Beside the pot was a coffee cup in a saucer, and it contained a slight residue of very black coffee. At the left of the arm-chair in which Ames had been sitting were two wire mail baskets. The one on the left held a dozen or more unopened letters addressed to Wesley Ames. Between the two baskets was a stack of neatly arranged empty envelopes, each one carefully slit open the long way, and the other basket held a pile of letters which had evidently been removed from the empty envelopes.
Directly in front of the dead man was a very modern and very expensive Dictaphone with a gleaming chromium microphone set upright in a holder placed close to the edge of the desk so it could take dictation easily from a person seated behind the desk.
Nothing was out of place and nothing was disarranged in the smallest degree. It gave the impression that the dead man was methodical and orderly, who believed in a place for everything and everything in its place.
Their silent survey of the death scene was interrupted by Griffin announcing loudly from the hall, “Here come your smart laboratory boys now, Sergeant. Not much for them to do this time, I guess. You want me to hold ’em outside here ’til you’re through?”
Sergeant Griggs said, “I’m through in here.” He went to the door with Rourke and Shayne behind him and met the technicians of his squad coming down the hall. There was a cameraman with his tripod, the fingerprint expert with his kit, a man carrying a powerful portable vacuum cleaner, with an assistant M. E. bringing up the rear. Griggs waved them into the room saying pleasantly, “Give it a fast once-over, boys. Pictures and prints for the record. And you tell us when and how he died, eh, Doc? Watch it, because this time we’ve got a pretty good check on your guesswork.”
He waited until they passed him into the room and then went toward the head of the stairway, saying over his shoulder to Shayne and Rourke, “Come on with me and let’s get some statements on this thing. Then we can all go home and to bed… or wherever you two bachelors are going to bed these days.”
Downstairs, Ralph Larson was still seated on the settee where they had left him, bent forward with elbows resting on his knees and face buried in his hands.
The attorney from New York was slumped back comfortably in an overstuffed chair with a fat cigar clenched between his teeth and the remnants of what Shayne suspected was his second drink in his hand, and the brother of the murdered man sat bolt upright in a straight chair near the door, nervously smoking a cigarette in a long holder and darting worried glances around the room while he obviously waited for something to happen which he also obviously hoped wouldn’t happen.
Sergeant Griggs stopped at the foot of the stairs and said bluntly, “I don’t know who’s who around here. Can anyone suggest a private room I can use to talk to some of you people?”
Mark Ames came to his feet lithely. He said, “I’m Wesley Ames’ brother, Sergeant. This is Mr. Sutter from New York, an overnight guest. Both Mrs. Ames and Wesley’s secretary are out somewhere. The secretary, Victor Conroy, has an office fitted up over here through these double doors in what used to be the library. Is that what you want?”
“Do you live here with your brother?” asked Griggs.
“Certainly not.” Mark Ames looked appalled at the idea. “He hated my guts… and I his,” he went on frankly. “Tonight is the first time I’ve darkened his doors for months.”
“All right,” snapped Griggs. “I’ll get to you in a minute, Mr. Ames.”
He strode toward the double doors indicated by Mark, calling over his shoulder to his uniformed chauffeur who stood by the front door with Powers, “Come in, Jimmy, with your notebook. I’ll want some shorthand.”
He opened one of the doors leading off the living room and reached inside to switch on an overhead light. Then he turned back and said gruffly, “You first, I guess, Mike. And you come in, too, Tim. We’ll get this over as fast as we can.”
Two walls of the library were still lined from floor to ceiling with shelves of books, the third wall had a row of businesslike filing cases against it. There was a long refectory table along one side that was littered with newspapers and typed manuscripts and manila folders and with half a dozen leather-seated chairs lined up against the wall behind it, and there was a large typewriter desk in the opposite corner with an electric typewriter and a Dictaphone playback machine on a stand beside it. Griggs chose the only comfortable chair in the room, upholstered in green leather, and motioned the patrolman toward the desk. There were two straight chairs on either side of Griggs, and Shayne and Rourke sat in those.
