Blood on the Stars ms-15

by Brett Halliday

  When he pulled himself slowly to a sitting position, he grunted, “Evens us up. Who’d you say was killed?”

  “Mrs. Mark Dustin.”

  “I don’t know any Mrs. Dustin. I ain’t killed nobody. Not recently,” he amended, clearing his throat and turning his head to spit.

  “Did you send someone over to keep your date with her?”

  “What date you talking about?”

  “The one you made by telephone,” said Shayne irritably. “After you tried to kill my secretary and pretended it was me talking over the phone.”

  “Look, shamus, I don’t know what in hell you’re talking about. So I slugged you tonight-by mistake. So, all right. Now you slugged me. So we’re even. I don’t know about this other stuff.”

  “I suppose,” said Shayne angrily, “you don’t know anything about a ruby bracelet.”

  “That’s right.” Blackie folded his bare arms across his chest and sighed. “I got to sit here all day?”

  Shayne said, “What about a busted fender on the limousine?”

  “Sure. I got a busted fender fixed up at Mickey’s.” He ran a thick tongue over his thick lips. “Me an’ the Kid took the big job out without the boss knowing about it and scraped some paint off. I was getting it patched up when you barged in.”

  “How do you mean you slugged me by mistake?”

  “I must of got mixed up on the phone,” Blackie explained readily. “I thought you was sticking your nose in my business and trying to shake me down by threatening to tell the boss about the busted fender.”

  “So you called him up to find out what to do?” Shayne jeered.

  “I just pretended to call up,” Blackie explained swiftly. “To see what you’d do. You fell for that gag, huh?”

  His story, Shayne realized, had been well rehearsed. When the boss had changed his mind, for some unknown reason, about dealing with the insurance company on a reward for the return of the rubies, he had realized it had been a tactical error to have Shayne slugged. So, he had evidently ordered Blackie to shoulder the full responsibility for that error.

  “I know you’re lying right down the line,” Shayne told him dispassionately. “As you say, we’re even on the slugging, but we’re still not even on a couple of other things. I don’t like mugs who come in my apartment and answer my phone-and slap my dolls around.”

  “Honest to God,” Blackie protested, “I’ve never been inside your apartment.”

  “That’s easily checked. Get up.”

  “I sort of like it here on the floor.”

  Shayne said, “You’ll have a chance to stay there forever if you don’t start moving.” He gestured toward the door with the cocked. 45.

  His tone convinced Blackie that the discussion was ended. He lumbered to his feet and Shayne said, “Walk out that door and straight down the drive to the street. Then turn to the right to the corner and then to the left. My car is parked halfway down the block. We’re going for a ride together, and if you make one goddamned move or sound I don’t like I’ll blast your guts with your own gun. The cops would thank me for doing it because I’ve got you framed right in the middle of a murder rap, and they can use a fall guy. Get going.”

  Blackie got going. Shayne followed him out the door and down the drive to the street. The sun hung like a red ball of fire behind the misty clouds above the rim of the ocean. Birds were singing in the shrubbery, and the new day held a clean warmth that promised muggy heat within a few hours.

  They encountered no one on their walk to the corner and to the detective’s car. “Get under the wheel and drive,” Shayne ordered. “To the County Causeway and then turn left on Biscayne Boulevard. I’ll be resting easy in the back seat with a gun on you.”

  Blackie opened the front door and got in. Shayne eased himself into the back seat and tossed the keys across to the driver.

  Blackie drove carefully and expertly, and at slow speed. Shayne kept his eyes on the back of his head and let his mind wander into the unknown equations that were beginning to unravel. Blackie would talk soon enough. He was grimly sure of that. As soon as Lucy identified him as her attacker and he realized the spot he was in. His denial of Mrs. Dustin’s murder had sounded genuine enough, and he might have been telling the truth.

  It was plausible to presume that Blackie had made contact with his employer after the telephone call and sent him to keep the appointment with Mrs. Dustin which had resulted in her death. In that case, Blackie might well have been honestly surprised to learn that she had been murdered.

