GEORGE: “Okay, the light and all. We didn’t want to take the time to look into every car. You know I’m sorry, because I don’t like to be associated with any kind of goof. But no real harm was done, was it?”
OLSON: “Don’t you realize you killed her?”
Lewellyn looked at Shayne. A crackling came from the loudspeaker.
GEORGE: “No, Oscar. No. You’re wrong.”
OLSON: “Your man used a pair of brass knuckles.”
GEORGE: “I know that. He asked if it was okay. But he’s careful. He came to me recommended. Are you sure? Is it official?”
OLSON (after a moment): “No; this is according to Shayne. I believed it.”
GEORGE: “Shayne! Was that who that was? Is he working for Zion?”
OLSON: “He thinks he’s working for me now. He woke me up and threw it at me. And he’s just tricky enough… Find out if she’s really dead, George, and get back to me. Fast.”
GEORGE: “I don’t know where they took her.”
OLSON: “Call one of the papers. If she’s dead, they ought to have it by now. Say you were there at the drive-in and saw the fight. Give them Shayne’s description. And don’t, for God’s sake, give your right name.’
They clicked off.
Shayne said, “Was that the voice that called Mandy Pitt and told her to meet him at the drive-in?”
“Nothing like it. I didn’t have the recorder going then; so I can’t play it for you.”
“I’ll wait for this next call; then I’ve got to be moving. Can you stay awake if I pay you another two hundred and fifty bucks? I want to get everything Olson says on tape. I’ll call in every hour or so.”
He was facing the rear of the truck, and he saw the rear handle turn and unlatch. He reached inside his coat; but before he could do anything more, the door slammed back; and an unshaven, dark man with a bristling haircut poked a gun into the truck.
“All right,” he said curtly. “If you’ve got a court order for this setup, I want to see it.”
Lewellyn said lazily, “Did we remember to get a court order, Mike?”
“We don’t need permission to tap somebody else’s illegal tap.”
“Get out, and put your hands against the side of the truck,” the man said.
Lewellyn looked at Shayne. “You know I’d rather not do that, Mike…”
Shayne came forward, unable to stand erect under the low ceiling. “No, we’re caught. We can pass the fine along to the client. But we’d better see some identification. People have been going around impersonating police officers lately.”
“United States Treasury,” the man said and reached for his hip. There was a faint pulse from the loudspeaker as a call entered Oscar’s line. “Turn that off,” the man said, bringing out a leather folder. “I’m closing you down.”
Shayne uncoiled, throwing himself feet-first at the open door. Still in the air, he kicked upward with one foot, across with the other. He was aiming at the gun. He didn’t get it completely, but his flying body carried the man backward to the street. They landed together. The treasury agent got the worst of it, being underneath. Shayne relieved him of the gun.
“Now shut up. I want to listen to this.”
Lewellyn stepped up the volume slightly. George was telling Oscar that the bad news was indeed true: Mandy Pitt had been dead before she was removed from the car.
OLSON: “Now I really believe it.”
GEORGE: “But it was an accident! That’s all in the world it was. She must have jerked the wrong way. Oscar, I’m sick about this.”
OLSON: “You’ll be more than sick if you can’t do something about it. Think for a minute.”
GEORGE: “Oscar, I am. I wish it hadn’t happened. I wondered about Turkey, but he begged me for a chance. He’s the one who has to take the consequences.”
OLSON: “Don’t be dumb. You’re all three in it. Whose car did you use?”
GEORGE: “We stole it. At least we took that precaution.”
OLSON: “How many people know you’ve been working for me?”
GEORGE: “You said to keep it between us. I didn’t even tell my girlfriend. I’m like the grave; you know that about me. Did you ever have anything to complain about on that score?”
OLSON: “The best plea you could get on this would be manslaughter.”
GEORGE: “That’s what I’m afraid of. I was thinking our best bet might be if Turkey and me start travelling. But I can’t get in touch with him right away. He’s already started that other thing. I could meet him down there, and we could head across to Fort Myers…”
OLSON: “Think about it some more. This took place in the dark. Shayne’s the only one who knows anybody’s name. He works by himself.”
