The water came to a boil, and she filled the cups. She gave Shayne one and sat down across the table. “There’s cream and sugar, if you want it, or maybe there is.”
“Black’s fine,” Shayne said.
“He made a pass at me at the time, I might add. I nearly chewed off his arm.”
“Painter?” Shayne said incredulously.
“He thought he’d found something available. I wasn’t that available, thank God, but it may explain this high-and-mighty-and-don’t-bother-me act of his lately. Where was I? Well, after his brilliant police work proved that Sam wasn’t with me that night, Sam said he’d tell the truth. He was sticking up a gas station in Alabama, with another guy. A great law-abiding citizen I’m married to, but such is life. They stuck up a few other stores and hit a small payroll, and that’s where the twenty thousand came from, that they found in his suitcase.
“I didn’t exactly believe him, myself. Somebody actually did stick up that gas station, though, and they took Sam up for an identification. Well, you know eye-witnesses. When you want them, they’re half blind in one eye and all-blind in the other. When you don’t want them, they’ve got twenty-twenty vision and a wonderful imagination. And this gas-station guy in Alabama said he’d never set eyes on Sam in his life. That kind of did it, as far as I was concerned.”
“Were you on good terms with him at the time?”
“Why shouldn’t I be? He played around, I played around, but we had a very good marriage, what there was of it. They were always busting him for something, and I didn’t exactly go into holy orders every time they turned the key on him for a few years. So I said to him, Sam, if you’re going to insist on that alibi, who were you robbing with? Because produce him, I said, let’s see what he has to say. But he wouldn’t. He said the guy had two felonies already, and the next time was for keeps. Well, it was his own fault, I said, if he went out sticking up places with a habitual hanging over his head, but Sam wouldn’t see it that way. Now nobody’s that public-spirited. I mean with the rap Sam was up against himself, and I made up my mind it was all talk, he wanted to cop a plea to armed robbery and get out of murder. Except it didn’t work.”
“How much did he pay the lawyer?”
“The court allowed something out of that twenty thousand, not a hell of a lot. All right. This letter. If you want to know the truth, I’d been through those trunks before, looking for something that might show where he’d stashed away all that extra dough, granted he actually robbed the with a jury? I didn’t find anything. This time I was going to give it one more run-through before I called the junk man Beach Trust, which I thought he had. Who am I to disagree to pick it up.
“And I found a letter signed Fred, all folded and rumpled up. I don’t even know why he happened to keep it, just one of those accidents. I know the damn thing by heart. Fred, whoever he was, said he’d meet Sam in such-and-such a hotel in Mobile, and not to chicken out because he had a couple of girls lined up. Then there was some more nothing stuff—he ran into so-and-so the other day, he wanted to send regards, you can see why I skipped over it the first time. The big point was, the date. It was dated three days before the bank bust, and it said for Sam to be in Mobile three days later.
“But there was no year on it, just the month and the day, and it could have been some different year, for all I knew. But it was the first thing gave me the idea he might be telling the truth. The next time I was visiting him, I threw in some innocent little question, like did Fred ever get in touch with him? He said who, Fred Milburn? And then he shut up fast. I asked around about Fred Milburn, and it turned out he actually had two felony convictions going against him, so that part of it fits.”
“Is he a local man?” Shayne said.
“From South Carolina, but he doesn’t stay put. I went up to that Mobile hotel and paid five bucks to look at the register for that day. Nothing. Naturally the boys wouldn’t use their right names, but I couldn’t see any handwriting that looked like my Sam’s. Of course I’m no expert, and Sam never wrote me many letters. What I had to do was find Milburn and turn him in, so the cops could try him on those old stick-ups. I know it’s kind of cold by now, but I thought maybe Milburn had caught that habitual and he wouldn’t have anything to lose.