“Now then,” said Griggs. “Michael Shayne being interviewed, Jimmy. Tell us what you’re doing here and what you know about this, Mike. Just the simple facts.”
Shayne started with Rourke’s appeal to him on Larson’s behalf that afternoon, said he’d gone out to see Dorothy Larson and got her agreement to break off her affair with Ames, and mentioned dinner at Lucio’s.
“We got to my place a little before eight. Tim and Lucy Hamilton and I. The phone rang and it was Dorothy Larson saying her husband had a gun and was on his way to kill Wesley Ames. I hung up and told Lucy to call the cops, and Tim and I came out as fast as we could. Not more than ten minutes, I guess, but Larson’s car was already parked in front behind that black Cadillac. We saw the front door open and him run in… or somebody run in… just as we pulled up. The door slammed shut and there was a shout from inside and then a sort of crash. We ran in and saw Mark Ames lying on his back on the floor and a silver tray with broken glass near the stairs. A man wearing a white coat was just disappearing up the stairs shouting something in Spanish. We ran up, and Alfred… in the white coat… was pounding on that locked door with the Do Not Disturb sign on it.
“I jerked him back to take a crack at the door, but before I could hit it a gun was fired inside. I had to use my shoulder twice before that bolt gave. Ralph Larson was standing there with a smoking revolver in his hand. Wesley Ames was behind the desk as you saw him. Dead. At least he looked pretty dead to me. I took Ralph’s gun, but before I could check Ames your cops got here and Griffin took over. We all got out and Mr. Sutter was outside in the hall with the others… Mark Ames and Alfred. He said he’d been in his room when he heard the commotion. We all came downstairs and Alfred cleaned up the broken glass from his tray and brought us fresh drinks. That’s about it.”
Griggs glanced at Jimmy and got a nod from him. He said to Shayne, “Then it’s your testimony that Ralph Larson ran inside this house just ahead of you, knocked Mark Ames down and broke Alfred’s tray, ran upstairs and into Ames’ room where he bolted the door and shot him to death?”
Shayne said, “I assume that’s what happened. I wasn’t here and I haven’t stuck my nose into your case by asking any questions. All I know for certain is that Ralph Larson was inside that locked room with a smoking gun when I broke in. And that Ames was dead and Ralph said he’d killed him.”
“He admitted it, eh?”
“He boasted of it.”
Griggs turned to Rourke. “Anything to add to Mike’s story?”
“I can’t think of anything. That’s the way it was. But goddamn it, Sergeant, for the record I’d like to say that Ames deserved killing if any man ever did. He drove Ralph to it, and the kid was insane with jealousy. You heard him yourself, Mike. He said that Ames just sat there in his chair and laughed in his face when he said he was going to kill him. He was out of his mind when he did it. If there ever was a case of justifiable homicide…”
“All right, Rourke,” Griggs said impatiently. “We’re not trying the case here. Wait until you get in the witness chair. You two stick around until I see if any more questions come up. Send the brother in, huh? Mark Ames.”
Shayne got up hesitantly, “Do me a favor, Sergeant?”
“I don’t know, Mike. Will it cost me my arm?”
Shayne grinned, “Just let me sit back in one of those chairs behind the table out of the way and hear what these other people have to say.”
“What the
hell for? It’s cut and dried, isn’t it? All we need to do is get the sequence of things straight.”
“I don’t know,” Shayne said slowly. “I guess I feel more or less responsible for that guy sitting out in the other room with the electric chair in front of him. If I’d paid more attention to Tim this afternoon this mightn’t have happened.”
“But you did pay attention to me, Mike. You went out and talked to Dorothy Larson as I asked.”
“But it wasn’t good enough,” Shayne reminded him grimly. “I should have talked to Ralph, too. Thrown him in jail, maybe. It sticks in my craw,” he went on explosively. “Our getting here just about one minute too late. If I’d got a little more speed out of that car of mine on the Boulevard…”
“If you’d gotten any more speed we’d probably both be dead along with Wesley Ames,” Rourke interrupted him.