  That was all the more reason why he would talk when he realized how neatly he had been framed for the job. If he were guilty, he might continue to deny obstinately any knowledge of the telephone call, but if innocent, he would be a fool if he didn’t spill everything he knew.

  One thing troubled Shayne as they turned down Biscayne Boulevard. He felt positive he held the key to recovery of the bracelet, but if he let the policeman on guard at his apartment hear Blackie’s confession, the secret would no longer be his and any possible reward would slip out of his hands like hot butter.

  He had an angle figured by the time they reached the foot of Flagler Street. He said to Blackie, “Swing over to Second Avenue and then toward the river. I’ll show you where to pull up just this side of the drawbridge.”

  When the car was parked, Shayne took the keys and said casually, “We’re going in through the hotel lobby and up to the third floor. There’s a Miami cop in my apartment. Figure things out for yourself. If you’d rather keep this whole thing private, just between you and me, use your head and I’ll tell him you’re a friend. We’ll get rid of the cop and talk it over after he’s gone. If you want to make it tough I’ll take you in with a gun on you and hand you over to him on two charges: Murder and attempted murder.”

  Blackie turned a swollen and frightened face toward Shayne and said hoarsely, “Honest to God, I’m not hunting no trouble. I don’t know what all this stuff is about murder, but I’d rather do my talking outside bars than behind them.”

  “Fair enough, but don’t forget I’ve got two guns on me. Let’s go.” He thrust the revolver inside his trousers waistband and buttoned his coat over it, then led the way around to the front entrance and they entered the lobby.

  The night clerk was still on duty. He yawned and watched the two men approach with red-rimmed eyes. Shayne stopped by the desk and said, “You know my friend don’t you, Jim? He was up to see me last night when I was out.”

  The clerk studied Blackie’s face intently. He said, “I don’t believe I do, Mr. Shayne. Is Miss Hamilton going to be all right?”

  “I’m on my way up there now. Dr. Price thought she was okay when I left a few hours ago.”

  The elevator was waiting, and when they got in, Shayne said to the operator, “Take a good look at this man. Ever see him before?”

  “Listen-” Blackie began to protest, but Shayne silenced him with a look.

  “I don’t know as I have or not,” the boy said reflectively. “I might could remember better, Mist’ Shayne, was you to tell me jest when I saw ’im.”

  Shayne said, “We’ll skip that for the moment.” They got out of the elevator and started for his apartment.

  “I’m telling you,” said Blackie doggedly, “I never been inside this building before. You can see neither one of them identified me.”

  “There’s a side entrance and stairs,” Shayne said shortly. He stopped in front of his door and knocked. It was opened by a tall young man wearing the natty uniform of the Miami police force. He had his service revolver in his hand, and he peered out suspiciously until he recognized the redhead.

  “It’s you, Mr. Shayne. I’m Edmund. I had orders to admit no one but you.” He stood aside and the two men entered.

  Miss Naylor sat in front of the card-littered center table. She looked as prim and efficient and wide-awake as when Shayne left. She said, “The patient has been quiet all night, Mr. Shayne. I’m sure she’s going to make a splend
id recovery.”

  “That’s fine.” To Blackie he said, “Pull up a chair and I’ll pour some drinks. Will you have one, Edmund? Miss Naylor?”

  “No thanks,” said Miss Naylor. “I’m not allowed to drink on duty.”

  Blackie sat down in the middle of the couch, holding himself erect, his hands folded in his lap. Shayne went to the liquor cabinet and asked, “Cognac or whisky?”

  “I really can’t take anything,” Edmund told him. “I was ordered to stay on guard here until-”

  “Until I returned and took over,” said Shayne cheerfully. “You’re off duty as of this moment.” He brought out the cognac and three glasses.

  “I suppose your return does relieve me, but I couldn’t take a drink this time of morning.” Edmund turned to Miss Naylor and said, “We’d better settle up our gin rummy accounts and then I’ll be getting along.”

  “I’ve added it,” she told him. “Three dollars and twenty-eight cents.”

  While Edmund was settling his debt, Shayne poured two drinks and handed one to Blackie, then moved across the room and sank into a chair with the bottle on the floor beside him.