“So that’s what I took to Painter, the letter and the name. You’d think a cop could take it from there, because somebody with that many convictions, the cops tend to keep track of where he is and what he’s doing. And I practically had to beat Painter over the head before he’d touch it. What’s wrong with the guy? I gave him a week, and went back to see what he’d found out, if anything. He put me in the revolving door and revolved me right out. Grim. I came back the next day and the day after that and the day after that. They’re getting sick of me there in the upper brackets. The boys on the desk don’t mind. We kid around.”
“What made you think of Mrs. Heminway?”
“She’s a doll, isn’t-she? Well, the lawyer said he couldn’t do a thing through the courts without more to go on, and I was wondering how I could light a fire under Painter. I kept seeing her name in the paper, raising money for charity or something. I could use a little charity myself. We were pretty much in the same boat. She lost her husband. I lost mine. She and her poppa are the kind of taxpayers who can put the screws on a public servant and get a little action, or that’s what I thought. We had a good cry together, and she said she’d try. She landed on Painter like a ton of bricks, and to my great surprise, he gave her the same run-around he gave me. So what’s the point in being rich?”
“Can you think of any reason why somebody would want to shoot her?”
“God, Mr. Shayne, it really beats me.” A troubled look came into her eyes, the first sign of uncertainty Shayne had seen her show. “When she was just a name in the paper I thought I could use her to hit Painter with, and why not? The widow and the widow-to-be, it made a terrific combination, and I still don’t know why it didn’t work. But I don’t want anything to happen to her on my account. I don’t know how to say it. She’s terrific, that’s all.
“And don’t let that way of hers fool you. She wouldn’t pass out free samples, but if she liked somebody she’d be sexy as hell, you can take my word for it. Don’t get me wrong, that’s a compliment. She’s human. I thought at first Fred Milburn must be mixed up in this thing this morning, but what kind of sense—? No, the thing is, the dough. If Sam didn’t pull the Beach Trust job, whoever did sure as hell didn’t pay any taxes on it.”
Shayne looked down into his coffee cup. There was nothing left but the dregs. He swirled them around, but they didn’t fall into any recognizable pattern.
“I’m going to ask you a touchy question, Mrs. Harris.”
“You might as well call me Norma,” she said, breaking in, “especially if you’re going to start asking touchy questions.”
“Okay, Norma. What’s your main interest here, your husband or the money?”
She laughed. “You think that’s going to hurt my feelings? I can be interested in more than one thing at a time. If Sam did it and I can get a postponement, that gives me more time to worm out of him where he put it. And if somebody else did, maybe I can get him off and beat the cops to the dough. Why not? That’s why I got so enthusiastic when Rosie suggested hiring you. I know your reputation—and don’t you get your feelings hurt.
“But the story I hear on you is that when something extra comes your way, you don’t hand it over to the Salvation Army. I’m not thinking of the full amount, you understand. I’m a dreamer, but I don’t dream in Cinemascope. I know I couldn’t get away with it. I’m thinking about the percentage from the insurance company, and what I was going to suggest—if you get that percentage on the strength of information I give you, wouldn’t half the recovery fee be about right?”
She said quickly as Shayne frowned, “Which doesn’t mean I want Sam to get the chair. I’ve got the kind of mind that can think ahead. If Sam’s broke when he gets out, he’s just going rob
bing again.”
Shayne gave a short laugh. “Twenty-five percent would be generous. And if I get Sam off, which looks pretty doubtful at the moment, I’ll give it to him, not you. You won’t mind so long as it’s in the family.”
“You bastard,” she said. “A third?”
“A quarter. And I hope you realize we’re cutting up a percentage of something that may not exist.”
“Maybe, but I’ve got a feeling. If anybody can do it, you can.”
She stood up, smoothing her skirt down over her well-rounded hips, and came around the table. She touched Shayne’s cheek. Bending down, she kissed him on the mouth.
“You’re a nice-looking guy, Mike,” she said, “and I hope I can talk you into giving that thirty-three and a third percent to me and not to Sam. He’s not very good with money. He’d just throw it away.”
“Twenty-five,” Shayne said.
Straightening, she let one breast graze his face. “Hell, twenty-five. And that doesn’t mean I’m not thinking of Sam. It’s mixed up together, and I think maybe you’re one of the few people who might be able to understand it. Now you’ve got my mind running along the wrong lines.”
