Lucy brought the bottle of whiskey and set it on the desk, went to the water cooler and brought two drinking cups. Shayne stripped the foil from the top of the bottle and twisted the cork.
“You must have gotten a late start this morning,” he suggested as he poured liquor into the two cups.
“I had business in Lexington that held me up until ten-thirty.” Stanger accepted a cup and lifted it gravely. He still appeared a little puzzled and slightly on the defensive, but he wasn’t to be outdone in politeness.
Shayne said, “Bottoms up,” and they both drank.
“That’s good whiskey,” said Stanger. He set the cup down and tamped tobacco in his pipe.
“Are you staying in town?” Shayne asked.
“For a few days. As long as it takes to get this absurd charge against Brand quashed. I’m staying at the Central Hotel.”
“I doubt that you’ll have to be here long. I’ve been getting together what evidence I could, and right now I don’t mind admitting to you frankly that I hardly feel there’s enough evidence to justify our holding Brand.”
Stanger brightened perceptibly, lit his pipe, and relaxed. “I had a feeling,” he said cautiously, “that it was a put-up job to railroad Brand from the beginning. From what I know of the situation here in Centerville I had the impression…” He paused, looking hard into Shayne’s twinkling gray eyes.
“We’re not as bad as a lot of people think. Let’s have another snort and then I’ll send you up to talk with Brand.”
Stanger pulled on his pipe, exuded a cloud of smoke, smiled and said, “Another one never does any harm.”
Shayne poured the drinks and shoved the bottle toward Lucy. “Put it away, please.” He got up and went to the water cooler saying, “Think I’ll have a chaser with this one.” He emptied the whiskey in the drain, took a drink of water, and went back to his chair.
Stanger had downed his drink and was smacking his lips. He said, “Thanks. I’ll go up and see Brand now.”
Shayne went to the door and opened it. “Andrews!” he roared at the newly installed desk sergeant.
Andrews came trotting. Shayne stepped back and pointed at Stanger’s back and said. “This drunken bum has an idea he wants to talk with George Brand. Book him for drunkenness and lock him up so they can talk as long as they like.”
Stanger sprang up and faced them, an unpleasant smile on his face. “I wondered what the catch was. I can prove I’m not drunk, you know, and…”
“Smell his breath, Andrews,” Shayne ordered, “and get him out of here.”
The labor attorney shrugged phlegmatically as though this was all in a day’s work to him, and followed Andrews out.
Lucy was standing at one of the windows looking out when Shayne closed the door and turned toward her. Her back was stiff and her hands clenched into tight fists. Two spots of color flamed in her cheeks when she whirled around and said:
“I wondered what was happening. I wondered and wondered how you got yourself appointed chief of police.” She spat the words out as though they tasted bad. “Now it’s all clear. You’re in it with them to frame George Brand for a murder he didn’t commit. I hate you, Mike Shayne. I loathe you.” Tears were rolling down her cheeks.
Shayne went over and caught her elbows in his palms. “Save it for later,” he said gently. “Right now, I need you.”
“Why do you do things like that, Michael?” She leaned against him. “Why do you pretend to be something else and make me l-love you and then… suddenly… ruin everything?”
“In this case,” he told her, “Stanger gets a good long talk with his client without any interference. Wipe away your tears and come on. We’ve got things to do while they’re conferring.” He kissed both her cheeks and pushed her toward the door, grabbed his hat and followed her.
20
When they were seated in Shayne’s car, he delayed starting the motor while he explained briefly how he had bluffed Seth Gerald into forcing his appointment as chief of police.
“But you haven’t got those letters threatening Charles Roche’s life,” she protested. “You haven’t even seen them.”
Shayne grinned and turned on the ignition. “Gerald doesn’t know that. That’s why I’m working fast. I’ll hold my job just so long as George Brand stays in jail charged with murder. If I released him the whole thing would blow up in my face. The more I get done before that happens, the better it’ll be for Centerville.”
“Do you think Gerald did kill Roche?”
“Right now it looks more like Jimmy. But as long as Gerald thinks I have those threatening letters to spring on him, he’s going to be well satisfied to have all the suspicion rest on Brand.”
“What does Jimmy say?”
“I’ve avoided pushing him into a corner where he’ll have to say anything. Unless Gerald has spilled it, he doesn’t even know I have any idea he was at Brand’s place that night. That’s one of the reasons I wanted to get Ann Cornell and her hophead out of town quietly. Jimmy doesn’t know whether they’ve talked or not. I don’t want him to know. As long as I keep everything quiet and appear to be building up the case against Brand, I’ll have a free hand with the police department.” He was driving slowly, and as he reached the main street he turned to the right.
“I’ve never known you to be like this, Michael. You’ve always accepted police corruption with a shrug. Won’t the whole thing just go right back into the same old groove when you leave?”
Shayne stopped in front of the Central Hotel. His gaunt face was serious and his eyes bleak when he said, “Something happened to me, Lucy, about the third time I was told, “This is Centerville.’ As though this was Germany, or Turkey. Not Centerville, U.S.A. Not the United States at all. Those three words answer every question here. They say there isn’t any justice, there isn’t any hope, there isn’t any future. No one tries to do anything because they accept the fact that nothing can be done.”
His doubled fist struck the steering wheel in a surge of anger. “Maybe something can be done. George Brand pointed the way. For a little while these people began to believe in something.”
He gritted his teeth and was silent for a while. “I’ve always liked things tough,” he resumed. “This is the toughest setup I ever walked into. It’s not that I’m burning up to reform the world, but I’ll be goddamned if I’ll admit this thing is bigger than I am. Let’s go,” he ended abruptly.
Lucy followed him into the hotel lobby, away from groups of people huddled on the sidewalks talking together and turning to stare at Shayne’s tall, lanky figure. The hotel management was glad to cooperate when he asked for a key to Myron J. Stanger’s room. Every eye in the lobby followed them to the elevator, and they saw the idlers get up from their chairs and converge upon the manager’s desk just before they got in the elevator to go up.
It was evident that the Washington attorney had stopped at the hotel only long enough to deposit his things before hurrying to seek an interview with his client. There was a Gladstone and a worn pigskin bag on the floor, and a strapped briefcase on the bed.
Shayne went straight to the briefcase and unstrapped it, found it locked, and got out his keyring. The lock came open easily and he dumped the contents on the bed. He said to Lucy, “See if his bags are locked.”
He went swiftly through the documents from the briefcase while Lucy tried the locks on the bags and told him they were locked. Shayne turned from the bed, unlocked both bags with practiced ease, opened the Gladstone and said to Lucy, “You go to work on that one. Don’t worry about messing his stuff up. If we find what we want he won’t have any kick coming. If we don’t, we’re sunk anyhow.”
“What do you want?” Lucy asked helplessly as she knelt beside the pigskin bag and began lifting out underwear and socks.
“Money,” Shayne told her. “A wad of cash… and an agreement signed by Charles Roche setting forth the terms on which the strike was to have been settled if he’d lived.”