Shayne moved his red head stubbornly from side to side. “They’re going to be watching close for any sign that I’ve squawked. As long as I’m the only one who knows, they’ll keep on gunning for me.”
Gentry relaxed, took a fat cigar from his pocket, sank his teeth into it and struck a match. He asked, “That your only reason for clamming up, Mike?”
“Can you think of any other?”
“Maybe I can’t, but other people can. The Herald.”
“To hell with the Herald.”
“People read it. Lots of people… like the State’s Attorney.”
Shayne stared at Gentry. “Has Osgood been after you?”
“He phoned me a little while ago wanting to know what the hell I mean letting you get away with it. He’s always suspected you had your hand out for dirty money, but he never suspected you’d cover up murder and sabotage for a price.”
“He thinks that, does he?” Shayne’s voice was hard.
“Hell, you know how Osgood is. You can’t buck a thing like that. Everybody’ll be thinking you’re holding out for a cut-in on the racket.”
“Everybody thinks too damned much,” Shayne grated, “including Osgood. Let them think.”
“It’s not that easy. Osgood wants you over at his office.”
“Okay.” Shayne stood up. “Let’s go.”
Gentry remained solidly in his chair. “I think you’re right, Mike. That rifle bullet shows they’re plenty scared of what you know. But Osgood isn’t going to see in that way. I’m warning you.”
Shayne said, “Let’s go.”
Gentry sighed heavily. His telephone buzzed. He lifted the receiver and flipped a connection, grunted into the mouthpiece and listened. After a time he said, “You don’t need me on every kid bum that gets bumped off,” and hung up. “Now, look, Mike…”
“What was that call?” Shayne asked.
“Some hobo out near the railroad yards. Drilled with a forty-five. I tell you…”
“What did the kid look like?” Shayne dropped into his chair and leaned toward Gentry.
“That was just a routine report. I didn’t get a full description.”
“Call back and get the details… a description of the hobo, Will. Find out if he had pimples and a buck in his pocket. And if he was skinny and dirty and wore a cap.” Shayne spoke swiftly and earnestly.
As Gentry dialed a number, he asked, “Why are you so worked up over it?”
Shayne waited impatiently while Gentry asked questions, settled back when the chief kept nodding his head. He hung up and turned on Shayne. “Now what the hell do you know about this murder?”
“Did the description check?”
“Yeh, pimples and all,” Gentry growled.
Shayne drew in a long breath and said, “Sounds like the kid who paid me a visit this morning and was so interested in the view from my windows.” He gave Gentry full details concerning the messenger and the envelope containing the blank paper.
Gentry said, “I’ll be damned. Suppose it’s got anything to do with the other?”
“Your guess is as good as mine. Are you taking me over to see Osgood?” Shayne stood up again.
Gentry heaved his bulk from the chair. “If that’s the way you want it, Mike. Maybe you’ll talk for Osgood.” His face was dark and glowering as he reached for his hat.
They went out and across Flagler Street to the Dade County Courthouse.
State’s Attorney Osgood was a big man with stern dark eyes and mane of white hair. He was dictating rapidly to a competent-appearing young woman when Chief Gentry and Shayne went in. He dismissed the young woman with a wave of a manicured hand and remained seated behind a large polished desk as the two men came toward him.
Waving them to seats across from him, Osgood came swiftly to the point. Over a leveled forefinger he asked brusquely, “Now what’s all this about your holding information from the authorities, Shayne?”
“I’m working on a case. It’s my legal and ethical right to withhold confidential information given by my client until I solve the case.” Shayne’s tone was clipped and firm.
Osgood’s stern eyes regarded him coldly. “It’s the State’s case. This is no time to play fast and loose with important evidence. As a licensed private detective you are as much an officer of the State as I. If this Wilson murder, as you contend, is a result of the machinations of a gasoline ring, then I say to you all the more reason that ring should be stamped out.”
Shayne crossed one long leg over the other and nodded. “That’s exactly why I’m forcing them to come to me.”
“Do you expect me to believe that’s your only reason?”
“I don’t give a goddamn what you believe,” Shayne told him bluntly.
“Just a minute,” Gentry groaned; “he doesn’t mean that, Osgood.”
“The hell I don’t,” Shayne snapped.
Osgood cleared his throat and pursed his lips. “You leave me only one course, Shayne. I’m going to order your immediate arrest.”
“On what grounds?”
“Suppression of evidence in a murder case.”
Shayne got up. “I’ll stay in jail as long as it takes my lawyer to get a writ of habeas corpus.”
“Now look, Mike,” Gentry interposed, but Shayne interrupted him wearily:
“Osgood is bluffing. He’s not going to arrest me. He’s got enough sense to realize his only chance to crack this thing is to leave me in circulation where Wilson’s murderers can get a crack at me.” He turned and stalked out, leaving the State’s Attorney’s face a mottled red.
Outside the door of Osgood’s private office his arm was seized by Timothy Rourke, his long-time friend and a reporter for the afternoon News.
“Just got a tip Osgood had you on the grill,” Rourke ejaculated, his nose twitching like a bloodhound’s on a hot scene. “What’s up, Mike?”
Shayne advised, “Ask Osgood,” and went down the hallway.
Rourke went with him, complaining, “All I know is what I read in the Herald. Give me an angle, Mike.”
“Play up the Herald angle,” Shayne said. “It’s a good one.” He stopped at the elevator shaft and pushed the DOWN button.
“But I figured on busting that story wide open,” Rourke said cheerfully. “Hell, it was practically libelous. They all but accused you of holding out for a bribe from the murderer for keeping your mouth shut.”
Shayne’s wide mouth twisted into a sour grin. “Maybe I could use a bribe.” An elevator stopped and he got in.
Rourke went in with him. “Don’t give me that. I made the mistake of falling for a shenanigan like that once before.”
When they got out on the ground floor Shayne took Rourke’s arm and guided him to the Flagler exit of the building. “Had breakfast yet?”
“No. I’ve been chasing around trying to dig up some dope.”
“And I’ve been dodging bullets and State’s Attorneys.” They went into a small restaurant and took a table for two in the rear. “Sit down and spread your ears, Tim. You can do something for me if I’m still alive when you go to press this afternoon.”
CHAPTER 6
After breakfast Shayne and Rourke argued on the sidewalk outside the restaurant. Rourke was disgruntled and adamant, demanding a headline that had at least a hint of the truth in it.
“Sorry,” Shayne said, “but that’s the way it has to be,” and made his way to an old building on Miami Avenue.
A sardonic grin twisted his features as he entered and walked up two nights, turned to the right in the dark corridor and stopped before a wooden door on which a painted shingle read, MANUEL P. MARKLE, Atty. at Law.
Manny Markle was the shrewdest criminal lawyer in Miami. His clientele included the wealthiest crooks of the nation who flocked to the sunny, semi-tropical playground during the season. But Shayne knew that his expert legal mind was as dirty as the offices he maintained.
He turned the knob and entered a dingy room which appeared crowded with a desk and four chairs. It was unoccupied.
An inner door was marked PRIVATE. Shayne opened it and walked into an office twice the size of the reception room. It was lined with law books. Near the windows was a scarred desk which was dusty and cluttered with papers. A squat iron safe stood open behind it.