“All I’ve done is sit here and drink coffee,” Shayne said.
“Yeah. All you’ve done is sit there drinking coffee with pants on. How many men do you think I’ve had up here to give coffee to in the last three years?”
“You don’t want me to answer that, Norma.”
“No, I guess I don’t. I’d be insulted no matter what you said. I wish we had the time to give this more attention, but if we’re going to make any money, you’ve got to get out of here.”
She went back to her own side of the table. “I found Fred Milburn. And why that comic-opera gumshoe Painter couldn’t find him two weeks ago is something I’d like to have somebody explain to me. I called up everybody I could think of, and asked if they knew what had happened to good old Fred Milburn, because I had something I thought would interest him. Nobody did, but I told them to contact me if they heard anything, and this morning one of them did. He’s in the slammer. If it wasn’t serious, it’d be funny. He picked up a dozen parking tickets over a couple of years, and he threw them in the wastebasket. He’s doing thirty days hard labor, and that’s where you’ll find him, in the county jail. But this is the twenty-ninth day, so as much as I hate to say it, you’d better get moving.”
“In a minute,” Shayne said thoughtfully. “Do you know if Painter checked on that Mobile hotel? There must be pictures of Milburn he could use. Or did he put out a flier?”
“As far as I know he didn’t do a damn thing but sit on his butt, if you’ll pardon the expression.”
“Now don’t be jumpy, Norma. If Milburn’s in jail he won’t run away before I get there. Your lawyer’s cockeyed—he doesn’t need any more facts than you’ve given me to get Sam a postponement. If he drags his heels we’ll get another lawyer. The town’s full of lawyers who’d handle it for the publicity. But that’s just half of it. You’ve been thinking about this a lot longer than I have. If Sam didn’t rob the bank, who did?”
“I’ve been thinking about it, all right,” Norma said. “I keep asking myself questions, like why did George Heminway pick that one night to work late? Things like that happen, God knows, but maybe it wasn’t an accident, huh? In my experience, who goes into a bank these days without somebody inside steering them? The way the alarm was knocked out—I know damn well Sam didn’t do that. Other times he always paid an electrician good money to take care of the wiring. Well, you’re the Professor. You figure it out.”
“Have you run into Rose’s father?”
“Just to say hello to. He was itching to ask the butler to show me out, not that they have a butler. But he didn’t like his daughter to get mixed up with unsavory characters.” She laughed without rancor. “Rose said he practically tore up the scenery after I left.”
“Does Baltimore mean anything to you? Did Sam ever pull any jobs that far north?”
“No, he always stayed south of the Mason-Dixon line. He’s got an accent you can cut with a knife, and he was afraid it made him stick out.”
“Did he ever belong to the Truckers Union?”
“What’s that got to do with anything? Hell, no—Sam’s strong against unions. He thinks a good man can always get ahead on his own. I know he picked a funny way to prove it, but that’s how he is.”
“Do you know if he ever borrowed money from a shark on the Beach named Sticky Horvath?”
“I doubt it. If he did he never told me.”
He thought for another moment. “Norma, what were you doing last night? Where were you between eight and nine?”
“Right here,” she said promptly. “All by my lonesome.” When he looked at her skeptically she said, “Well, I was. And what was happening between eight and nine other places?”
“I’m trying to find that out.”
“Okay, be mysterious. What do I do now, Mike, go to Painter with this or not?”
He stood up. “Better not.”
“I didn’t think so.” She came to the door with him. “I want to keep this from Sam as long as I can. I mean that I’m the one who found Milburn. It may be hard to believe, but I really think he’d let them turn on the juice before he gave them anybody’s name. I’m not in that league myself, but maybe it’s not such a bad way to be. And finally, can you loan me fifty bucks?”
Shayne snorted. He took a ten out of his wallet and gave it to her. “Be thinking about that Truckers’ connection. Maybe something will come to you.”
