She Woke to Darkness ms-25

by Brett Halliday

  There was something of a haughty look about her face, with a nose that was a trifle too long and too sharp, and a short upper lip that drew away slightly from upper teeth. She was looking directly towards Shayne as his casual gaze slid down the row of tables and stopped to survey her. She didn’t avert her eyes as they met his, but continued to look calmly through him as though he didn’t exist. A thin-stemmed cocktail glass stood on the table in front of her, half-full of a yellowish liquid that looked like a side-car.

  Shayne considered her gravely for a moment, then continued around in a full circle to face the bartender again. He asked quietly, “You don’t happen to know her name?”

  “No, sir. I don’t believe I ever heard it mentioned. You’re not the cops?”

  “Private,” Shayne told him. He drank more cognac and took a sip of ice water, asked, “Can you remember if either you or Jack were on the late closing shift about three months ago?”

  “That’d be Jack. He always worked the last shift until two weeks ago when he got hitched. Now he’s got something better to do at home than hang around here till four in the morning shooing out drunks.” The bartender chortled meaningfully. “So he traded off with one of the day men. What was it you wanted, Mister?”

  “A word with Jack if I can have it.” Shayne pushed the bill across the counter. “Keep that for your help. What’s the young lady at the table behind me drinking?”

  “Say, thanks.” The bill went into his pocket. “That’s a stinger she’s got.”

  Shayne said, “Why don’t you ask Jack to bring a fresh one, and a pony of Martel for me to her table?”

  “Coming right up.” The bartender bustled to the front of the bar to confer with his colleague, and Shayne finished his double brandy. He lit a cigarette and slid off the stool, crossed to the girl’s table and pulled out the vacant chair in front of her, asking, “Do you mind if I sit here and buy you a drink?”

  Her upper lip curled away from her teeth a trifle more than when it was in repose. She said, “Sorry, but I didn’t come in for a pick-up.”

  Shayne said, “I know,” settling himself in the chair. “You came in to talk about Elsie Murray. So did I. So, let’s talk.”

  “Elsie?” Surprise and fear slid briefly into her cool blue eyes. She really looked at him now, with intense interest. “I don’t know you at all.”

  “You didn’t know all Elsie’s friends, did you?”

  “Of course not. I didn’t really know her well.”

  “Well enough to come around here and discuss her with the bartender when you read about her murder.”

  She finished her cocktail and shrugged elaborately. “That doesn’t mean anything.” She put her hands flat on the table as though to get up.

  Shayne leaned forward and put one big restraining palm over the back of one of hers. “I’ve ordered you a fresh stinger. I want to talk about Elsie.”

  She hesitated, compressing her lips and looking down at his hand covering hers on the table. “Are you another of her boy-friends?” Her voice was icy, but it trembled a trifle.

  Shayne shook his red head. “I never met the girl. But a friend of mine was in her apartment last night just before she died and I’m trying to help him out.” He withdrew his hand as the tall bald-headed bartender came up to their table with a tray.

  He looked at Shayne with interest as he placed the glasses in front of them, and said, “You were asking about Miss Murray that got killed last night?”

  Shayne said, “Yes,” and leaned back in his chair to look up at the waiter. Another five-dollar bill lay on the table. “Were you on duty here from midnight to closing about three months ago?”

  “I would’ve been, sure. Always worked that shift until lately.”

  “And you knew Elsie Murray by sight?” Shayne persisted.

  “Yeh. Nice girl. She mostly dropped in alone late for a nightcap. Lived in that apartment right down the street.”

  “I know. Do you remember one night around midnight when she came in pretty tight and borrowed a dime from you to make a phone call because she’d lost her purse and hadn’t any change?”

  A slight movement from the girl across the table drew Shayne’s attention to her. Her eyes were rounded and thoughtful, no longer so cool a blue as they had been. Her mouth was open slightly in a small O and she was frowning intently.

  Shayne swung his gaze back to Jack when the bartender said flatly, “I don’t recollect anything like that ever happening.”

