“I know,” agreed Shayne, his rugged face furrowed with intense concentration. “Still, we’ve got to out-think him. He’s probably a killer. At the very least, he’s the key to two murders. One of which was totally unnecessary and the fault of my secretary.”
“Don’t be too hard on Lucy, Mike. Hell, Bristow might’ve died anyway from the slug in his belly.”
“Even so,” argued Shayne fiercely, “he could have been made to talk before he died. She prevented that by hiding him in her bedroom. We’ve got to figure now how to grab this present bastard when he collects the bundle from Lucy.”
“Look. If you’re going to try something like that, why not leave Lucy out of it? It’s bound to be dangerous as hell. If he is already a killer, chances are he may just think it’s simplest and best to bump her, too, when she gives him the package. So she won’t be able to identify him. Get a policewoman for the job, Mike. Wearing a hat at night, no one will know it isn’t Lucy. There’s that slim, pretty redhead on park patrol. Marge. She’s tough and experienced and has brought in half a dozen bad eggs on her own. It’s her job to take chances like this. It isn’t Lucy’s job.”
“This one is,” said Shayne bleakly, his face a mask of determination. “She started the whole thing by harboring Jack Bristow. I’ll be damned if I’ll let another woman risk her neck for something Lucy’s wholly responsible for.” He looked at his watch and got up decisively. “We’ve already wasted ten minutes, and there’s a lot to be done before eleven-thirty. Finish your drink and let’s get moving.”
Chapter Eight
At precisely eleven-thirty, Lucy Hamilton emerged from the front door of her apartment building and started walking toward 13th Street. She wore a tight-fitting dark wool suit and low-heeled walking shoes, and was hatless. Under her right arm she carried a package about twice the size of a cigar box, wrapped in brown paper and tied with stout string.
It was a cloudless, still night with bright moonlight, and with a light, refreshing breeze blowing in from the ocean. She walked southward at a steady pace until she reached 13th east of the traffic circle, crossed to the right side, and turned her face eastward toward Miami Beach three miles distant across the bay.
She was keyed up and nervous, but was determined she wouldn’t give way to fright. Shayne had gravely told her exactly how dangerous the walk might be, but had pointed out grimly that she, alone, was responsible for the situation, and that it was her duty to do what she could do to rectify her original mistake.
She had accepted the responsibility without demur. She was unarmed and walking alone into the night to keep an appointment with a man who was probably a killer and who expected her to deliver $70,000 to him.
She didn’t know where Michael Shayne was. She had no idea at all what precautions be was taking to protect her while she made the contact. He had disappeared from her apartment fifteen minutes ago after handing her the decoy package and giving explicit instructions for what she was to do when the right man stopped and told her to throw the package in his car.
Shayne had told her, only, that he would try to be around somewhere and that she should trust him to do his best. He had explained that she would act more naturally if she did not know what his plans were. She had also agreed to this without demur.
She was passing the steamship docks now, approaching the end of the mainland where the Causeway swung out across the bay. At this hour preceding midnight there was still a good deal of traffic to and from Miami Beach. She held to the extreme right and walked steadily, and cars passed her at the rate of about one each two or three minutes from both directions.
Shayne had told her he was quite certain the contact would not be made before she was well away from the mainland on the Causeway itself. He had been equally positive in his belief that she should expect at least two or three attempted pickups before the right man stopped beside her. One of those, he had explained, might well be the man himself — testing the situation out as it were, to determine whether she was being covered in any way.
She had just reached the Causeway when she heard the first car slowing behind her. She did not change her steady pace as a gleaming convertible pulled down close beside her and a masculine voice called cheerily, “It’s a long walk to the other side. Let me give you a lift.”
He was young and bareheaded, alone behind the wheel of the open car, with an attractive and smiling face. Lucy continued walking and told him distinctly, “No thank you. I love to walk at night.”
“Sure of that?” He continued to let the powerful motor purr idly to keep pace with her. “I’ll take you wherever you want and promise not to even make a pass if you say so. Cross my heart and hope to die.”
In contrast with his unaffected gaiety, her own voice sounded prim and stilted when she told him, “I’m quite sure I don’t want to be bothered.”
He looked puzzled, then shrugged and waved a negligent hand, and the convertible leaped ahead.
Three minutes later another car slowed beside her. It was a shabby dark sedan with a man and woman in the front seat. The woman had gray hair and a motherly face, and she leaned out the window to ask, “Could we give you a ride, young lady?”
Lucy stopped to smile apologetically. “Thank you so much, but I’m expecting a friend along any minute to pick me up.”
The woman smiled understandingly and said, “I see,” and the dark sedan went on.
At least five minutes passed before the next incident. There were two young college boys in a cut-down jalopy, and one of them emitted a long and piercing wolf whistle as they drew alongside her. His voice was slurred with drink. “Hi, beautiful. Here’s just what you’re waiting for. A free ride to fun an’ things. Hop in.”
Lucy gave them one disdainful look, then turned straight ahead without breaking stride. She heard the other youth remonstrating: “Heck, Andy, that’s the wrong approach. Can’t you see she’s a lady? Introduce yourself proper and ask her, for God’s sake, will she do us the honor of accepting our humble but free transportation across the bay.”
“T’ell with her,” the first one argued. “Stuck up, tha’ss what she is. Let’er walk.”
There was a brief further argument between the two before the exhaust roared and the old car shot past her.
Lucy Hamilton continued walking. Now, she thought. Any moment now. The next one may be him. Where is Michael?
She hadn’t seen Shayne’s car pass in either direction. She hadn’t the slightest idea where he might be or what he was doing. She was utterly alone in the night, and any one of the cars behind her might contain the man who believed she carried $70,000 in the brown parcel under her arm.
A station wagon pulled up fast, began slowing as it passed her. She caught a glimpse of a single burly figure behind the wheel. Her heart thumped excitedly as the station wagon pulled to a halt twenty feet ahead. The driver leaned over and unlatched the door on her side and it swung open as she came abreast. She shifted her grip on the parcel slightly, recalling Shayne’s minute instructions, and tensed herself to follow them.