Chapter Ten
Michael Shayne angrily ground out his cigarette in the nearest ashtray, which was already overflowing. Three of the butts were his. He was wasting too much time. He threw aside the ancient copy of Life, the only magazine in the waiting room, uncrossed his long legs and stood up. The secretary at the desk near the door, a gray-haired woman with a masculine haircut and severe horn-rimmed glasses, continued to type as he approached.
“In confidence,” Shayne said, “is the warden really busy, or is this to make me realize what a big man he is?”
The secretary’s fingers lifted from the keys, and the corner of her mouth moved, “In confidence, Mr. Shayne, I only work here.”
“I’d forgotten how hard it is to get into jail when you want to get in.”
A buzzer sounded. “That may be for you, Mr. Shayne. Excuse me.”
She opened the door to the warden’s office and looked in, then opened it all the way. “You may go in now.”
Shayne gave her a half-wink as he passed. The warden looked up from an open folder, but he didn’t get out of his swivel chair or offer to shake hands. He was a plump man in glasses, and looked like an insurance salesman who hasn’t ever succeeded in selling much insurance.
“So you’re interested in one of my thirty-day men, are you?” he snapped. “Why?”
Shayne sat down without being asked to do so. “I’ve been retained to investigate a series of small stick-ups a few years ago in southern Alabama, among other things. I have information that Milburn may be involved.”
“You’re no novice, Shayne. You surely must know that there isn’t a prison warden in the country who would turn over one of his prisoners for questioning in a police matter. What’s your real angle?”
Shayne said carefully, “I understand his thirty days are about up. I’d like to find out exactly when you’re letting him out, so I won’t miss him. I had a hard time finding him, and I don’t want him to disappear again.”
“He won’t disappear.” He tapped on the desk with the sharp end of a pencil, reversed it and tapped with the eraser. “We’re through with him here at noon tomorrow. But you can save yourself a trip. I’ve got a hold-order on him. He’s being called for.”
Shayne relaxed visibly. “That’s fine. Sooner or later the law of averages catches up with everybody, even Petey Painter, and he does something right. That’s who’s picking him up?”
The w
arden looked at that question from all angles before deciding to answer. “I think it’s in order for me to give out that information. We’re turning the man over on an armed robbery warrant.”
“I wasn’t sure Petey was that up to date. Did he just have the one session with him?”
The warden threw down his pencil and looked at Shayne from beneath lowered brows. “What is this, a fishing expedition, by any chance?”
The redhead grinned. “You might call it that. You know Lieutenant Wing, don’t you?”
“Sure, I know Joe Wing. Why?”
“I didn’t think you’d make a prisoner available unless I had a cop with me, so I asked Wing to meet me here. You kept me waiting so long he ought to be showing up any minute. He’ll be in a hurry. Could you get Milburn down in the visitors’ room so we won’t have any more delays?”
“Dear God!” the warden exclaimed. “You’d think I had nothing else to do but run errands for the Miami Beach police. Milburn’s working. He owes the county one more day of hard labor. He’ll be delighted to talk to you boys about something that happened a few years ago. Just delighted. He’ll talk to you steadily all day, till he hears the five o’clock quitting whistle. A hell of a way to run a jail, is all I have to say.” He stabbed a button on his desk, and when his secretary put her head in again he said, “Fred Mil-burn. They can probably find him in the chair shop. Have him brought to Interrogation.”
“Yes, sir. Lieutenant Wing is waiting.”
“Send him in.”
The warden not only stood up for Wing, he shook hands. Wing shot Shayne a glance. The redhead said, “Did Petey say anything about getting out a warrant for somebody named Fred Milburn?”
“Not to me,” Wing said.
“It’s only verbal so far,” the warden said. “He didn’t want to go through all the rigamarole out of writing up a transfer. I gave him the release date, so he could make the arrest as the guy walked out. Sit down. What are you up to, Joe, if it’s not too inquisitive? I never thought I’d see the day when Painter’s lieutenants were going around checking up on him.”
Murder in Haste Page 9
