Shayne kept his back turned. He stopped in front of the desk and leaned forward with the fingertips of his right hand resting lightly on the flat surface. “If you don’t get that punk off my neck, I will.”
Chief Ollie Hanger said, “Beat it, Burke.”
The policeman’s feet shuffled uneasily behind Shayne, and Burke said, “Well, heck, Chief…”
“Beat it.”
Shayne and the chief both maintained their positions until the door of the room was closed and they were alone. Then Hanger’s swivel chair creaked loudly as he ponderously settled back and clasped his hands together in front of his fat belly. “I told you to get out of town while the getting was good.”
Shayne said, “I’m beginning to like it in Brockton.” He turned and pulled a straight chair closer to the desk and lowered his body into it gingerly.
“Who was the woman you just got killed on Main Street?”
“The one that got shot down by one of your local hoods, who then calmly drove away in front of the whole police force?” Shayne asked savagely. “She told me her name was Flo.”
There was a rap on the outer door and Hanger said, “Come.”
A young man in a gray suit and wearing horn-rimmed glasses entered and laid a slip of paper on the desk in front of Hanger. “That’s all they got so far.”
He went out briskly and the chief studied the slip of paper. “Florence Dinwiddy. Waitress at the Union Cafe. Died instantly. Probably a forty-five slug.” He put the paper down and rolled his eyeballs at Shayne. “Why was she bumped, Shayne?”
“Ask the man that triggered her… and me. We had a drink together in the Elite bar and walked out and he started throwing lead. That’s all I know.”
“Nuts,” said Chief Ollie Hanger. “Was she helping you on something?”
“I never saw her before this afternoon.”
“Nuts again. You know, you’re in a real bad spot, shamus. You better come clean fast.”
“In a spot because I can’t buy a waitress a drink without getting myself shot?”
“You might put it that way. We never had any trouble like this in Brockton till you turned up here. That girl would still be alive if you’d got out of town when I ordered you to.”
Shayne said, “Maybe.” He shook out a cigarette and lighted it.
“So now you quit horsing around and give me the story. This is my town, Shayne, and I aim to know what’s going on. If you’ve got legitimate business here that your private license entitles you to have, lay it on the table and we’ll cooperate. What brought you here in the first place?”
“I was driving through last night and stopped off for a drink before going on to Miami. Your boy Burke picked me up on a parking ticket and slugged me with his partner’s help and I spent a pleasant night in your stinking can. So I decided I’d stick around a little and see what makes your town tick.”
“So why’d you tell Dr. Philbrick you were checking on the amnesia case for the girl’s father?”
Shayne shrugged and spread out his hands. “All right. I was trying to keep it quiet while I found out a few things.”
“You claim now you are working for Mr. Buttrell in Miami?” The chief’s voice was hard as flint. Shayne sensed the trap behind the question. If Hanger had done some checking of his own and learned that Amos Buttrell was a phony, he’d know an affirmative answer from Shayne was a lie. And if Shayne denied it, he’d be left without a client to explain his interest in the girl.
He said, “All right. Buttrell isn’t my client. I used that gimmick to get Philbrick to talk. The Miami Daily News is interested in the story and I’m getting together the facts for them. Is that legitimate business that my license entitles me to have in Brockton?”
“If it happens to be the truth.”
“Call the City Desk and check with Timothy Rourke. He’s the one sent me out.”
Chief Ollie Hanger said, “I’ll maybe do that. And if you’re lying I’ll throw your singed butt into the can for more than one night. Even if you’re not, I want to know what your interest was in Florence Dinwiddy that got her killed.”
“I met her on the street and bought her a drink.”
“Why?”
“Didn’t you ever have an impulse to buy a pretty girl a drink?”
“Maybe. But I didn’t end up murdering her.”
Shayne said, “That’s your job, for god’s sake. Maybe she’s got a jealous husband. Your men picked up the killer in the gray sedan?”
“Not yet. Nobody seems to have seen him except you, Shayne.”