GEORGE (unenthusiastically): “I follow your reasoning, but that could be easier said than done. It’s a big town.”
OLSON: “I steered him in the direction of the St. Albans. You can beat him there. He won’t be expecting anything. He has a piece of paper on him with my name on it. Get it.”
GEORGE: “Oscar, with somebody else I might entertain it; but you don’t know this cat’s reputation. Not to speak of the fact that with this knee…”
OLSON: “Do it, George. It’s your one possible out. You made a mistake. This is the only chance you’ll get to correct it. If you strike out on this one, don’t expect any help from me. Legal, financial, or otherwise.”
He broke the connection. Lewellyn said, “You seem to be hot, Mike. Didn’t you say you were going?”
Shayne took some of the pressure off the treasury man and read the name on the card inside his leather folder.
“Henry Morrison. Did you recognize the voices, Morrison?”
“Oscar Olson. I don’t know George’s last name. Olson has been paying him two thousand a week for the last four weeks. You’re Mike Shayne? I’m sorry, but I’ll have to ask you to pick up your wire and move along.”
“Not yet, Morrison. Things are beginning to pop.”
“I gather that. Nevertheless, you’re calling attention to my installation here. Our case on tax evasion isn’t quite complete.”
“If we’re too conspicuous here, we can move inside with you.”
Morrison shook his head primly. “Out of the question, I’m afraid. I could get into serious trouble if I made any informal arrangement of that kind.”
Lewellyn put in, “Don’t you realize they were talking about a murder?”
“That has nothing to do with us.”
“Then I’m afraid we’ll have to put you in restraint,” Shayne said.
“I expected it. I don’t leave you much choice, do I?”
He climbed into the truck by himself and allowed them to tie him up. “From your point of view, wouldn’t it be a good idea to get me drunk? You want me to be thoroughly helpless. Force it on me.”
“Have you got anything to drink here, Lew?”
Lewellyn admitted to a fifth of blended whiskey.
“Give him a drink,” Shayne said, “but don’t let him fall asleep. If we can’t get this bastard Olson on anything else, I want to be sure they hit him with a tax rap.
Chapter 12
Lewellyn called while Shayne was still on the causeway to Miami Beach.
“Outgoing call from Olson. Female voice says hello. Olson says, ‘Is he there? Put him on.’ Sleepy male voice says hello. Oscar: ‘Let’s be careful. This phone is okay,’—little does he know—‘but I don’t know about yours. I think we’d better talk.’ Pause. ‘Where?’ ‘Same place. I’m leaving now. Don’t say anything to what’s her name.’ ‘Do you think I’m out of my mind?’”
Shayne had a cigarette in his mouth. He lit it while he was thinking.
“That doesn’t give us much. All right, thanks.”
“One thing, though. The voice at the other end—the guy Olson was talking to. It’s the same guy who called the girl at the club earlier. Mandy Pitt. Told her to meet him at the drive-in.”
Shayne hit the brakes.
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
“Let’s have that dialogue again.”
Lewellyn repeated the conversation. Shayne swore softly. He was on the wrong causeway, the Julia Tuttle. The Venetian Causeway to Pelican Island lay a mile and a half south, and he would have needed a helicopter to pick up Oscar as he left the club.
Throwing his cigarette away, he told his operator to get him the St. Albans and ask for the room where he had left Timothy Rourke with the physical education teacher from New York.
As soon as Rourke heard his friend’s voice, he said quickly, “Are you using the car phone? Hang up; I’ll call you back.”
Shayne continued to Miami Beach and parked on Arthur Godfrey Road. The phone buzzed.
“It’s okay now; I’m in a booth,” Rourke said. “I’ve been seen going into that room, and it’s known that you’re a friend of mine. Your name hasn’t come up yet, as far as I know; but they’re working on it.”
“How far have they got?”
