She hesitated a moment, and turned her head to explain to Shayne: “I knew you’d gone off looking for her husband… the man Sloe Burn called Fred Tucker… and I jumped out of the cab and went over and intercepted Mrs. Renshaw just as she was starting in the front door. She recognized me from this afternoon at the office, and she was terribly distraught. She said she’d had a phone call from the Chicago detective, Baron McTige, saying that her husband was at the Bright Spot hiding in Sloe Burn’s dressing room.
“She had been back to the dressing room where Sloe Burn angrily denied the accusation and went into a rage and chased her out the back way. She wanted to know what I was doing there, and I didn’t know what to tell her. I knew that Sloe Burn had just sent you off to a motel looking for Mr. Renshaw, and I wondered if maybe that was a ruse to get you away, and that he was hiding in Sloe Burn’s dressing room.
“Anyhow, I told Mrs. Renshaw that we were checking out the same rumor that he was at the Bright Spot, and I suggested that she wait there in front while I went back to see if I could find him.
“She seemed awfully thankful, and worried about her husband, and I left her there and went back around the side of the building to the stage-door. There was an old man there and he asked me what I wanted and I just started to say that Mrs. Renshaw said… and suddenly there was this hulking brute of a crazy man that came from somewhere and grabbed me and pulled me away. He was babbling all kinds of things and I didn’t know what he was talking about. He said Essie had told him I was hanging around, and he knew my name wasn’t Renshaw anyhow, but Mrs. Shephard, and why was I pretending I thought my husband was there, and why did I care.
“He was all excited and I thought he was drunk, but later I decided he wasn’t. But he had this conch shell with a long sharp point that he kept brandishing in my face and threatening me with, and I kept trying to tell him that I wasn’t Mrs. Renshaw or Shephard either one, and to prove it I told him to come around in front with me and I’d show him Mrs. Renshaw waiting for me.
“So he finally did, holding onto me tight and keeping that sharp shell in his hand pressed up against my side and threatening to cut me with it if I tried to get away.
“And when we got around in front, she wasn’t there. Mrs. Renshaw just wasn’t there. And Ralph asked the doorman… because that was his name, I found out… Ralph Billiter… he’s Sloe Burn’s dancing partner, Michael… from the Keys… where they grow up from babies learning to use those sharpened conch shells instead of knives to fight with… and kill each other, too, the way he talked about it… well, he asked the doorman if there was any woman waiting and where she had gone, and he denied it… the doorman, I mean… and so then Ralph was convinced I’d lied to him and I was Mrs. Shephard… and he wouldn’t have it any different.
“And I’d never even heard of any Mrs. Shephard, and I told him so, and he kept calling me a liar with a lot of four-letter words mixed in, and asking where was the money and where was Baron McTige. I didn’t understand anything about it, or what to do. He just seemed frothing at the mouth crazy, and he waved that conch shell around and kept saying how he’d purely love to cut my throat with it and would except he knew I could get the money from McTige and that’s what he wanted me to do.
“I thought it would settle things if I could get hold of Mr. McTige and have him tell that crazy boy that I wasn’t Mrs. Renshaw or Mrs. Shephard, or whatever, and I offered to call him at his hotel and ask him to come out, but he got suspicious and said, ‘Oh, no you don’t. Not out here, you don’t. We’ll go some place I pick out and you can call him from there.’
“So he dragged me around back to where he had his car parked, still holding that shell up against me all the time, and he made me get in and he drove off, and I kept asking him what he meant by calling me Mrs. Shephard, and what money was he talking about, and then it came out in little bits and pieces which I didn’t understand and still don’t, but maybe it’ll make sense to you.”
Lucy Hamilton paused in her long recital to look anxiously at Shayne. “Does any of this make any sense at all to you, Michael?”
He nodded grimly. “Some of it. Go on and tell us what Ralph told you.”
“You know Sloe Burn told us Fred Tucker had been there and the two men came looking for him… Baron McTige was one of them, I think, Michael… and how she’d slipped him out the back and had Ralph take him away to the Pink Flamingo?”