“If your cops weren’t so busy dragging me into jail, maybe they’d have time for something else.” Shayne dropped his short cigarette butt on the floor and toed it out angrily. “You going to arrest me this time for getting myself shot on your main street?” He stood up as he spoke, and glowered down at the fat chief of police.
“Not this time. But I’m giving you a last warning. Get out of Brockton and stay out.”
Shayne turned away and walked out of the office with a slight limp. Burke was lounging against the wall just outside. He started eagerly erect when Shayne came out and looked hopefully through the open door behind the detective. Shayne grinned at him and said, “Not this time, Burke. Ollie and I are real palsy-walsy and the next time you bother me I’m not going to restrain myself.” He continued down the corridor to the outer room where George Grimes was loitering at the counter talking to the man on his stool behind it.
He joined Shayne eagerly and asked in a low voice as they went out, “What the hell goes on around here?”
Shayne said, “I wish I knew. First time I ever got pulled in for letting myself be shot at.” His voice and manner were grim. “Which way is Union Street from here?”
“Turn to your left two blocks.” Grimes walked beside him, dropping his voice still more. “What you said back there on Main Street. You mean the guy that shot the girl was the one named Gene you mentioned this afternoon?”
“I’m pretty sure it was, George.” Shayne stopped and looked down into the worried red face gravely. “That give you any ideas?”
“No,” Grimes disclaimed hastily. “That is…” He looked around furtively and lowered his voice still more. “I told you this afternoon I’d maybe seen him around. In Ollie’s office, that’s where.”
Shayne nodded slowly. He said, “You better get on back to your car. Don’t forget the last person seen talking to me is dead.”
He went away toward Union Street in long strides, leaving Grimes gaping after him.
17
THERE WASN’T MUCH BUSINESS in the Union Cafe when Shayne entered a few minutes later and stopped just inside the front door to look it over. In the lull before dinner, only three of the wooden tables covered with red-and-white checked cloths were occupied.
A young couple sat against the wall near the front, more interested in each other than in the food before them. Halfway down the long room a farmer and his wife and two children sat at a table for four, sipping water from tall glasses while they waited for their meal to be served, and farther on a white-uniformed waitress was standing with her back to Shayne in conversation with a male customer who sat alone at a small table.
The waitress appeared taller than Shayne remembered Jean Henderson to be, but at that distance the soft ringlets at the nape of her neck looked as golden as Jean’s and he couldn’t be sure it wasn’t she without seeing her face.
A tall, white-haired man sat behind a cash register at Shayne’s right as he stood there looking down the room, and when Shayne did not move for a matter of thirty seconds, he asked, “Would you like a table, sir?”
Shayne hesitated, still watching the waitress at the rear, but she showed no inclination to turn so he could see her face. He moved over in front of the cash register and told the proprietor with a worried frown, “I’m really looking for my sister. She had a fight with Mom last night and left in a huff and hasn’t come back. We live in Orlando,” he went on swiftly, “and a f
riend of mine here in Brockton telephoned me this afternoon that there was a new waitress just started here today that looks like her. I drove right over and I wondered…” Again his speculative gaze went to the rear.
“Your sister, eh?” The white-haired man’s voice was sympathetic. “I did hire a new girl this morning. We’ve been short-handed for a week and I didn’t bother much about references. You know how it is getting help these days. She said her name was Marion Smith. Would that be her?”
“She probably wouldn’t give her right name. Mom’s terribly upset, and if I don’t get her to go home with me…”
Then he saw her. She pushed through swinging doors at the rear carrying a heavily loaded tray held out stiffly in front of her gripped tightly in both hands. She was wearing a white uniform like the other waitress and her head was bent forward, gaze fearfully fixed on the loaded tray as she came with short, mincing steps toward the party of four waiting for their dinner.
“That is Jean,” Shayne said swiftly to the man. “Imagine her coming here and getting a job. I hope you don’t mind if I…”
Jean Henderson lifted her gaze from the tray at that moment and looked directly at Michael Shayne. Her eyes widened and her mouth made a big O, and her hands let go of the tray.
