Caught Dead ms-64

by Brett Halliday

  Shayne eased out of her embrace and moved her into the bare, unlighted apartment. There was just enough light coming through the uncurtained front windows so he could see the outline of her face.

  “I’ll explain later. I’m just coming off a long session with your niece and a few friends, and they’ve agreed to cooperate. I think I can get you included. But they’re going to want money, and like everybody else they have an exaggerated idea about how much is available. If I do the talking I think I can get you a better price. You’ve had the afternoon to think about it. A little honesty from you about your friend’s retirement fund would make things easier.”

  She was standing close, looking up into his face. She shook her head.

  “Mike, I don’t know anything about that. Won’t you believe me? Of course I’m willing to pay to get out of this mess. I can sell the gallery. Would seventy-five thousand-”

  “They’re thinking about more than that and we don’t have time to haggle. Everybody’s in a rush to get to Palm Beach. The first person to make it is going to win the jackpot.”

  She grasped his arms. “Everybody?”

  “Well, not Rubino. Rubino’s dead. Say half-a-dozen in all, starting with Mejia and working down.”

  Her grasp tightened. “What are the MIR offering, exactly?”

  “I have a plane waiting, but I can’t just walk up and get on. One of the things I’ve done since I saw you was take a grease-gun away from a couple of cops and steal their car. I’ve also been shot at a couple of times, and that puts you and me in the same bag. Serrano has assigned a couple of men to cover me. If you want to buy in, I’ll see if I can work it.”

  She drew a long breath. “How much do you think I should give them?”

  “Baby, you know you’ve got a damn good reason for getting back to Palm Beach before anybody else. Stop trying to con me. Mejia won’t charter a plane. That’s too conspicuous. He’ll be taking the nine-thirty flight to Miami. We can beat him by going straight to Palm Beach.”

  She pushed back her hair. “That’s one. How about the others? The widow.”

  “She’s coming with us. I want to keep a personal eye on her.”

  She breathed in and out slowly twice. Then she clenched her fist and struck Shayne in the chest.

  “You bastard. You’re taking me anyway, aren’t you?”

  Shayne laughed. “I thought I’d give you a chance to persuade me.”

  “What a four-flusher. For a minute you had me convinced. But you’re damn right! I’d pay anything to get out of here, to a top of seventy-five thousand, which is all I have. So Rubino’s dead, is he? I don’t suppose he died of emphysema from all those cigarettes.”

  “He was shot twice, in the head and the chest.”

  “I’ve never seen any sense in being solvent but dead. Yes, I’ve been thinking. I’ve been sitting here on the floor with my back to the wall getting rapidly older. I knew you’d come back for me, and I knew you’d put together some kind of arrangement with somebody, because it’s too confining for you here. But Mejia-I didn’t even know he was a factor! And now he’s taking the nine-thirty plane to Miami. You’re transporting the widow personally. Who else?”

  “We’ll call the roll after we get there. How about that diary of Alvares’?”

  “You’ve been talking to Paula, of course. I tore out one page and she used it to motivate your friend, Tim. He seemed to think it was salable. I mailed it to myself at the gallery, airmail special. It’s probably on my desk right now with the rest of the backed-up mail.”

  “I’ll take that in lieu of a fee.”

  She peered at him, trying to read his expression. “No money? Don’t tell me you’ve finally begun to realize I’m not sitting on a trunkful of gold.”

  “If the diary is hot enough I can trade it for Rourke. I don’t think I can buy him out with money.”

  “All right, you can have it,” she said decisively. “I had a lot to do with getting him put where he is.”

  He heard the blare of a horn from below and reached the window in time to see a police cruiser pull to a stop before the building.

  “Mike,” Lenore said beside him, “are they looking for us?”

  “I doubt it. I think they’ve found Rubino and they’re going up to check his apartment. Give them a minute to get to the elevator.”