“Anyhow let’s say I don’t like to walk out on something before it’s finished.” Shayne moved around the long table to an unobtrusive seat in the far corner.
Griggs said impatiently, “It’s okay by me.” He grinned at Rourke. “Probably just wants a lesson in how a real honest-to-God cop operates. So he can pass it on to his pal Brett Halliday next time he wants to write up one of his cases. That guy could use some lessons in police procedure all right. Ask Mark Ames to come in, Tim.”
“Sure.” Timothy Rourke was studying Shayne speculatively with very bright eyes. He nodded abruptly and said, “I’ll stick around and take a lesson, too, Sarge.” He went to the library door and called, “Ames.” Then came back and quietly seated himself at the other end of the long table from Shayne.
7
MARK AMES CAME IN AND SEATED HIMSELF QUIETLY in the chair nearest the door. The sergeant said, “This is pretty informal and probably won’t even require a sworn statement. We’ll see about that later. Mark Ames, Jimmy. The dead man’s brother. Just tell me what you know about this, Ames.”
“Not much. I was sitting there in the living room waiting for Alfred to bring me a drink when a car came up the drive fast and the floodlights came on outside. They’re rigged up that way, with an electric eye at the gate that automatically turns them on when a car turns in. There’s also an electric signal system all around the place on top of the wall. Wes wasn’t taking any chances on uninvited visitors slipping into the premises.”
“Just a minute. Let’s go back for a touch of background. You say you don’t live here?”
“God, no,” Ames shuddered. “I also said, if you recall, that I hated my brother’s guts, and you can put that in the record, too.”
“Yeh,” said Griggs unemotionally. “And you had come here tonight for the first time in months. Why?”
“To talk to Wesley.”
“What time was that?”
“After their dinner. About seven o’clock. I had an appointment with Wes and he knew I was coming, but he had that damned don’t disturb sign outside his study door and so I had to sit and cool my heels until he was ready to see me.”
“Is that your Cadillac outside?”
“Christ, no. I came in a taxi. I think it was a Yellow but I don’t know the driver’s name or number. You can probably get a record of the time if you want,” he added sarcastically.
“All right. Who was here when you arrived?”
“Helena was here. Ames’ wife. And Vic Conroy. They and Alfred, the houseboy, live here. I also met Mr. Sutter briefly. He was also waiting to have an interview with my dear brother, having flown down from New York for the privilege, and he was burned up with waiting. He’d also had a few drinks before dinner, I gathered, because he went up to his room soon after I got here saying he was going to rest until the great man would condescend to see him.”
“And so you waited in the living room?”
“I waited in the living room. Vic came in here to do some typing, and Helena was nervous and ill-at-ease. She apologized for her husband’s keeping me waiting, and Alfred came in soon after with a coffeepot ready to be taken up to Wes, and Helena took it up. She’s the only one in the household allowed in that room when Wes has his sign out. She stayed upstairs and I sat here alone.
“About seven-fifteen the floodlights came on indicating a visitor had arrived, and Vic came out of his room to go to the front door and check him in. It was evidently someone Wes expected, because Vic sent him on around the side of the house to go up the outside stairs to Wes’s study.
“That was standard operating procedure here,” he went on with a twisted grin. “Wes had a lot of weird characters visiting him at odd hours, and it was Vic’s job to know them and screen them, and send them around the back way if they were expected.
“Vic came back inside and talked for a few minutes, and then went upstairs to his own room. A few minutes later Wes’s visitor left and the floodlights went off outside. I thought surely Wes would open up his door then and call me to come in, but the son-of-a-bitch didn’t.
“Helena came down after a little, wearing a mink and a scarf over her head, and said she was bored to death sitting around this morgue and was going to drive over to the beach for a drink. She said I could tell Wes she’d probably be at the Penguin Club if he gave a damn.
“She was just going out to get in her T-Bird that was parked in front of Wes’s Cad when Vic came hurrying downstairs and said he was going in town, too. I remember she asked him if he had Wes’s permission to leave the house and he said to hell with that… that there weren’t any more visitors due tonight and he had some time off due him.