Shayne nodded when she paused, and she took a deep breath and went on: “Well, Ralph did, I guess. Drive to the motel with him. And when they got there, he claims Fred Tucker offered him a whole fortune in money to take back to Sloe Burn, and there was something about it being hidden in a loaf of bread and Tucker gave it to him, and then those two men came in… the ones Sloe Burn described to us, Michael… and they saw the money and there was a big fight over it, I guess, during which Tucker… or Renshaw… or Shephard, as Ralph insisted was his real name… ducked out of the motel and got away.
“And McTige had a gun and the preacher-looking one got knocked down and hit his head on the leg of the refrigerator and got knocked unconscious, and then McTige told Ralph he was a detective from Chicago and that Tucker’s name was really Shephard, who had stolen the money from his wife and McTige was going to keep it and give it back to her. And he chased Ralph off with his gun, and Ralph had to walk back through the palmettos to the Bright Spot, and with him getting it thoroughly set in his mind that I was Mrs. Shephard, he said I had to call Baron McTige and make him bring the money to me… and then he was going to take it for himself. Except that he did have some other lovely ideas about how we might go off together and share the money… a whole hundred thousand dollars, he kept repeating, and so he drove to the Dolphin Bar and I tried to call Baron McTige from there.
“I tried his number three times without any answer… and the fourth time I called, you answered the phone, Michael. Ralph was standing right over me with that pointed shell in my side, listening to every word I said, and I had to go on and pretend I was talking to Mr. McTige even when I knew it was you after the first word you spoke.”
Lucy Hamilton stopped speaking suddenly, and the stenographer’s pencil ceased racing over his notebook.
Will Gentry was leaning back in his chair studying the tips of his blunt fingers which he had arched together in front of him, and when Lucy was finished, he sighed deeply and asked Shayne, “Any of this mean anything to you, Mike?”
“Some of it. If Ralph Billiter was telling Lucy the truth, it’s the first indication we’ve had of what happened at the Pink Flamingo before I got there. The money in the loaf of bread seems to tie in all right.”
“It does, doesn’t it?” Gentry agreed mildly. “And it might, just possibly, tie in with the identity of the dead man, too.”
“Have you identified him, Will?” Shayne asked eagerly.
“Oh, sure. We stodgy police do have our own methods of turning up certain odd bits of information now and then.” He paused and got a cigar out of his pocket and sniffed it happily before biting off the end.
Shayne said resignedly. “All right. Who is he?”
“Name of Brannigan. We’ve got his fingerprints on file. Investigator for the Nationwide Bonding Company. Does that mean anything to you, Mike?”
16
Michael Shayne hesitated before answering the chief’s question. Then he replied carefully, “Not really. But if we put our heads together and add things up, we might make it mean something. Know what Brannigan was working on?”
“We have no idea. He’s the Miami representative for his company, but he hasn’t asked us for any help or information recently.”
Shayne said, “It could be the Steven Shephard case from Illinois.”
“Shephard?” Gentry’s voice was grim. “What might the Steven Shephard case from Illinois be, Mike?”
Shayne reached in his hip pocket and took out the photograph of Mrs. Shephard and her two children which he had removed from the frame so it would be easier to
carry. With it, he had the folded newspaper clipping he had preempted from Rourke.
He held the picture out to Gentry and said, “This was on the bureau in the Pink Flamingo. Remember it?”
“What are you doing with it?”
Shayne was unfolding the clipping, and he spread it out in front of him, running his finger swiftly down the lines of newsprint.
“Tim Rourke thought it had a familiar look,” he mumbled. “So he took it back to his office to check it out. And sure enough it did check. And here’s our tie-up with Brannigan, Will.” He read aloud from the clipping: “It is stated that the loss is completely covered by a bond on Shephard issued by the Nationwide Bonding Company, and that depositors need have no fear…”
“Tim Rourke thought it looked familiar,” snarled Gentry. “Why didn’t he tell us? What in hell has been going on… give me that clipping, Mike!”