  Two policemen got out of the cruiser, and the casual way they were moving confirmed Shayne’s guess that they were homicide men assigned to Rubino’s killing, here on a routine check. He and Lenore left the apartment carefully and took the elevator to the basement. After leaving by a side door, she stayed in the shadows while Shayne walked past the police car. On the outside it was a standard sedan, but it had been rebuilt to carry prisoners. There were no inside handles on the rear doors, and a grill of woven wire separated the front seats from the back.

  He signaled, and the other police car pulled out of the lot and drew up beside him. Senora Alvares was still asleep in the back seat.

  “We’re changing cars,” he told Paula. “We’ve got too many prisoners for two cops.”

  Lenore greeted her niece with a cool nod. “I thought Mike would want to include you. Your parents are worrying about you, by the way.”

  “Nothing bad has happened to me yet.”

  Shayne started the other cruiser with his ignition loop and climbed into the back seat with the three women. The Senora had been jolted awake as she moved from one car to the other. She looked miserable and sick.

  “I drank too much champagne.”

  The door slammed shut from the outside and they moved off. The two-way radio was crackling, but the driver paid no attention. He asked a question which Paula translated: “Should he turn on the siren?”

  “Certainly.”

  They bulled their way through traffic to the airport highway and descended to the coast at high speed, stopping only once to allow Senora Alvares to be sick in the weeds at the side of the road.

  After finishing she pulled out of Shayne’s hands and looked at the police car and the uniformed men in the front seat. “Why are we arrested?”

  “You must be feeling better.”

  “Not that much. Answer my question.”

  Shayne put her back in the car and they continued, accompanied by the high wail of their siren. She covered her ears and moaned.

  “Tell them,” she said to Lenore. “I had nothing to do with the explosion. I asked for the interview but permission was refused.”

  She leaned forward to look through the grating. “We are going toward the sea!”

  “I think they want us to identify somebody,” Shayne said. “Cops don’t like to explain things. Take it easy.”

  She sat back suspiciously, but when they took the ramp to the airport she sat forward again and exclaimed, “I will not ride in an airplane. I have never done so. I’ll bite. I’ll kick.”

  “In that case,” Shayne said, “you’d better do it here in the car where you won’t attract attention. We want this to run smoothly.”

  He pulled out his shirt-tail and tore off a long strip. She tried to move away. He rolled the cloth into a tight cylinder and whipped it around her head deftly. When she started to yell, he pulled the cloth tight across her open mouth. She thrashed about, making desperate gabbling noises, while Shayne doubled her forward, pinning her with his elbows, and knotted the gag. Then he let her go and tore off another long strip with which he bound her wrists.

  “Now if you’ll listen to me I’ll tell you what we think is going to happen.”

  She crouched away from him, her eyes wide in terror.

  “I tried talking politely, and you may remember that didn’t work. Every time I asked a question you hid in the champagne bottle. We have a few things to talk about, and I want you to start being responsive.”

  She managed to emit a choked sound.

  “How can you be responsive with a gag in your mouth? You’ve got a point there. But I don’t like to repeat myself, and I want to get
a few other people in on it before I start listing the things I want to know. Take a good look at these guys in front.”

  He nodded to Paula, who said something in Spanish. One of the youths looked around.

  “Does he look like a Caracas cop?” Shayne said. “He’s an MIR man. This is Paula Obregon. She and her friends like people who cooperate. If you understand me so far, nod your head.”

  She stared at him, but finally nodded.

  “Good. They don’t want to be pulled in by the real cops because they know they’d probably be shot. If they have to kill us to prevent that, you know they won’t hesitate for a minute. I tied you up because you may not realize how serious this is. If you make any noise or trouble, we’ll all get it in the neck. It’s a little unfair because I have an idea how crummy you must be feeling, but you’ll have a couple of hours to sober up. That’ll give you time to think up a story.”

  She tried desperately to express herself. Shayne shook his head.

  “Not yet. Work it out and polish it. I’m giving you a break. I don’t know why. After I came to see you this morning you phoned somebody, and when I went through the gate a guy was waiting outside with a rifle. But so many worse things have happened that I don’t really hold it against you. I’ll buy any explanation that sounds halfway believable.”