“They went out together and drove off in their own cars.” Mark Ames paused, looking at Griggs quizzically. “That brings me up to where I was when I started. Wait a minute. Except that Sutter came to the head of the stairs and yelled down to Alfred to bring him a bottle of Scotch and a glass, adding that he might as well get good and drunk if Ames was going to keep him waiting all night. He was good and sore and I got the impression he was shouting outside Wes’s door expecting him to hear him and come out to apologize, but he didn’t know my dear brother very well. He went back to his room, and I told Alfred he might as well bring me some bourbon at the same time, and that was when the car drove up outside and the lights came on.
“I started for the front door just as Alfred was coming in from his pantry with the tray, and it was flung open violently and a young man burst in flourishing a revolver and shouting, ‘Where is he? I’m going to kill him.’
“I tried to stop him, but I didn’t try very hard. I didn’t like the looks of that gun and I was hardly prepared to give my own life to save Wes. Anyhow, he shoved me aside and ran toward the stairs, and Alfred got in his way and he knocked him aside and the tray crashed on the floor. Then he went up the stairs two at a time, and Alfred picked himself up and went after him, and then the door burst open again and these two men came in. I was just getting up from the floor and all I could do was point up the stairs, and they ran past me and a moment later I heard a shot.”
Mark Ames paused and shrugged. “I pulled myself together and went upstairs hoping for the best. Sutter was running down the hall and Alfred was outside the door, and Shayne and Rourke and the young man were inside, and I heard them say Wesley was dead, and I remember my first thought was that a lot of fairly decent people were going to sleep more soundly tonight after hearing the midnight newscast.”
Griggs nodded absently. “Is that all, Mr. Ames?”
“Your cops came a moment later. That’s all.”
“Very well. But stick around until I get through and give you permission to leave.”
“I intend to stay at least until Helena gets back. This will be quite a shock to her.”
Griggs said, “Send that lawyer in, please,” and he lifted his eyebrows at Shayne, “You make any startling deductions from all that?”
Shayne shook his red head. “Nothing startling or otherwise. Brother Mark doesn’t make any effort to hide his aversion for the dead man.”
“It’s pretty much an open secret around
town. In fact there are rumors that, well… that Mr. and Mrs. Ames weren’t entirely lovey-dovey at home and that Mark wasn’t averse to filling in while Wesley was tomcatting around elsewhere,” offered Rourke.
“You mean he was having an affair with his brother’s wife?”
“Just rumors. Helena Ames is a young and lovely woman and Wesley wasn’t exactly the ever-loving husband type.”
Mr. Sutter came in weaving a trifle and with a half-smoked cigar clenched between his teeth. He said aggressively, “I have no information of the slightest consequence to aid you in this matter, Sergeant. I understand that this man is a newspaper reporter.” He jerked his head toward Rourke. “And I find it quite unusual for him to be present at an inquiry of this sort. Highly irregular. My firm will not be pleased if we receive newspaper notoriety in connection with this disgraceful affair.”
Sergeant Griggs nodded impassively. “Sit down, Mr. Sutter. State your name, occupation and home address for the record.”
He sat down and said icily, “Alonzo J. Sutter. I am an attorney with my office and residence in New York City.”
“Is Wesley Ames one of your clients?”
“Certainly not,” snapped Sutter, giving the impression that the very suggestion was odious. “I flew to Miami today to have a conference with him on a legal matter concerning one of our valued clients.”
“Do you mind giving me his name and stating the nature of the legal matter?”
“I certainly do. That is privileged information and completely immaterial.”
“What time did you reach Miami?”
“About five o’clock. I took a taxi direct from the airport with every expectation of conferring with Mr. Ames immediately and I had hoped to return to New York by a later flight tonight. Instead I was greeted on my arrival by the man’s secretary, a Mr. Conroy, I believe, who explained that his employer might not be available to me for several hours and suggested that I remain in the house as a guest until such time as Mr. Ames should deign to give me an interview.”
Shoot to Kill Page 5