Shayne passed it over to him. “Tim and I did try to tell you as soon as he discovered he was right. I came straight to headquarters looking for you, Will, but you hadn’t got back yet. Then I went to my office for Mrs. Renshaw’s address, and have been on the go ever since.”
Will Gentry wasn’t listening to him. He was reading the story of Shephard’s embezzlement with a darkening scowl on his ruddy face.
“What is it about somebody named Shephard, Michael?” asked Lucy. “Why did Ralph insist that was my real name?”
“Because he thought you were the woman who told us she was Mrs. Renshaw. Her name is really Shephard, and her husband isn’t running away from Syndicate killers. He’s on the lam with two hundred thousand dollars of stolen money.”
“All right, Mike.” Gentry refolded the clipping carefully. “Where is the money?”
“According to the story Ralph Billiter told Lucy, McTige has it. Or had it,” he amended hastily. “All I’ve seen is one thousand-dollar bill clutched tightly in his dead hand.”
“Ralph said one hundred thousand, Michael,” Lucy reminded him hastily. “He seemed very positive about the amount. Kept repeating it. Said it was more money that he’d ever ‘knowed’ there was in the whole world.”
“Maybe Shephard had split it in half,” Shayne suggested to Gentry. “Hid one half in the hollowed out loaf of bread, and the other somewhere else.”
There was a knock on the door, and the patrolman they had left at the bar with Ralph stuck his head inside. “We got that conch happy guy out here, Chief. Want us to book him or what?”
“Take him next door, Baxter. He’s got a lot of talking to do.” Chief Gentry stood up slowly. “And you get out, Mike. From now on, I’ll do the talking. And if I find out, by God, that you’ve held out on me in any particular because you knew there was a couple hundred grand floating around that you wanted to get your hands on… you’ll be through in Miami, Mike. And you’ll never get another license anywhere in the United States.”
Shayne said coldly, “Fair enough, Will.” He got to his feet and pulled Lucy up with him. “Want Lucy and me to wait until our statements are typed so we can sign them?”
“No, get out. Take Lucy home and lock her up. And you stay put, young lady. Don’t move a foot out of your apartment until you hear from me. If Billiter doesn’t confirm every word of your story…”
“Come on, angel,” Shayne interrupted, drawing her toward the door. “Now that we’ve practically solved the case and tossed it in his lap, let’s see if Will can finish it up without any more help from us.”
“Shouldn’t we stay to hear what Ralph says? Did he kill the man in the motel?”
“If he did, Will can get it out of him without any help from me. If you told the truth, it’s a cinch he didn’t kill Baron McTige.” He was hurrying her down the corridor.
“I did tell the truth, Michael.” Lucy tried to pull her arm away. “If you and Chief Gentry are going to doubt my word, I think I have a right to stay here…”
“You heard what Will said. That was a direct order. I’m taking you home, angel, and you’re going to stay home until we get a couple of messy murders cleared up.”
“All right,” Lucy Hamilton said meekly. “Heaven knows, I was just trying to help you do your job out at the Bright Spot. And heaven knows,” she added more forcibly, “I’ll be glad to get home and lock the door behind me.”
“That’s just where we’re going,” Shayne assured her, leading her out a side door to his car. “After we make one stop to check up on one little thing.”
“What’s that, Michael?” Lucy moved over to press against him as he got under the wheel.
“The doorman at the Bright Spot.” Shayne put the heavy sedan in gear and pulled away from police headquarters into a street almost empty of traffic at this hour. “The way you told it to Will, you left Mrs. Shephard… let’s call her by her real name… in front of the club waiting for you while you went back to try and see Sloe Burn yourself. And when you came back with Ralph to prove you weren’t Mrs. Shephard, she had disappeared. And the doorman denied there had ever been a woman waiting there for you to come back. Is that right?”
“That’s just the way it happened, Michael. That’s why Ralph was sure I was lying and that I was Mrs. Shephard.”
“None of the rest of it would have happened if the doorman had told the truth.”
“Of course not. That’s what really convinced Ralph. I still don’t know why the doorman lied. He saw us there together.”
Shayne said, “That’s what we’re going to find out.” He turned south into Miami Avenue, headed toward the Tamiami Trail.