  Wrinkles appeared at the corners of her eyes. She had heard at least part of what Shayne had said and was thinking.

  “Oh, what a bastard,” Lenore said. “But dear God, are you good at it.”

  “You be thinking, too, baby.”

  “That won’t be necessary-I’ve been thinking all day.”

  The driver cut his siren. The sound died as they turned onto the access road along the perimeter of the airport. Half of a big Cyclone gate stood open and soldiers with rifles were lounging on either side of the opening. The driver slowed. The soldier on his side glanced in at the prisoners in the back seat and nodded them on.

  Shayne saw the Miami News Learjet among the other planes on the waiting and taxiing strips. Its two engines were alight.

  “That one’s ours.”

  “Police,” Paula said quietly, nodding to one side.

  “I see them,” Shayne said after a moment. “Tell him to keep going.”

  A rescue truck was parked alongside the main arrival building. The men in the front seat had made no effort to disguise themselves as airport employees. They were wearing business suits with city hats.

  “We could come up behind and take them by surprise,” Paula said. “Because of the uniforms we could do it without shooting.”

  “Let’s see how it looks.”

  They continued around the arrival building, past two truckloads of soldiers. At the end of the paved area they turned and came back.

  “One pass is all they’re going to let us have,” Shayne said. “They’re watching the News plane, and even if we can get aboard they’ll shoot out the tires. See that 707 loading. It’s ready to roll.”

  “Why would they let us get off in that?”

  “They won’t want to harm innocent people. In the News plane there wouldn’t be any. Tell him.”

  She relayed what Shayne had said, and the guerrilla at the wheel glanced around, frowning. The mobile loading steps had been wheeled into place against the 707, and the first passengers were beginning to stream out of the lounge.

  “That’s it,” Shayne said crisply. “Tell him to remember there are no handles on these doors. One of them go ahead up the steps, one behind. Don’t be too rough. We look fairly authentic. The Senora won’t give us any trouble, but if she does, we’ll slug her and carry her aboard.”

  Paula murmured in Spanish. The driver asked a question, slowing, and checked the mirrors. He consulted with his colleagues.

  “We like to rehearse these things,” Paula said, “to be sure of assignments. Will Lenore be quiet?”

  “Lenore will certainly be quiet,” Lenore said fervently.

  The guerrillas exchanged curt nods. The driver slid under the wing of a big passenger plane and came back toward the 707.

  He stopped at the foot of the loading ramp, blocking the trickle of passengers. The other uniformed man opened a rear door and ordered the prisoners to dismount. Paula had her hand inside her big purse. Senora Alvares was too terrified to move without help. Using both hands, Shayne walked her forcibly up the steps.

  He brushed past the stewardess at the top, who was trying to ask a question.

  Inside, Shayne surrendered the frightened woman to Paula. He told the stewardess calmly, “There’s been an uprising in Caracas. Don’t do anything to attract attention. We have to get off immediately.”

  Her professional smile had vanished. Giving her no time to react, he blocked her back into the airplane and pulled the door shut. He took Paula’s Luger and went into the cockpit.

  The pilot was drinking coffee out of a plastic container. He dropped it when he saw the long gun in Shayne’s hand.

  “What the hell?”

  “Nothing to be nervous about. We’re just taking off a couple of minutes early.”

  The co-pilot said, “Aren’t you Mike Shayne?”

  “Yeah. Notify the tower you can’t wait any longer.”

  “Hell, man-”

  Shayne lifted the gun. “This can’t be your first hijacking. Follow company policy. They don’t want you to risk the airplane. I have four armed men in the first-class cabin.”

  “How many?”

  Shayne grinned. “Two, as a matter of fact, but they’re pretty excited. Plus a girl, who’s as militant as they are. If you try to get help, bullets are going to be flying around.”

  The co-pilot said reasonably, “This is Mike Shayne. You know he’s got reasons. Let’s roll.”