  “Well, I’ll be going,” the young officer said. “I hope the young lady will be all right.”

  Shayne nodded. “Thanks for sticking around.” He frowned and said, “Wait a minute, Edmund. About that phone call. The one asking about the bracelet. Think you would recognize the voice if you heard it again?”

  “Why-I’m not sure. Over a telephone I might. It wasn’t particularly distinctive.”

  “Anything like mine?” Shayne asked. “Or more in line with Mr. Diffingham’s voice.” He nodded to Blackie.

  Edmund’s smooth brow rumpled. “I don’t believe I’ve heard Mr. Diffington say anything.”

  “Diffingham,” Shayne corrected. “Say something for him, Diffy,” he urged.

  Blackie said gruffly, “Looks like a nice morning.”

  Edmund thought for a moment, then said, “It was more like his-but not exactly. It would be easier to judge over a telephone.”

  “Maybe I can arrange that for you.”

  “Any time,” said Edmund. “And thanks for the game, Miss Naylor,” he added with a whimsical grin. He went out and closed the door softly.

  Shayne turned to the nurse. “How soon will it be safe to waken Miss Hamilton?”

  “She’s not to be wakened,” Miss Naylor said crisply. She got up and went into the bedroom, returned after half a minute and reported, “I think she’ll rouse in a couple of hours. There’s really no hurry, is there?”

  “None at all,” Shayne said quickly and heartily. He yawned expansively, clutching at his sore stomach muscles. His eyes were heavy and he had difficulty keeping his gaze on his prisoner across the room.

  Blackie had the advantage of him, for he had evidently slept several hours before Shayne’s foray into the garage. Shayne thrust himself erect after a time and said, “Let’s whip up a pot of coffee.” He jerked his head toward the kitchen and waited for Blackie to precede him, then followed him out and put on a dripolator of coffee. He put a frying-pan over a lighted gas jet, fried bacon, and when it was crisp took it out and poured in six eggs lightly beaten in a bowl.

  A few minutes later he placed three plates of bacon, eggs, and untoasted bread on the table which Miss Naylor had cleared of playing-cards. He announced, “Breakfast is served.”

  “I’m starved,” Miss Naylor declared. “Sit down and I’ll bring the coffee.”

  When she brought his cup, Shayne laced it liberally with cognac. After he had eaten his breakfast leisurely, he felt wide awake. He smoked a couple of cigarettes while the nurse cleared the table, keeping a keen eye on Blackie as he did so.

  Miss Naylor came in after washing the dishes and said, “I’d better take a look at our patient,” and went into the bedroom. After several minutes she returned. “She’s beginning to move restlessly. I believe she’ll be fully awake presently. It might reassure her to see you, Mr. Shayne. Would you like to come in?”

  Shayne glanced curiously at Blackie’s face as he got up and went to the bedroom door. Blackie appeared to have superb self-control. Not a muscle on his stolid face betrayed anxiety.

  Stopping in the doorway where he could keep an eye on his prisoner, Shayne looked at Lucy. Her features were calm and peaceful in the morning light. A curl of brown hair had detached itself and lay across her forehead.

  Shayne set his teeth and felt sweat on the palms of his clenched hands as he gazed at her. It was the first time he had consciously allowed himself to consider how much her recovery meant to him. His gaunt face twitched angrily as he switched his eyes to the man whom he was practically certain was responsible for her condition. Blackie met his angry gaze with indifference.

  Lucy’s brown and bandaged head moved on the pillow and her long brown lashes rolled slowly upward. She looked at Shayne and a little smile curved her lips. She said, “Hi,” and the syllable sent a rush of emotion through him.

  He said, “Hi, angel. Take it easy and don’t try to move. You’ve had a pretty rough time of it.”

  “It seems-like a nightmare,” she faltered. “So-hazy. I did-talk to you after it happened, didn’t I? Or did I dream that?”

  “You didn’t dream it. You told us everything we needed. I’ve got a guy here I want you to meet. Feel up to it?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Don’t be frightened, now. Just tell me if you’ve ever seen him.” Shayne flipped back his coat and drew the. 45, gestured toward Blackie and said, “Come here and let the lady look at you.”