It crashed to the floor with a clatter of broken crockery, and Jean stood stiff and frightened for a moment, then whirled about frantically as though to escape.
But Shayne was striding toward her, and he leaped over the broken food and dishes on the floor to catch hold of her wrist and jerk her back.
A little whimper of anguish broke from her lips as she tried to tug away, but Shayne inexorably drew her close and tucked her arm through his.
“I’ve come to take you home with me, Sis,” he said loudly, and pulled her toward the cash register while getting out his wallet with a free hand.
He grinned with embarrassment at the proprietor and proffered a ten-dollar bill. “I hope that’ll pay for the damage, Mister. And maybe another five for the uniform she’s wearing, huh?” He laid another bill on top of the first one. “Don’t want to let her loose even to change now I’ve found her. Aren’t you ashamed of going off like that and frightening Mom half to death?” he went on severely to Jean. “You come right on home and apologize.”
She stood beside him laxly, staring straight ahead with a blank look on her face and with her lips tightly compressed.
“Well, sir, I guess that’ll cover it all right,” said the proprietor uncertainly, scooping up the bills. “If she’s a minor, I reckon I don’t blame you any, wanting to take her home.”
Shayne said, “Sorry for all the trouble. Come along, Sis.”
She moved beside him through the door like an automaton, as though she had no will of her own, like a small child bewildered and frightened by the inexplicable rage of an adult and timidly afraid to question the cause of it.
Shayne held her arm firmly locked inside his and hurried her toward Main Street. The light changed on the corner as they reached it, and he crossed to the other side where his car was parked in the place he had left it when he had first sighted Flo.
He led her around to the left-hand side, not trusting her to sit quietly while he got in, opened the door and thrust her in under the wheel roughly, maintaining his grip on her wrist.
He said quietly, “Move over so I can get in and don’t try anything, Jean. I’m not in a mood for arguments right now.”
She stiffened and jerked her head around and her eyes were wondering and puzzled as he spoke the name aloud. She said, “Is… that my name? Are you… my brother?”
“Don’t you remember?” Shayne kept his voice casual. He got in beside her and inserted the key with his left hand, started the motor and put the automatic transmission in gear.
She went to pieces then, and sank back against the seat sobbing piteously. “I don’t remember… anything. You’re not my brother, are you? You can’t be. You’re the man that I… that I saw in the bar last night. What are you going to do with me?”
With the car moving in traffic toward the hotel, Shayne let go of her wrist and glanced at her appraisingly. She was as beautiful as he remembered her. And her bewilderment and distress seemed genuine. He said, “We’re going to have a long talk. About lots of things.” He was nearing the hotel and he saw an alleyway running back along the side of it with a sign that said: PARKING FOR HOTEL GUESTS.
On an impulse, he turned into the alley and drove back where there was a lot of empty space in the rear. And, as he had surmised, there was a rear entrance into the hotel for the use of guests who left their cars there.
He stopped and let Jean get out on the right side and come around to him. The expression on her face puzzled him as she came up to stand directly in front of him and put both her hands on his arms. Tears glinted in her blue eyes and there was a look on her young face that was almost exaltation. She looked directly up into his eyes and her voice was tremulous.
“I don’t know who you are, but… I have the strangest feeling that I’m not frightened any more. That everything is all right finally. Are you my brother? Tell me, are you?” Her fingers tightened on his arms and she shook him hysterically.
Shayne looked down into her face and believed her. And he felt sorry as hell for her, though he didn’t know why he should feel sorry for a girl who had done her best to get him killed.
He said, “I’m not your brother, Jean, but we’re going in the hotel the back way and up to my room. And if anybody sees us going up or sees you there, you’re to tell them you are my sister. Do you understand?”
She said very simply, “Yes. I’m so tired of not understanding. If you only knew how terrifying it is.”
He said gruffly, “We’ll talk inside,” and took her arm and led her toward the rear door.