  The pilot swore under his breath and brushed the spilled coffee off his clipboard. He reached for the transmitting switch.

  “All right, where to?” he said sourly. “Havana?”

  “Palm Beach.”

  EIGHTEEN

  The plane had been cleared for the Palm Beach International Airport. It came in from the east, giving up altitude rapidly as it sliced across the narrow strip of sand between the ocean and Lake Worth.

  Lenore Dante was in the cockpit beside Shayne, watching the approach. Suddenly she gasped and seized Shayne’s arm.

  “Look.”

  One of the business blocks on the main north-south avenue was on fire. Lenore’s face showed her consternation.

  “Can you bring us around again?” Shayne asked the pilot.

  He said sullenly, “After all the trouble I’ve already had from you guys-”

  “Don’t let’s get chintzy at this late date,” the copilot told him.

  The pilot sighed, and told the control officer they were having instrument difficulty. Receiving clearance to make another approach, he wheeled about slowly.

  “My gallery’s on that block,” Lenore said quietly.

  Shayne said nothing, watching her. She was gripping the back of the co-pilot’s chair. She turned her head slightly so Shayne couldn’t see her face.

  On the next approach, the pilot brought them closer to the fire. The block was surrounded by fire apparatus, pouring plumes of water on the burning buildings. Flickers of flame could be glimpsed through the billowing masses of smoke.

  “How fireproof is your safe?” Shayne said.

  “Oh, that doesn’t matter. There’s nothing in it that’s important. A few papers.”

  They flashed across the long sand-spit and the blaze passed out of sight beneath their wing. The blood had left Lenore’s face. When she turned to look at Shayne her eyes were unfocused.

  “Too bad,” he said evenly. “But you must be insured.”

  “But the pictures. The diary.”

  She brushed past and entered the cabin, her walk very stiff. She sat in one of the many empty seats and fastened her seatbelt for the landing. Shayne continued to watch her. She was staring ahead fixedly.

  They landed, rolled
along the runway and turned to come back. The few passengers who had managed to get aboard before the abrupt takeoff were concentrated in the rear of the cabin; the plane’s destination had been New Orleans. Senora Alvares, alone in a row of seats, was looking better. She had borrowed lipstick and a comb from one of the stewardesses. Coffee and time had drawn the sting of the champagne. She was still an erect, handsome woman, but there was something crafty about the look she gave Shayne.

  “I should warn you, I intend to ask for the protection of my Ambassador, who will provide me with the name of a good lawyer. You are back in your own country, where you can be sued.”

  “For what?”

  “Injury to my person and my sanity. Kidnapping and assault.”

  “Throw in rape and you’ll get more ink in the papers.”

  “Don’t try it,” she warned him. “Put one finger on me and you’ll know you’ve been in a real battle.”

  The plane rolled to a stop, and a set of mobile steps banged against the door.

  “Now we’ll find out if we were right to trust you,” Paula said.

  Shayne grinned at her. “We all know this has to end in a deal. I always do my best to satisfy everybody.”

  Shayne was first down the steps. Howie Boyle, the Palm Beach Chief of Police, was waiting at the bottom.

  “You’re under arrest for stealing an airplane,” he said.

  “Not just me, I hope,” Shayne said. “We all did it together.”

  He introduced the others as they descended.

  Senora Alvares said firmly, “I spit on you. They had to carry me on board, and I have witnesses who will testify to that-the stewardess, others.”

  “The Chief’s going to hold you as a material witness,” Shayne said. “I’d hate to lose you at this point. You may not realize it, but your life is in danger.”

  “My life is definitely and emphatically not in danger.”

  Chief Boyle had brought two of his own patrolmen, and there were several armed men from the airport security unit, several more from the county Highway Patrol. The two Venezuelan guerrillas didn’t like it, but they were relieved of their guns.

  “What about the two guys I told you to pick up?” Shayne asked Boyle as they moved toward the terminal. “Frost and Mejia.”