The Corpse Came Calling ms-6

by Brett Halliday

  “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.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Timothy Rourke’s eyes bulged when he saw the girl. He took a quick backward step and opened and closed his mouth without saying anything.

  Helen was evidently unaware of Shayne’s visitor. She flung herself against the detective, sobbing, “Oh, I’ve been so frightened. Is-is everything all right? Did they believe you about-about Mace?”

  Shayne thrust her back against the closet door. “Put on a robe-or something,” he commanded.

  “But, sweet,” she pleaded in a whimpering voice. “Why, you’re angry with me. You know I’m all yours-”

  Shayne slapped her on the mouth. She cringed away from him, sobbing.

  He said, “Come in the living-room when you put on a robe,” and strode away from her, slamming the bedroom door shut.

  Rourke stood in the center of the room with his back to Shayne. He was pouring himself a drink. He didn’t turn his head when Shayne walked up behind him and said, “All right. Are you satisfied now?”

  Rourke kept on pouring liquor in his glass. The glass ran over, but he kept on pouring.

  Shayne grabbed the bottle. “Why don’t you say something?”

  Rourke turned troubled eyes to his friend’s face. He shook his head with the tight-lipped explanation, “You wouldn’t want to hear anything I’ve got to say.”

  “Go on, say it.” Shayne was breathing hard. “I’m a heel. A lecherous louse with naked women concealed all over the premises.”

&n
bsp; Rourke lifted the brimming glass and held it to his lips until it was empty. He muttered, “There’s no use going into things. I’d better be going. I should have gone with Gentry and Pearson.” He took a step toward the door.

  Shayne’s hand grabbed his shoulders. Between his teeth, the detective said, “No, you don’t, Tim. You can’t walk out now. You did stay, God damn it. Now you’re going to hear the whole story.”

  He swung Rourke back, gave him a shove that sent him down into a chair. The bedroom door opened and Helen came in. She was barefooted, wearing Phyllis’s chenille robe. Dried bloodstains showed on the robe where Phyllis had drawn Shayne’s head against her after the encounter with Leroy and Joe.

  Shayne stepped back and said in a tight voice, “Let me present Mrs. Mace Morgan-Timothy Rourke.”

  Rourke sagged back and stared at the blond widow. He repeated, “Mrs.-Mace-Morgan,” as though savoring the words and not enjoying the taste of them at all.

  Helen stood silently in front of them with eyes downcast. Her face was reddened from Shayne’s sharp slap, yet a strange aura of dignity clung to her as she stood there.

  Shayne said, “Sit down.” He rumpled his hair as she lowered herself into a chair and folded her hands in her lap. He got out a cigarette and stabbed it at his mouth with his gaze fixed on Rourke.

  In a hushed tone, Rourke said, “Mace Morgan’s-wife.”

  “Mace Morgan’s widow,” Shayne corrected. He got the cigarette between his lips and put fire to it, his brooding gaze still upon Rourke’s face.

  “But she’s-Good God, Mike! Gentry and Pearson must be combing the town for her right now. She’s-she may be the key to the whole thing.”

  Shayne nodded somberly. His nostrils widened and smoke trailed from them. He grunted, “I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s the key to a lot of unpleasant things.”