorite after-dinner drink and the breakfast food I prefer?”

“No. Just the brand of sleeping pills.”

“I don’t know. It’s a special prescription I got from a doctor years ago. Quite a strong drug, I believe. I’ve had the prescription refilled occasionally over the years.”

“Sodium amytal?”

“What?”

“Is that the name of the drug?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea.”

“Would you mind getting your bottle and letting me see the prescription?”

“Yes, I would mind.” Rodman was suddenly shaken with rage. He said through clenched teeth, “This is a monstrous invasion of privacy. Unless you explain at once what all these questions have to do with murder, I shall ask you to leave at once.”

Shayne said, “Jerome Fitzgilpin was murdered by an overdose of sodium amytal. And so was your former wife two months ago… also here in Miami.”

“Rose? You can’t mean it. Dead? And in Miami?” He rose to his feet and strode back and forth in agitation while Shayne studied him closely.

Shayne said, “She was blackmailing you, wasn’t she, Rodman? Here you were, sitting pretty at last with a wife worth several million dollars, and Rose was a threat to it. So you killed her.”

“No! That’s a filthy lie. I haven’t seen Rose for more than a year. Or had any contact with her.”

Shayne said evenly, “I don’t believe that, Rodman. I can prove she came to see you in New York immediately after your marriage at sea and you promised her money for her silence if she would come to Miami to collect it.”

“You can prove nothing of the sort because it simply is not true.”

Shayne abandoned that tack for a moment because, of course, he could not prove the accusation. He said, “All right. Let’s take what you do admit up to now. You don’t deny a previous marriage in New York which you concealed from your present wife?”

“No. I don’t deny that. How can I? It’s a matter of record. It was a foolish mistake which I regretted within a week after marrying her.”

“As soon as you discovered she wasn’t a Philadelphia heiress and couldn’t pay the hotel bill you’d run up at the Commodore while courting her?”

Rodman slumped back into his chair sullenly. “I was a fool to be taken in by her,” he admitted. “I just happened to be in a cash bind at the time… with all my liquid assets tied up. It would have been only a matter of time… as I tried to explain to her.”

“When you offered to pimp for her so she could earn money to pay your hotel bill?” asked Shayne coldly.

“Goddamn it, Shayne. I don’t have to take that kind of talk from any man.” Rodman’s eyes were hot and his right hand shot out to lift the heavy pistol from the table beside him. “You’re goading me beyond the limit a man can endure,” he warned the detective through clenched teeth.

Shayne leaned back and grinned mockingly. “While you’re about it, tell me how much progress you’ve made in liquidating your industrial holdings in the Mid-west since you’ve been married to Betsy Ann Durand.”

The automatic wavered in Rodman’s grasp. He said thickly, “None of this has the slightest thing to do with murder… which I understand is your purported reason to be here.”

“Two murders,” Shayne reminded him. “Your first wife and one of the witnesses to that first wedding. Two murders,” he repeated grimly. “Both by use of sodium amytal and within two months of each other. I strongly suspect that an analysis of your sleeping pills will show them to have a sodium amytal base. Whether we can prove murder against you or not,” he went on dispassionately, “you must realize by this time that you’re washed up in Miami, and have lost every chance you ever had of getting your hands on the Durand millions. How do you think your wife is going to react to the knowledge that you are a penniless adventurer who deserted his first wife because she refused to prostitute herself to pay your bills, and then married her on false pretenses? If you are legally married to her,” he added. “Personally, I doubt that you ever bothered to get a Mexican divorce. Even in Mexico these days there has to be the written consent of both parties, and I’m quite certain Rose never gave her consent. I don’t think a woman like Betsy Ann Durand is going to take all that lying down, Rodman.”

“Leave Betsy Ann out of this discussion,” panted Rodman hoarsely. “She’s my wife and she trusts me implicitly. You can’t drive a wedge between us.”

“Maybe not,” said Shayne. “Somehow, though, I find myself doubting the implicit trust of a wife who recently sought to take out a large insurance policy on your life without your knowledge.”

“What sort of nonsense is that?”

“It isn’t nonsense. I have a sworn statement to prove it. The funny thing is, Rodman, that she went to Jerome Fitzgilpin with her proposition. How do you explain that?”

“Not Betsy Ann. There’s some mistake.”

“There’s no mistake about it. The only question in my mind is why she did it. Is she already getting tired of you, Rodman? Has she discovered the truth… that you just married her for her money?”

“That’s absolutely false.” Rodman was breathing heavily, his handsome features contorted. “She loves me devotedly. I’m the first man who ever…” He paused suddenly, his face working, and Shayne finished for him mockingly:

“… the first man who ever proposed marriage to her. Naturally, she was flattered. In the beginning, at least. But how do you explain her attempt to take out insurance on your life without your knowledge? That’s hardly the action of a loving and devoted wife.”

“I don’t believe a single word of it.”

“I can prove it,” Shayne told him relentlessly. “Tell me why she chose Fitzgilpin to go to, Rodman. It’s a hell of a curious coincidence that of all the insurance men in Miami Beach she should go to the one who just happened to have been a witness to your previous wedding.”

“I don’t believe it,” he said again stubbornly.

“It’s a matter of record. How do you suppose she’ll explain it when I ask her?”

“Leave Betsy Ann out of this.”

“She’s in it,” Shayne told him. “Up to her neck. Unless you want to make a full confession and explain how you conned her into going to Fitzgilpin to discover for certain whether he was the same man whom you met at the Commodore Hotel in New York a year and a half ago. Because that’s what she did, and goddamn it to hell, if she doesn’t have a logical explanation for what she did, we’ll charge her with being an accessory before the fact.”

Rutherford Rodman leaped to his feet, baring his teeth and waving the heavy automatic excitedly.

“Get out!” he shouted. “I don’t know what your stinking game is, but I don’t want any part of it. If you dare come around saying any of these things to my wife…”

“What sort of things is the man saying Rutherford?” inquired an icy voice from the hall doorway. They all turned to see a tall, angular woman framed there. Her hair was stringy and her plain face was devoid of makeup. She clutched a blue woolen dressing gown tightly about her, and her lips were thinned against slightly protruding teeth.