Drake rewarded the inspector’s friendly manner with a wan smile. “I quite understand. You have your duty to perform. After all, I can do nothing for Elizabeth now, and Barbara’s murder is still unsolved. I quite understand,” he repeated, and made a pathetic attempt to square his shoulders as he marched through the doorway.
Quinlan closed the door and turned to the plain-clothes men who had stood silently by during the questioning. “Take over,” he said. “One of you go to the hotel and get on the switchboard. Check his movements tonight, particularly when he makes a long-distance call. And be sure to check with the operator as to the time he received that telephone call from the girl. If he leaves the hotel, follow him. Get it?”
The men nodded and went out.
Inspector Quinlan stood in the doorway watching them, then turned and went back to his desk. He sighed as he sat down. He did not look at Shayne.
Shayne said, “What do you make of it, Inspector?”
“I think he’s telling the truth,” Quinlan said irritably.
“And that makes me a liar.”
“That’s what I don’t get.” Quinlan leaned back in his chair and subjected Shayne to a long, frank appraisal with his cold blue eyes. “That’s the hell of it. What can either of you gain by lying? He’d be a fool to claim relationship with the girl if he couldn’t prove it. On the other hand, you’d be a fool to whip up a story that won’t stand investigation. I know your reputation, Shayne — from your New Orleans days and from reports on you in Miami. You’ve been called a lot of things by a lot of people, but ‘fool’ isn’t one of them.”
“Thanks,” said Shayne shortly.
“Where does that leave me?”
“I’ll be damned if I know,” Shayne said morosely. “What did you make of Drake? I mean — his personality?”
Quinlan smiled for the first time since he had met him. He said, “A spot of rouge and polished fingernails don’t always tell the whole story.”
“Dope?”
“I doubt it. Maybe, off and on. He’s not a regular. Experimental, perhaps. A lot of perversions take queer turns.”
“What the hell?” Shayne got up and began pacing back and forth in front of Quinlan’s desk. “Did Little feed me a sack of stuff? Why? What reason could he have had to get me down here?” He spread out his big hands as he stalked angrily to and fro.
“You’d better ask Mr. Little,” Quinlan advised.
Shayne came back to stand in front of the desk. “That’s just what I want to do.” He looked at an electric clock behind Quinlan. It was a few minutes past two. “That would be the Dixie Flyer Little was taking out of Miami. There’s a short layover in Jacksonville, after midnight. It’ll be north of Jacksonville now. How about wiring him on the train, Inspector? We’ll need him to clear this thing for us.”
“What are you muttering about?” Quinlan asked.
“Was I?”
“You’re off the beam,” Quinlan said. “Come again.”
Shayne lowered one hip to the desk and repeated what he had said. “That’s the thing to do,” he ended.
“Contact the girl’s father?”
“That’s right. Joseph P. Little.”
Quinlan scribbled a notation which read, Joseph P. Little, Dixie Flyer.
“It’s somewhere between Jacksonville and New York,” Shayne said. “Either Drake or Little is a damned liar,” he mused aloud. “If Little sent me down here on a phony build-up—”
“If Little backs up your story when he gets here you’ll be in a much better position. In the meantime, you’re my only suspect.”
“Do you mean you’re going to hold me?” Shayne asked.
“Why not?” Quinlan leaned forward and pointed a finger at a button on his desk.
“Wait,” Shayne said hastily. “You don’t think I killed the girl.”
“I’m not paid to think on a murder case.” Quinlan’s finger hovered over the button.
“You know damned well,” Shayne said strongly, “that I didn’t beat that girl’s head in. Denton doesn’t believe it, either. He saw a chance to put Chief McCracken on the spot through me. You’re playing stooge for Denton if you lock me up.”
Quinlan drummed his finger tips on the desk top. “Go on,” he said.
“Give me a few hours. You let Drake walk out of here. Give me a chance to clean this thing up before Little gets here. How do you think I’m going to feel if he walks in and finds out that I not only fell down on the job but am actually accused of murdering his daughter — a girl I never saw before yesterday?”
Inspector Quinlan asked, “What do you think you can accomplish by yourself?”
“A lot,” Shayne said hotly. “You know how a private op works. I’m not hampered by any rules. Go ahead with your own investigation. You’ve got your angles, and I’ve got mine. You’ve got Drake under surveillance — your only other suspect, and if you’ve checked on me, you know I’ll be around.” He lifted his hip from the desk. “Hell,” he continued, “we stand around here chewing the fat when we should be at work. What about the two girls who had dinner with Barbara tonight? They might know something.” He put his big hands on the desk and bent toward the inspector. “Did you notice that the murderer struck several blows before killing the girl? Maybe somebody who wasn’t very strong had to strike again and again before she was dead.”
Quinlan said, “I observed the body. I don’t need to be taught my business by you.”
“You may be a smart cop,” Shayne said. “I think you are. But you know the handicaps of an official investigation.” Quinlan studied the pad on which he had written Drake’s admissions, riffling the small sheets with his thumb. He said, “If you’re in the clear, Shayne, you’ve nothing to worry about,” and did not raise his eyes. “But you shouldn’t mind sticking around until Little arrives to verify your story. Your interest in the case ended when the girl died — presumably.”
Shayne took his hands from the desk and backed away. His gaunt features were tight and his gray eyes glowed. He said, “Maybe you won’t understand this, but that girl was murdered while I was being paid to keep her alive — while she was waiting to keep a date with me. That would make it my case, even if J. P. Little wasn’t paying. If you can’t see it you’re a bigger damned fool than I figured you to be.”
The corners of Quinlan’s mouth twitched in a cold smile. “Will John McCracken vouch for you?”
“Call him and find out,” Shayne said wearily.
Quinlan lifted the receiver and asked the switchboard for a number. Shayne’s taut face relaxed and he stalked over to his chair and sat down.
Presently the inspector said, “This you, Mac? Sorry if I waked you up, but this might be important. I’ve got a man named Mike Shayne here — holding him on suspicion of murder.”
He stopped talking. Shayne could hear a crackling coming through the receiver. He saw Quinlan nod and the corners of his mouth go up.
Then Quinlan said, “I see, Chief. No, I haven’t too much on him. Sure — I’ll be glad to release him conditionally, until something else pops up. Good night, Mac, and thanks.” The inspector cradled the receiver and turned to Shayne. He said, “Chief McCracken says he wishes you’d get out of town or get drunk or go to bed.”
Shayne grinned and said, “Before too long I’ll grant two of his requests — the last two.”
The inspector was not smiling when he said, “I’m releasing you for the time being, but watch your step. Denton isn’t just a precinct captain. He’s got an in with the papers and he’s shooting for McCracken’s job. This will make a sweet smear if we don’t dean the murder up fast. You’re not the only one on the spot. Think about that when you walk out of here, and, for God’s sake, keep your nose clean.”