  “Wait a minute. I’m sure it did happen,” Shayne said just as flatly. “Maybe this will jog your memory. You advised her to go on home instead of telephoning, and she got sore and told you to mind your own business and give her the dime. So you did. And she looked up a telephone number here in the directory and read it out to you while you wrote it down for her. Now do you remember?”

  “I sure would if it’d happened that way. But it didn’t. None of it.” Jack met Shayne’s gaze steadily with his jaw outthrust a bit.

  Shayne said harshly, “Why are you lying about it, Jack?”

  “Lying? Why should I?”

  “That,” said Shayne, “is what I want to know. This is a murder investigation, you know.”

  “I don’t care what it is,” blustered the bartender. “You can’t come, in here pushing me around. I tell you it never happened that way.”

  “And I say it did.” Shayne stood slowly to face the man. Faces from the bar were turned in their direction curiously as their voices carried over the light hum of conversation. The lines in Shayne’s cheeks deepened as he said flatly, “I want the truth from you. And I particularly want to know why you’re lying about something that happened three months ago.”

  Jack wet his lips indecisively. He glanced away from Shayne at the faces at the bar and at his paunchy colleague behind it, then back to the redhead to say angrily, “I won’t take that sort of talk from no one. One more crack like that will get you thrown out on your ear.” He turned on his heel and stalked away defiantly.

  Shayne sat down, thoughtfully crumpled the bill that still lay on the table and replaced it in his pocket.

  The girl across from him looked puzzled and worried. She leaned closer and asked in a low, troubled voice: “What is it about a telephone call Elsie made three months ago? Why it is important and why would he lie about it?”

  “The lying part is most important,” Shayne told her grimly. “Until that happened, I wasn’t sure whether the call meant anything or not. Now I do know.” He lifted his pony of brandy to sip from it abstractedly.

  The girl remained leaning forward tensely. “You say it happened one night when Elsie had lost her purse?”

  Shayne nodded. “Mislaid it, at least. She had been to a party,” he went on swiftly, “and left her purse in a man’s car when he brought her home quite tight. Not only all her money, but the keys to her apartment were in the purse. So she dropped in here and borrowed a dime from Jack to telephone someone. Did you know her at that time, and do you know anything about the incident?”

  The girl sank back against the wall and the fingers of one hand curled tightly about the stem of her glass. “I knew her when she was living down the street.” Her voice was steady and throbbed with something that sounded like gladness or relief to Shayne.

  “Three months ago. I think it must have been the night Elsie passed out at a party and was questioned the next day by the police about the death of a man with whom she was suspected of having left the party and registered in a hotel room.”

  “What makes you think it was that particular night?” Shayne kept his voice low, but it cut like a whip-lash.

  “Isn’t it a natural assumption?” She looked at him in surprise. “Elsie was murdered last night, and you say you’re trying to help out a friend who may be suspected. So you come in here asking questions about a phone call she made three months ago. Wouldn’t you expect anyone of even normal intelligence to think there must be some connection between the two murders?”


  “She proved she had nothing to do with the first one.”

  “Did she?” Her upper lip curled disdainfully again.

  “She was questioned by the police and produced an alibi they had to accept.”

  “Is that what happened?” Her voice was light. “I never knew the exact truth. Except that she was questioned, and later moved very suddenly from her apartment down the street. And stopped coming in here altogether after that night. Who provided her so conveniently with an alibi for that night?”

  “I hoped you could tell me that.”

  “Sorry. I really didn’t know much about the affair.” She lifted her stinger glass and drank from it.

  “Nevertheless,” said Shayne grimly, “you’re the first person I’ve contacted who had any connection with the unsolved murder of Elbert Green three months ago, and I’ve got a lot of questions to ask.”

  “Do you think Elsie did it… and was killed last night for revenge or something?”

  “I don’t think anything yet. See here, I’m a detective, Miss…?” Shayne hesitated.

