8
Michael Shayne remained seated behind his desk when Sims and Mrs. Meredith were ushered in. The lawyer had a folded copy of the Daily News in his hand, and he slapped it against his thigh as he advanced and asked belligerently, “What do you know about all this, Shayne?”
Shayne asked, “All what?” his gaze going past Sims to concentrate on Albert Hawley’s ex-wife.
She met his gaze coolly and with candid appraisal, folding her hands in front of her and staying back demurely as her companion leaned over Shayne’s desk and blustered:
“You know what. You knew who Mrs. Meredith was at Hastings’ office without being introduced. Hastings refused to admit that you’ve been retained to manufacture evidence that may deprive my client of her rightful inheritance, but I can’t imagine any other reason why he would be consulting a man with your reputation.”
Shayne continued to look past his angry face at Mrs. Meredith. “Can you think of any good reason why I would wish to deprive you of an inheritance, Mrs. Meredith?”
A faint smile quirked her lips and her lissome body appeared to sway slightly even while she stood motionless. “I don’t know you very well, Mr. Shayne. Only what Mr. Sims has told me.”
He leaned back and nodded toward a chair by his desk. “Why don’t you sit down and get better acquainted?”
“I’d like to very much.” She sat in the chair, moving it slightly so her elbows rested on the desk, cupping her chin in her palms not more than two feet from Shayne’s face.
“You haven’t answered me, Shayne.” Sims was breathing hard and his voice became increasingly hostile.
“I hardly ever answer people who come in my office making accusations.” Shayne turned his attention back to Mrs. Meredith and asked her, “Do we have to have Jake Sims in on this?”
“I suppose we do.” She made her voice regretful. “He is my lawyer and I need all the advice I can get.”
Shayne growled, “Then sit down, Sims, and watch your manners. One more nasty crack and I’ll throw you both out. I didn’t know you were in Miami, Mrs. Meredith.”
“I flew in this morning.”
“You know the terms of Ezra Hawley’s will?”
She nodded, keeping her round eyes fixed steadily on his face. “Mr. Hastings informed Jake Sims yesterday… knowing that he represents me.”
“And I see you know all about Jasper Groat’s diary.” Shayne glanced significantly at the folded newspaper in Sims’s hand.
“We just read about it,” the lawyer told him. “What I want to clear up first of all, Shayne, is how you got into this? What is your interest in the matter?” He had grudgingly seated himself opposite his client, and he took a thin, dappled cigar from his breast pocket and bit off the end with yellowed teeth.
Shayne said, “I became interested after meeting Cunningham and Mrs. Groat last night. An interview with the Hawleys this morning intrigued me further.”
“Is it true that Mr. Groat has disappeared?” asked Mrs. Meredith.
“Who told you that?”
“Peter Cunningham.”
Shayne said, “You didn’t lose any time getting in touch with him.”
“I made it a point to contact him last evening,” said Sims hastily. “We want to know if Groat has turned up yet.”
Shayne hesitated a moment. But he knew it would shortly be common knowledge so he said, “He’s turned up all right. Dead.”
Mrs. Meredith closed her eyes slowly and tightened her lips. “Dead?” exclaimed Sims. “How? What happened to him?”
“He got himself murdered last night. I gather he was the sort of man who had moral scruples. On the other hand, I gather that Cunningham isn’t. So… Groat is dead and Cunningham is still alive. When does he say Albert Hawley died?” he demanded suddenly of Mrs. Meredith.
“He doesn’t.” She rounded her eyes at him again, then reached out one hand impulsively to touch his wrist. “Do you think you could persuade him to say it was the fifth day?”
A hot glow showed in Shayne’s gray eyes. “I think the right sort of offer would persuade Cunningham to testify to anything… if he could be certain that an entry in Groat’s diary wouldn’t prove him a liar.”
“That’s the crux of it,” said Sims bitterly. “That diary! Do you know what date it gives for Albert’s death?”
Shayne shook his red head. “I haven’t seen the diary.”
“Can you find out?” Sims leaned forward eagerly. “You’re very close to Timothy Rourke on the News. He must know… or can find out easily enough from that other reporter.”
Shayne nodded. “Probably.”
“You know how important it is to Mrs. Meredith to prove that Ezra predeceased his nephew. You could earn a fat fee by finding out what the diary says before it’s published.”
“It’s just as important to the Hawleys to prove that Albert died before his uncle,” Shayne pointed out.
“Have they retained you?” demanded Sims swiftly.
“No. At the moment I’m open to any reasonable offer.”
“How much?”
“How much for what?” asked Shayne cheerfully.
Jake Sims hesitated, working the thin cigar around in his mouth and glancing surreptitiously at his client and then back at the redhead. “You understand the position as well as I do. If the diary proves that Albert died on the fifth day… we’re in. Even if the Hawleys offered Cunningham a million-dollar bribe to say it was the fourth day, he wouldn’t dare accept it because the diary would prove him a liar.”
“But he isn’t saying which day it was,” Shayne guessed sardonically, “until he knows the diary won’t pop up to make a liar out of him.”
“That’s about it. Which poses another question, Shayne. You say Groat is dead. Does the News still have the right to publish his diary?”
Shayne said, “You’d better ask their lawyers that question.” He turned his attention back to Mrs. Meredith whose fingertips were still resting lightly on his wrist. “I should think you might be able to make a private deal with a man like Cunningham.”
She smiled slowly and her fingers pressed harder against his flesh. “I imagine I could. In fact, he suggested as much this morning. But I’d much rather make a private deal with a man like you, Michael Shayne.”
“You’ve already pointed out,” Sims broke in, “that Cunningham’s testimony is valueless if the diary contradicts him. On the other hand, it’s also valueless if the diary confirms it. Either way, he has nothing to sell either side so long as the entries in the diary are to be published in a newspaper. That’s what I explained to Mrs. Meredith this morning.”
“But if the diary should disappear before it is published… or the salient entry be deleted from it before publication… then Cunningham’s testimony would be worth a couple million dollars to… someone,” mused Shayne.
“Precisely.” Sims leaned back and puffed vigorously on his cigar. “That’s why it’s so important for us to learn what it does say.”
“How important?” asked Shayne with alert interest. “In terms of actual dollars?”
“That depends a great deal,” hedged Sims, “on what it says. If the entry is in our favor the information won’t be worth a great deal. But if it isn’t…”
He paused and Shayne said curtly, “… and if you can find a way to suppress it, that would be worth a fortune. Assuming, as I am, that in that contingency Cunningham is prepared to swear Albert Hawley survived for five days.”
“I think we can assume that,” said Mrs. Meredith evenly. “I don’t think we should be so crude as to offer you a bribe, Mr. Shayne, but…”
“Go right ahead,” said Shayne harshly. “Be just as crude as you like.”
“Let us not be too hasty,” interposed Sims. “Until we read the entry in the diary we have no way of knowing whether it will have to be suppressed or not. Making an offer at this point is just like buying a pig in a poke.”
“But how will we know unless Mr. Shayne manages to get hold of the diary for us? I insist that we retain him, Mr. Sims. What will the fee be?” She turned a hopeful smile on Shayne.