“They know Kate was drinking downstairs. They’re talking to the bartender now. I’d say there’ll be a call out on you before too much longer.”
“I was hoping for a couple more hours. What else?”
“Lots of talk. I don’t think they’ve come across your clothes in the closet yet. But about that bottle of bourbon. You know—the gift-wrapped quart of Old Granddad. The hotel definitely didn’t supply it, just the fruit and the flowers. Sometimes they toss in a bottle of champagne to the big names. Never whiskey. But! A room-service waiter saw a broad in the corridor yesterday at like five P.M. carrying that kind of package. She had glasses on. Long hair. Does this help?”
“I know who it was. Her name’s Mandy Pitt, and she was killed in a drive-in movie an hour ago. I don’t have time to fill you in. Did you talk to anybody about Keko Brannon?”
“Yeah, I’ve been on the phone, neglecting my social obligations. Jane’s watching an old Brannon movie on television; and what a female that was, Mike. Even on that little screen, she lights up the goddamn room. How do they get so screwed up? I’ve got one small nugget out of all that telephone time. It was only a rumor, and it may not be true. That Marcus Zion was banging her. Not Larry—that would be forgivable. The accountants aren’t supposed to sleep with the stars; and that’s what Marcus is basically—an accountant. The connection was completely kept out of the papers. It’s very stale gossip… Hold on, one of the Beach detectives.”
Shayne heard a muffled off-mouthpiece exchange.
Rourke’s voice: “Shayne? Sure, I run into Shayne all the time. I think he said something about a poker game tonight. I’m talking to the paper. Let me finish, and I’ll give you some numbers you can call.”
The door closed. “Did you hear that, Mike? You are now officially wanted.”
“And not just by the cops. I’d better talk to my client and find out what he wants me to do now. That’s if Marcus still considers himself my client. Will you give him a message for me, Tim? Wake him up if you have to. I’ll be in Lummus Park, just past the auditorium. If anybody follows him out, tell him to go back to the hotel room; and I’ll call in fifteen minutes.”
“Right. You’re back in that rut again, I see, not telling me anything. I thought you said this time was going to be different.”
“I’m in a hurry. Everybody’s awake and moving.”
“You mean awake or dead. Two, so far—not good. I’ve been worrying about you. Don’t give me a long spiel, but how’s it been going? In one word.”
“Lousy. People are lying more than they actually have to, and I don’t know why.”
He crossed to Collins and drove south, nearly all the way to the tip of the Beach. There was only one car in the parking lot near the Ocean Front Auditorium, a Ford with a flat tire. Shayne reversed and backed against the seawall.
He cut his lights.
Five minutes later, a Chevrolet with a license number identifying it as a rented car turned in from Tenth Street. The headlights moved across Shayne’s face. A woman leaned out. This was the lady who had found Keko Brannon dead in the bathtub—Evie Zion. Marcus’s wife.
“Marcus is out twisting arms. Perhaps I can help?”
“Let’s find out. Turn off your lights.”
“I’m getting a little jumpy, Mr. Shayne. Let’s not park side by side.”
Although she spoke pleasantly, it was obvious that she was very much on edge. She came about in a long arc and stopped at the opposite end of the lot. Shayne walked toward her.
He was halfway there when the rented car swung around and came at him with a roar. He was caught in the open. The headlights came up to full beam. She was accelerating hard. Shayne broke for the seawall.
She corrected course slightly. Shayne was running at full tilt, his emergency glands pumping. He faked one way; and when she took the fake and her headlights twitched in that direction, he dug in and cut.
The plunging car missed him by feet. He fell awkwardly.
He was up again at once, his gun in his hand. The Chevrolet was coming around, tires squealing. When it straightened, he could probably get a tire; but she could still knock him down driving on the rim. The only effective thing he could do was kill the driver, and first he wanted to know why she was doing this.
