Shayne said, “I agree with you. If he wanted information he could have gotten that from the man he expected to let him in.”
“Nonsense. I don’t believe he expected to be let in. As I see the affair, it was an accident.”
Shayne said, “I think it was murder.”
“That’s your job, isn’t it? To turn accidents into murder. That’s the way you make a living.” The captain’s tone indicated no respect for Shayne’s means of livelihood.
Shayne said, “Captain Ott asked me to make this investigation.”
Men tramped into the Orderly Room outside. Captain Richards made an impatient gesture and said, “Let’s get this over with.” He got up and stalked out of the private office.
Shayne followed him out. Twelve privates were lined up at attention. Sergeant Blake saluted and said, “Reporting the guard detail, Sir.”
Richards growled, “At ease. This is Mr. Shayne, men. A Miami detective investigating the trouble last night. Tell him anything he wants to know.” He turned abruptly and went back into his office, shutting the door.
Shayne grinned at the soldiers. They were all young, and all serious-faced. He said, “Even though it embarrasses your captain, I think I’m going to prove that a man was murdered last night.”
One of the privates gave a start and opened his mouth as though to protest. It was Private Carson. Shayne said, “Don’t take that personally, Carson. Moore’s murderer didn’t necessarily pull the trigger that killed him.” He paused, then demanded, “How many of you knew the dead man?”
No one replied.
“One of you knew him,” Shayne told them casually. “He wouldn’t have kept coming that way unless he felt sure he knew the man who was pretending to halt him. That is—” He glanced at the sergeant, “—if we’re sure Carson did try to halt him. Has that been verified?”
“Yes, sir,” a soldier down the line spoke up unexpectedly. “I was on Number Three Post. I heard Carson yell halt three times. And plenty loud.”
Shayne nodded. “Yet none of you admit knowing Moore? All right. How many of you knew his wife?”
There was a shuffling of feet. No other reply.
“Laura Moore. One of the gals at the Lido Club. This one.” Shayne’s hands described a series of voluptuous curves.
The men glanced at one another covertly. He could hear their breathing quicken, but no one said anything.
“How many of you have been at the Lido Club?” Shayne snapped.
Sergeant Blake answered for him. “Hell, they’ve all been there. Me too. It’s the only place a man can get to with only six hours leave.”
“If you’ve been to the Lido, don’t tell me you don’t know Laura. Not a bunch of soldiers.” Shayne’s voice was disbelieving.
Blake grunted, “Maybe we do. They’re all hot numbers at the Lido. But you don’t have to know a dame’s name to — dance with her.”
Shayne’s cold gaze travelled down the line of men. They stared back at him with stiff resentment. He said, “All right. All of you can go — except Blake and Carson. I want you to show me where it happened.” He went into the captain’s room without knocking.
Richards looked up and grunted, “Well. Which one are you going to frame for murder?”
Shayne’s eyes were cold and bright. “I don’t know — yet. How friendly were you with Laura Moore?”
The captain rose slowly. “You’d better get out of here, Shayne. I told Ott this morning that the military should handle its own investigation.”
Shayne said, “I want all of the guard detail given a six-hour pass tonight.”
Richards was breathing heavily. “I’ll issue the orders around here.”
Shayne said, “That’s fine. I want to see them all at the Club Lido.” He went out.
“Right here is where it happened.” Sergeant Blake stopped in front of a ten-foot gate in the wire fence. The gate was the same heavy mesh wire. The sergeant pointed through the gate at a pair of ruts leading through the underbrush.
“He was walking up that road. You can see the blood where he fell. About twenty feet away.”
Shayne stared through the wire, tugging at his ear-lobe. There was a well-worn path along the inside of the fence. A soldier wearing a webbed pistol belt came marching along the path as they stood there. He passed them with a curious glance and kept on down the path.
“That’s the guard on Post Number Two,” the sergeant explained. “He walks this whole east side of the fence. Takes him about five minutes to cover it.”
Shayne glanced at the ruts leading through the gate and the underbrush toward the camp clearing behind them.
“Where does this road go? What’s this gate for?”
“It goes to the supply dump. Mess and commissary. The trucks come in this way. This road runs east about half a mile and then swings north to the highway.”
“And this gate is kept locked?” Shayne stepped forward to examine it. It was a heavy latch lock, made to snap shut when the gate was closed.
“That’s right. We only unlock it when there’s trucks coming in.”
“Show me exactly where you were standing last night,” Shayne told the young private who was standing a few paces back, very much ill-at-ease.
Private Carson gulped self-consciously. “I was coming from back there.” He pointed behind him. “I saw this man walking up the road. I hurried a little to get here in front of the gate, and called my first halt when he was about forty paces away. He kept right on coming like he didn’t hear me. I... I yelled Halt twice more and then I... I didn’t know what else to do but shoot.” He set his lips tightly and gave Shayne an agonized glance.
“No one’s blaming you,” Blake told him gruffly. “At least, they got no right to.” He gave the detective a dirty look.
“You did some damned good shooting,” Shayne said calmly to Carson. He frowned and took off his hat to rumple his hair irritably. “Why the hell was Dinky Moore walking up that road at two o’clock in the morning? Could he have mistaken it for another road?”
“Don’t see how,” Blake said doubtfully. “Here’s something else that looks funny, Mr. Shayne. When we came back from Miami this morning, we found the car he was driving. He’d left it parked about a quarter of a mile down the road. Captain Ott found his fingerprints on the steering wheel.”
“What kind of car?”
“A station wagon. It was reported stolen from the Club Lido early this morning.”
“A quarter of a mile down the road?” Shayne mused. He asked Carson, “Did you hear the car stop?”
“No, sir. I didn’t hear anything. Not while I was walking post.”
“It’s nuts,” Shayne said impatiently. “He parks his car and walks up here to a locked gate armed with a pistol. But didn’t make any attempt to shoot you as he walked up?” he demanded sharply.
“No, sir.” The private shook his head with dogged determination and held his head high. “I can’t rightly claim self-defence. He didn’t make any motion towards his gun till I’d said I’d fire, and was leveling down on him. Seemed like he just suddenly got the idea I meant it. But I had to shoot the second time because I saw his gun was out.”
“Sure you did,” Blake growled. He turned his head and spat on the ground. “It ain’t murder when you obey orders. No matter what anybody says.”
Shayne said, “I know you’re all sore because I’m a civilian investigating what you consider a purely military affair. But this is still murder, and don’t forget it.” He turned and stalked away, following the road back to the clearing.
He was just emerging from the thick underbrush when he heard a low, “Hey,” from one side. He saw a uniform behind a clump of palmetto, and an extended finger beckoning to him. He turned aside and recognized one of the privates who had faced him in the Orderly Room a short time previously.