It was just a little before midnight when they reached the Bright Spot again. The same parking attendant came up shaking his head when they stopped in front of the canopied entrance, and the same doorman stood back under the canopy and watched with supreme disinterest as they were told, “We’re full up, Mister. If you wanta come back in abouta hour…”
Shayne turned off the ignition and shook his red head. He unlatched the door and pushed it against the attendant, and reminded him, “You tried to pull that on me once before tonight.”
The man recognized him, then, and stepped out of the way hastily without protesting further. Shayne went around to Lucy’s side and opened the door. He helped her out with his hand on her elbow, led her up to the doorman and asked her, “Is this the fellow?”
“Yes,” she declared positively. “He’s the one who lied when Ralph asked him about Mrs. Shephard whom I left standing here waiting for me.”
“How about it, bud?” Shayne’s voice was harsh. “You heard the lady. Ever see her before?”
The doorman had a sallow face and pinched eyes. He blinked and looked nervously away from Shayne over his shoulder at the entrance, but this time no tuxedoed bouncer showed up to help him. “I dunno,” he muttered. “People coming and going all night. How’m I expected to remember…”
“You remember all right.” Shayne slammed his left hand onto the man’s shoulder and slapped him hard with his other hand. “Out of all the people that were here tonight, there weren’t very many ladies. When Miss Hamilton came back from the stage-door with Ralph Billiter, why did you tell him she hadn’t left another lady waiting in front when she went back?”
“Because I got paid to, that’s why,” the doorman whined. “Twenny bucks, she gave me, to say I hadn’t never seen her.”
Shayne’s heavy fingers tightened crushingly on the frightened man’s shoulder. “Tell us all of it.”
“That’s all. She stood here while this lady went back. And she said would I get her car for her while she waited. She give me her ticket and I had her car brought around. Just when it got here she saw Sloe Burn go streaking by in her car from where it was parked in the back where all the performers park. She jumped like she was shot and shoved a twenny-dollar bill in my hand, and says, ‘I ain’t been here at all tonight. Don’t tell nobody you saw me.’
“Then she takes off like a bat out of hell right behind Sloe Burn. And I swear honest to God, Mister, I ain’t seen neither of �
�em since. Another thing, Mister, I’m telling you I don’t want no messing around with Ralph Billiter nor that Sloe Burn. Them conch shells they carry all the time! I’d rather face up to a razor. So when he come and asked me, I just didn’t want no part of it.”
Shayne released him with a shove that sent him sprawling back through the open door. He led Lucy back to the car and slammed the door when she was inside, stalked around to the other side where the attendant was discreetly keeping out of sight.
Lucy sighed as he drove away, and said in a small voice, “So you found out I was telling the truth, Michael. What else did you accomplish?”
“Not much,” he admitted. “Except the small pleasure of slapping the truth out of that punk. So now you are going home, and let’s hope Will Gentry hasn’t sent around for you yet.”
At her apartment building, Shayne got out and went in with her, explaining, “I need a drink and I want to call Tim. Then I’ll get out of your way.”
“You needn’t sound so defensive about it,” she told him merrily as she unlocked the outer door and preceded him inside. “You can have two drinks if you want… and make two telephone calls.”
When she opened her own door and turned on the light, the first thing she saw was the telephone pad with his message where he had left it lying on the floor. She picked it up and read it, then suddenly turned and crumpled against him. “Oh, Michael. I was so damned scared.”
“So was I.” He held her tightly, looking down at the top of her smooth brown head just beneath his lips, and thinking how very dear Lucy Hamilton was to him.
Her telephone started ringing as his arms slowly tightened around her taut body. She said, “Oh, damn!” and moved out of his arms to answer it.
He chuckled and went to the coffee table to pour himself a drink, listening unashamedly to her end of the telephone conversation.
“Oh, Tim. I just this moment got in. I know Michael was worried, but I doubt that you were. Yes, he’s right here. He was just going to call you, believe it or not.” She turned and extended the telephone toward him, saying unnecessarily, “It’s Tim.”
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