The parked Ford was the nearest stationary object, and Shayne ran for it. She was on a shorter slant this time, too short to build up full power. Shayne wheeled to face the oncoming car. He fired and blew out a tire. The Chevrolet swerved, and Shayne jumped. He slammed down on the hood and began to slide but stayed on by grabbing a windshield wiper. The Chevrolet, out of control, rammed the parked Ford. The wiper blade came loose and Shayne was thrown free.
Evie had jammed the shift into reverse and was trying to back off. Shayne slapped her with the flat of the gun through the open window. Reaching in, he killed the laboring motor.
She had strapped herself in. He waited for her to turn her head to look at him. When she did, he told her to get out.
She freed herself. When she stepped out, she fell on her hands and knees.
He didn’t kick her, but he gave her no help. She shook her head, looking at the ground, and then gathered herself and managed to stand.
“We’ll talk in my car,” Shayne said.
“I don’t know if I can… she said weakly. “I feel… drained.”
“I’m expecting a call. Move.”
She took a few steps. Then she swayed toward him, almost falling again, and took his arm. He stood still until she released him.
“Do it all by yourself.”
When they reached his Buick, he put her inside and went around to get behind the wheel.
“It’s the first time anybody’s tried that in years,” he said. “You didn’t miss me by much.”
“What are you going to do to me?”
“Let’s leave that open.”
He snapped on the overhead light and told her to look at him. Except for false eyelashes, she was without makeup; and the gun had knocked one set of lashes askew. She was still a very good looking woman, with the wide-set eyes and sweet mouth that had gone with the roles she had played on the screen. She had come out in a hurry, in a sweater and skirt, her feet in sandals.
“I don’t suppose there’s any point in apologizing,” she said. “You can’t apologize for trying to run over somebody in a car.”
“Do you have much Consolidated stock in your own name?”
“You don’t think I’d do that for anything so stupid as money?”
“People who don’t have money don’t think it’s stupid,” Shayne said and snapped off the light. “All right, a small explanation. I’ve been working for you people for seven hours, and I’ve nearly been killed three times.”
“Mr. Shayne…” she said miserably.
“You must think I’ve found out something that can damage you. Or that can damage your husband, if you have that kind of marriage. I use a tape recorder. Three or four people know everything I
do; and frankly, it isn’t a hell of a lot. But it’s beginning to come. I learn more from what people do than from what they tell me. Where’s Marcus?”
“I don’t know.”
“Tim Rourke knows you came to meet me. If you’d connected with me a minute ago, how were you going to explain the dent in your left front fender?”
“This isn’t a chess problem! I didn’t think it out ten moves ahead.”
He turned on the light for another look. “Or did you miss me on purpose, to make me think your husband has something important to hide?”
“No! I saw you walking toward me, and I was scared, and I had to do something…”
She made a broken gesture. He turned off the light.
“When you say you don’t know where Marcus is, do you really not know; or is it just that you don’t want to tell me?”
“I really don’t know. And I really am scared, Mr. Shayne. I can’t get what happened to Kate out of my head.”
Shayne lit a cigarette. “Kate is a good place to start. Who do you think was nice enough to make her a present of her favorite brand of bourbon?”
“I know nothing about it. Really. I really don’t.”
“Then you must think Marcus knows something.”
“Marcus? Mr. Shayne, I’ve lived with Marcus for eleven years, and I know a little about him. Marcus is incapable of killing anybody.”
“You sound as though you don’t approve.”
“Nonsense. I’m talking about his psychological makeup. There are things he’s capable of. Certain… meannesses, tricks. Murder’s not one of them.”
“Sometimes wives aren’t the best judges of their husbands’ character. I understand you’re the one who found Keko Brannon.”
She filled her lungs and looked at him in the darkness. “Keko. So that’s what this is all about.”
“That’s where it starts. How did it happen that you were the one? Was she a friend of yours?”
“She didn’t have friends. Do you really want that story again? I’ve told it millions of times.”
“I don’t mean that story; I mean the real one. Did she send for you, or did you happen to drop in? Did you think you’d find Marcus with her?”
Kill All the Young Girls Page 11
