“Four years ago,” Shayne reminded him. “Four years of wealth and good food, absence of worry, and a beautiful young bride can fill a man out and erase the wrinkles. Add some black hair dye-”
“I don’t know what kind of cock-and-bull story you’re trying to frame,” Dustin said angrily. “You started out by promising to arrest a murderer here. If you’ve got anything to say, why don’t you stop this foolishness and say it.”
“Cut it out, King,” Shayne snapped. “I’ve checked and know your story of an inheritance from a rich uncle in Los Angeles was hogwash. It was cooked up between you and Voorland when he went to Massillon, Ohio, in nineteen forty-three with this fantastic plan of his and pretended to be a lawyer named Norwood-or Northcott. He knew the insurance company would investigate your background before paying the claim, and had to fix up a legitimate excuse for you to be buying hundred-thousand-dollar rubies.”
Peter Painter came to his feet and snapped, “I don’t understand this. I don’t understand it at all. Are you saying this man is King? The James T. King who was robbed of a ruby ring in Miami four years ago?”
“And Roland Kendrick,” Shayne said grimly, “who popped up in Westchester County, New York, from nowhere soon after King collected his insurance and disappeared. He spent the next two years carefully building himself a new identity and a reputation as a wealthy playboy that would stand the closest scrutiny by an insurance company after he and Voorland pulled their second coup. His wife was killed in that New Orleans hold-up and he married a new one about a month later, after a whirlwind courtship of just five days. His second anniversary was a few days ago, and the dates check.”
“Haven’t we had enough of this nonsense?” Voorland appealed to the detective chief. “Shayne hasn’t one shred of proof for a single one of his wild theories.”
“In order to disprove it,” said Shayne cheerfully, “all you have to do is produce Mark Dustin’s canceled check. The one he is supposed to have given you for the bracelet. And the checks from King and Kendrick. The banks keep photostatic records of all important accounts these days, and there shouldn’t be any difficulty about that. If you can’t do that, you might like to confront a next-door neighbor of King’s in Massillon, Ohio. A man named Hank Klinger who clearly remembers the lawyer who called on King back in nineteen forty-three. And then you can tell us how you came to be hanging around here last night and heard Celia Dustin arrange to meet me at the foot of the bathing-pier, and how you met her there instead-”
“No. You can’t get me for murder,” Voorland shouted. “I admit-”
“Wait a minute!” Mark Dustin dragged himself up to a sitting position on the couch. He said angrily, “This entire stupid hypothesis rests on your suspicion that the jewel thefts were prearranged. Good God, do you think I arranged that affair last night? Fixed it to get myself cut up and my hand smashed, just to-?”
“No,” said Shayne, “I think that was the one accident you didn’t foresee, and it upset the applecart. All because Voorland was afraid to show his phony bracelet to a certain Rajah of Hindupoor a couple of weeks ago. He knew a star ruby with his reputation behind it would get by an Occidental expert, but the Orientals have a way of spotting fakes by merely handling them, and Walter Voorland knows that as well as any man alive. This refusal whetted the Rajah’s appetite and he let it be known that he was in the market for that bracelet with no questions asked. I’m convinced the heist last night was perfectly legitimate-the only legitimate thing about this whole damned business. I think we can get you for murder,” he added quietly to Walter Voorland. “You know your house of cards has fallen. We’ll have a hundred witnesses to prove-”
“I admit the insurance frauds,” said Voorland gutturally, “just as you describe them. But murder-no! I warned him that other time when-”
Mark Dustin came to his feet, his right hand dangling. With a strangled oath he went toward Voorland, his left hand knotted into a powerful fist. Shayne thrust him back on the couch and turned to say:
“That other time in New Orleans when he killed his first wife, Voorland? You warned him not to mix murder with fraud? You were right. That’s always a mistake.”
“So I told him.” Voorland’s voice was thick with anger. “But no! The hotheaded fool was tired of his wife. She knew too much for him to get rid of her by any other means. So, he must shoot her in the supposed robbery.”
“It gets to be a habit; doesn’t it, Dustin? Were you tired of Celia already? Wouldn’t she divorce you? You played asleep after she gave you that first sleeping-tablet, and heard her telephone me, didn’t you? And then you slipped down the stairs behind her and killed her with a left-handed blow and left her on the sand while you hurried back up here and alibied yourself by taking three more of the tablets. What was she going to tell me, King? What proof was she going to show me?”
The pseudo mining man groaned and said harshly, “I had to kill her. I didn’t want to. I’m glad it’s over. I believe I’d have confessed eventually, anyway. I don’t want to go on living without her. I loved her. Do you understand that? I loved her.”
“So you murdered her.”
“What else could I do? Like a fool, I’d once mentioned Voorland’s name to her in Denver. When we came here to Miami Beach I pretended I didn’t know him, and she remembered that after the robbery. She asked me about it after we came back from the hospital and I denied it, but I could see that she didn’t believe me. So I did pretend to go to sleep, and I heard her going through my briefcase.
“Then I remembered there was a letter in it from Voorland which I had neglected to destroy. I knew she must have found that letter when she telephoned you, and I–I went crazy, I guess. I couldn’t stand having her know the truth about me. I think that’s really why I killed her. I couldn’t stand it, I tell you.” He sank back on the couch. His face was suddenly the face of an old and tired man.
“It’s as good a motive as most husbands have,” Shayne told him sourly. He turned to Randolph and said, “Let’s get out of here and go where the air is cleaner.”
Peter Painter strutted to the telephone and called Beach headquarters. Timothy Rourke was rapidly making notes on a sheaf of papers. Walter Voorland sat erect with his hands on his knees, staring vacantly before him.
Earl Randolph got up and went out the door with Shayne. They went down in the elevator together and out to Shayne’s car. Neither of them said anything until they were headed across the causeway to the mainland. Then Randolph muttered awkwardly:
“I hope Miss Hamilton is recovering all right. As soon as she’s well enough I’d like an opportunity to apologize and explain how terribly sorry I am about her accident.”
Shayne said, “Let’s go up and see her now. I think she’d feel better knowing it was all a mistake and that you didn’t really try to murder her.”
“It’s a damned shame about losing that thirty thousand of the insurance reward,” Randolph mused. “The way everything has come out, you might just as well have had the entire thirty-six thousand. I’m sure you realize this proof of fraud on the part of the insured person relieves us of all responsibility for paying the policy-exactly the same as though the bracelet had been recovered.”
“I did take that into consideration,” Shayne said gravely, “when I planned to hang onto my six thousand. You don’t think your company will attempt to recover the missing thirty grand from me by charging negligence.”
“I’m sure they won’t attempt anything like that,” said Randolph warmly, “when I report exactly how I saw it disappear from your car after you had left it there in good faith. Actually they should consider the full sum well spent,” he continued, “because the way things have turned out now we will probably recover all or most of the money paid out on those two previous phony claims by suing Voorland and Dustin-or Kendrick-or King-whatever his real name is.”