  “Stevens,” she told him promptly. “Estelle Stevens. I’d be awfully glad to help you, but really I must hurry along to keep an appointment.” She finished her cocktail and stood up as she spoke.

  Shayne stood up with her and put a detaining hand on her arm. “This is a lot more important than any appointments you may have. Give me five minutes…”

  “I’m really sorry but I haven’t a minute to spare.” She was all patrician hauteur now. She tried to move away, looking icily down at his hand on her arm.

  His grip tightened and his voice became angry. “This isn’t a game, damn it. Sit down here…”

  He was interrupted by a husky Irish brogue at his elbow: “This man giving you trouble, Miss?”

  Shayne jerked his head around to see a burly enforcer of New York’s ordinances standing flat-footed beside him. A few paces back, the bald-headed bartender stood with venomous triumph glittering in his eyes. A complete hush had fallen over the cocktail lounge, and all eyes were interestedly taking in the tableau at the rear.

  “Thank you, Officer.” Estelle Stevens spoke swiftly and nervously. “Yes. He is giving me trouble. He’s an utter stranger who insisted on sitting with me and detaining me from an important appointment. If I could just be allowed to go along now…?”

  “Now wait a minute,” said the bluecoat officiously. “If you wanta make a complaint…”

  “But I don’t,” she cried. “I simply want to be left alone.”

  “Besides all that, Captain,” said Jack stepping up beside the policeman, “I’ll swear out a complaint if you want. Like I told you in the beginning, this bozo come in here and started asking questions and causing trouble and then…”

  “I’m sure you understand, Officer,” said Estelle nervously, twisting her arm from Shayne’s grasp and sidling toward the door. “I simply want to be left alone. And I do thank you for your assistance.”

  She tripped out gaily and Shayne turned angrily to the uniformed man; drawing him aside and turning his back on the bald-headed bartender to display his Florida credentials as a private investigator and explain hurriedly:

  “From Miami, but I’m working on a local case. That woman is an important witness and must be followed. Let’s get on her tail fast.”

  The cop hesitated, narrowing his eyes at Shayne’s face. “Are you Mike Shayne?”

  “I’m Mike Shayne.” The redhead moved him toward the door, continuing swiftly: “Get smart and you might get promoted off your beat. You can check with Lieutenant Hogan of Homicide later. But right now we can’t afford to lose that woman.”

  17

  The policeman hesitated uncertainly, moved by the urgency of Shayne’s manner and obviously impressed by the name of Lieutenant Hogan, but not yet quite certain whether he was being sold a bill of goods or not.

  Jack, the bartender, intervened at exactly the right moment to make up the officer’s mind for him. He stepped in front of the two as though to bar their exit. “I don’t know what kinda story this bozo handed you,” he said threateningly, “but you’re a fool if you believe a word of it. If you don’t lock him up…”

  “A fool, am I?” grated the policeman, shoving him aside with his left shoulder. “Out of my way before you’re clinked for obstructing justice.”

  They hurried out onto the sidewalk together, and Shayne breathed a sigh of relief when he sighted Estelle’s tall, slender figure hurrying northward on the avenue a full block away.

  “There she is, Officer.” He pointed ahead and started walking unhurriedly in the same direction. “I think I know where she’s headed, so we needn’t get closer unless she changes her mind.”

  “I got to know about this,” the uniformed man said sternly. “Maybe this is on the up and up and maybe not. What was it you mentioned about Hogan of Homicide?”

  “He’s working on the case with Precinct Detective Peters,” Shayne explained. “Elsie Murray who was strangled last night.” They strode along side by side, keeping a block between them and the hurrying figure of Estelle. “I flew up from Miami this morning to look into the case for a friend of hers,” Shayne went on evenly, “and I’ve been working on this angle while your men are following up a local lead.

  “The bald-headed bartender back there is mixed up in it somehow. What sort of story did he hand you? And what’s your name, by the way? I’d like to tell Hogan how intelligently you cooperated with me.”