  Miss Naylor gasped audibly at the sight of the gun. Lucy’s eyes were wide and questioning, but the faint smile stayed on her lips as she stared at the doorway.

  Blackie got up and lumbered across the room. He stopped just inside the door and looked down at Lucy.

  A frown creased her forehead as she studied the man, then she said slowly, “I never-saw him-in my life-before.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  BLIND ALLEY

  “Wait a minute,” Shayne said swiftly. “Take it slow and easy, Lucy. Think back over last night.”

  Her unblinking gaze was fixed on Blackie’s face. “I’m sorry, Mike. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him, and I’m certain he isn’t the man who came in last night.”

  “She’s right,” Blackie said. “Like I told you, I never been in this place before.”

  “Close your eyes a moment,” Shayne said quietly. “Go back to last night, Lucy. The man with the mustache.”

  She closed her eyes and lay quietly, then opened them and said in a small and despondent voice, “No, Michael. It wasn’t this man.”

  “If he were wearing a gray suit and a Panama hat,” Shayne argued. “Clothes make a lot of difference.”

  “I got you for a witness,” Blackie broke in to the nurse, “that the young lady’s done said it wasn’t me. He’s egging her on-trying to make her say it was me.”

  Miss Naylor said crisply, “It certainly seems to me, Mr. Shayne, that you’re using what a lawyer would call undue influence.”

  “It doesn’t help-thinking back,” Lucy told Shayne. “It doesn’t help a single bit. He’s not a bit like that other man.”

  “You said a moment ago that it was like a nightmare,” Shayne reminded her. “That last night was hazy and indistinct. If you close your eyes and rest a while-”

  “Oh, no. You don’t understand, Michael. That part of it isn’t hazy at all. I can see him now as he hung up the phone and saw me and jumped at me. The other part is like a nightmare. Afterward-when I came to for a moment and saw you-and some other men.”

  “All right,” Shayne conceded dispiritedly. “So this isn’t the guy. Can you describe him any better than you did last night?”

  “Just-that he was heavy-set and had a sort of round face, I think. Not nearly as dark as this man. His mustache was kind of grayish. I only got one good look at him, but I’d know him again anywhere.”

  Shayne move
d close to the bed and leaned over her. He touched her cheek gently with rough finger tips and said, “Don’t look so worried, angel. You know I don’t want you to make a false identification, even though I was positive Blackie was the man I wanted.”

  He nodded to Blackie and followed him out into the living-room. Blackie started for the door, saying, “That’s all, huh? You don’t want me any more.”

  “I want you plenty more,” Shayne growled when the bedroom door was closed. “Sit down over there and start talking.”

  Blackie sat down and muttered sulkily, “I got nothing to talk about.”

  “Do you deny that you and the Kid and some other gimp rammed an automobile on Collins Avenue last night and snatched a roll and a ruby bracelet from the couple in it?”

  “I sure do deny that. I can prove where I was at eight o’clock.”

  “How do you know it was done at eight o’clock?”

  “Look-you’re talking about the Dustin job, ain’t you? It’s in all the papers about the gang grabbing a bracelet.”

  “Where were you at eight o’clock?”

  “Me and the Kid was up to Sunny Isles with a couple of broads,” Blackie told him readily. “Driving back was when we scraped the fender I was gettin’ fixed in Mickey’s Garage so the boss wouldn’t know we’d been joyriding.”

  “I don’t believe a damned word of it, but you can probably prove it by witnesses. All right. We’ll skip that until Dustin has a crack at identifying you. Whom do you and the Kid work for?”

  “You mean the boss? Mr. Bankhead?”

  “What’s Bankhead’s business?”

  “He imports stuff. Got an antique and curio shop on the Beach.”

  “What does he import?”

  “All sorts of stuff. Pitchers and statues and stuff like that.”

  “Jewels?”

  “I dunno. Maybe, sometimes. I don’t have nothing to do with the shop.”

  “What’s your job?”

  “I’m the gardener,” Blackie said with dignity.