There was a narrow hall leading directly to the lobby in front, but just before they reached it they came to a stairway leading up.
Shayne told her, “This will be better than the elevator,” and they climbed the stairs silently to the fourth floor. They reached his suite without encountering anyone, and he unlocked the door and stood back to let her enter. She walked ahead of him docilely and seated herself on the extreme edge of a chair with her hands folded in her lap, looking around the room with grave interest as though she had never seen a hotel sitting room before.
Shayne took a DO NOT DISTURB sign off the inside knob and hung it on the outside. He double-locked the door, flung his hat across the room and stood looking at her while he rumpled his red hair fiercely.
She sat and looked at him submissively.
He crossed to the open cognac bottle and turned to her with it in one hand and a glass in the other. “Would you like a drink before we begin?”
“I… don’t think so. You see, I don’t think I drink. It tasted awful when they gave me some whisky a couple of days ago.”
Shayne bit his underlip in perplexity and turned away from her to pour an inch in the bottom of the glass. The ice cubes were melted in the pitcher, but he diluted the liquor with an equal portion of cool water.
He sat down and regarded her soberly and said, “Let’s start with last night. You remember that all right, do you?”
“Oh, yes.” She seemed eager to answer. “I remember everything perfectly well after that one night. They said at the hospital I had a concussion and it caused amnesia.”
“Last night,” Shayne reminded her, “you walked into a barroom and came to my booth and spoke to me. Then all hell broke loose and I got slugged by three of your friends. Why?”
She shuddered. “Not my friends. That awful Gene and Bill. And the other one I’d never seen before we picked him up in the car last night. Mule, they called him.” Her face contorted and tears slid down her cheeks. “I’m so sorry. I thought they’d killed you when I ran out. I didn’t know what to do. I… I… what did they do?”
“They tried to kill me. Why?”
“Because they thought… because I… because I
stopped at your booth instead of going on to the right one beyond you. I couldn’t do it to him,” she tearfully pleaded with Shayne. “Don’t you see I couldn’t? He’d been so kind to me that night. And he looked so little and defenceless sitting there. And you were so big and… and, well, tough-looking. It just came over me all at once when I saw you both. I hadn’t planned it that way. But I knew they planned to do something terrible to him as soon as I told them which one he was, so I just couldn’t do it to him. You do see why I couldn’t, don’t you?” She was leaning far forward with glistening eyes that begged him to understand and forgive. In a moment Shayne thought she’d be on her knees before him.
He said, “I don’t see… yet. Sit back and relax and let me get one thing clear if I can. They brought you there to identify someone for them? And he was sitting in the booth behind me. But you didn’t want to put the finger on him, and so you picked me instead. Someone you’d never seen before. Is that the picture?”
“Yes,” she said gladly. “I know it was a terrible thing to do, but like I said, you looked, well…”
“A little better able to take care of myself with Gene and his pals than he did,” Shayne ended for her with a wry grin, recalling the meek little man he’d noticed sitting alone in the rear booth when he first entered the bar. “All right. So I did manage to take care of myself… no thanks to you. Who was the man you were supposed to finger for them?”
“I don’t know his name. He picked me up on the road and dropped me in front of the hospital that night.”
Shayne considered this a moment, tugging at his earlobe. “What did Gene have against him? Strong enough to cause him to try and kill me after you pointed me out as the man?”
“I don’t know. I just don’t know.” Jean Henderson shuddered and her blue eyes pleaded with Shayne to believe her. “I knew they might do something awful. I just felt it. From the beginning when they started in on me and kept after me to describe him. I kept telling them I didn’t know anything about him. And I don’t really. I just had one good look at his face when he stopped to let me out at the hospital. When they first asked me, I made the mistake of admitting I had seen his face. But I didn’t describe it to them. I kept saying he was just sort of ordinary. But that’s why they took me to the bar last night. Because I had seen his face once. Please tell me what it’s all about,” she begged. “Why did they keep me locked up in a room? What happened to my… to the man who said he was my father and took me away from the hospital?”
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