  “Grady, it is.” The Irish brogue deepened under Shayne’s commendation. “Baldy, back there? I was passing by when he hurried out and said there was some trouble inside. A drunk molesting a young lady.”

  “He should be watched,” Shayne said sternly. “I know you’re not a detective, but I can clearly see you’ve got the makings of one. How’s for it if I tail the girl and you go back to keep an eye on Jack? Or aren’t you allowed to leave your beat for something like that?”

  Completely won over by Michael Shayne’s blarney, Officer Grady said proudly, “That’s what we’re on beat for, of course. To take action in any emergency as seems fitting. It’s in the rule-book. I’ll tell the sergeant when I phone in next. What would you suspect Baldy of being up to?”

  “Tipping someone off that I’ve caught him in his lie and they’d better do something about it. If you’re back there quickly, you might earn a detective rating for this. Stick with him, and report direct to Hogan if he does anything suspicious.”

  “Right you are.” Grady swung a beefy hand In a half-salute, swung on his heel and hurried back toward the barroom. Shayne moved up his pace somewhat to close the gap between Estelle and himself to half a block.

  She was walking fast along the uncrowded avenue, not looking back at all, evidently certain in her own mind that Shayne was still being detained by Grady.

  As Shayne had anticipated, Estelle continued northward about ten blocks before turning into Lew Recker’s hotel. He slowed his pace and sauntered on, allowing her plenty of time to pass through the lobby before turning in himself. There was an older woman at the desk this time, and she glanced at him incuriously as he went directly to the elevators at the rear. One came down a moment later, and the detective was taken up to the 5th floor. He turned to his left and went to Recker’s door. He listened for a moment, but could hear nothing from within. He tried the knob and found it locked, then knocked lightly.

  After a few moments, Lew Recker’s voice came suspiciously from the other side of the locked door. “Yes? Who is it?”

  Shayne said, “Special Delivery letter,” hoping it wasn’t the custom of this hotel to telephone up first before making a delivery. Evidently it wasn’t, because the knob turned and the door opened a narrow crack.

  Shayne moved against it with his shoulder, shoving Recker back as he stepped inside.

  Estelle Stevens faced him across the room in front of the typewriter desk. Her face was pale and frightened as she gasped out: “That’s the man, Lew. The one I was telling
you about.”

  “I thought I recognized your description,” said Recker angrily, confronting Shayne with glittering eyes. “I know all about him, Estelle. He’s an impostor who forced his way in here earlier to question me about Elsie, pretending he was a cop. There’s probably a warrant out for his arrest right now. So you’d better beat it while you can,” he flung at Shayne venomously.

  The redhead grinned happily and heeled the door shut, moving back to stand with his back to it. “On the contrary, bud. We three are going to have a nice cozy talk about Elsie Murray… and about another friend of yours who was murdered three months ago. Elbert Green.”

  Estelle stiffened and her upper lip drew back from her teeth when she heard the name. Lew Recker merely grunted angrily and moved back toward the telephone stand. “I’ll tell the police anything they want to know.”

  He leaned down to reach for the phone, but Shayne moved swiftly and flung him backward across the room toward Estelle. “You’re talking to me. And now. One more yap from you will get your face spoiled.

  “Listen to me carefully, you two,” he went on fast and rough. “This isn’t a game you’re playing. Two people are dead already, and maybe a third. I know things the police don’t know, and you know things I’ve got to know.

  “Don’t be a childish fool,” he went on harshly to Recker who had sunk into a chair and was nervously rubbing his face with a handkerchief. “If you talked to Detective Peters after I left this morning, you know I’m perfectly legitimate even if I am private from Florida. He may have told you I have no official standing in New York and no authority to ask questions, but this is my authority right now.” He doubled a big fist and shoved it menacingly under Recker’s nose. “Start talking.”

  “I don’t know…” Recker stopped and swallowed hard. He looked up plaintively at Estelle and asked her, “Do you know what the man wants, dear? You were just telling me how you met him in some cocktail lounge…?”