“So you did,” Shayne said. He had a feeling nothing was going to go right for him tonight.
“Was it you prowling around outside earlier, honey?” Cal Harris asked.
“It sure was, lover,” she said. “I heard you squawk through the window to the next room, so I come in looking for you. When you wasn’t there I went upstairs and called you.”
“That was what the killer heard when he tied you up,” Harris said to Shayne.
“Did he tie you up?” Sally asked. “He must be tough.”
“Just lucky,” Shayne said. “If you don’t mind telling a dumb old man, how did you get in here? I thought I had the doors all locked tight?”
“You did. I didn’t use a door. One of the windows to the library across the hall was unlocked. I just opened it and came on in. It didn’t make a sound, just like it’d been greased to slide easy.”
“It probably was,” Shayne said. “I guess the killer fixed it that way before he left last night so he’d have an easy way to come back. These are old double-hung windows. He could take the screws out of the lock so it wouldn’t hold. I’ve seen it done before.”
“You’re a smart man,” Sally said.
“Only when I’m not busy being a damn fool,” Shayne told her. “Now one more question. Be sure you don’t answer unless you know. Was it a man or woman you fought with upstairs?”
“It was a man,” Sally said. “I’m absolutely sure. I heard his voice and his hands were rough and square like a man.”
“That’s fine,” Shayne said. “Now I know what this is all about. I wasn’t sure before. A couple of things had me puzzled. Now they all fit together. I know who he is and what he did — and why he did it.”
“Well, then?” Cal Harris said.
“Well what, boy?”
“Well, why don’t we go get him? I mean, if you know who he is and all, hadn’t we better grab him and turn him in?”
“There’s plenty of time for that,” Shayne said. “He won’t go far because he hasn’t got the money yet that he’s after. Even if he did, the police can get out an all points bulletin and catch him like in a net. Once they know who they’re after, the cops can always run a man down.”
“Let’s us do it anyway,” Sally Harris said.
“Why us?”
“Because it’s us he tried to kill,” she said. “Because there might be a reward, and me and Cal need the money.”
“You and Cal get part of my reward,” Shayne said. “About ten thousand dollars of it, if I’m right.”
They both looked at him and gasped.
“You leave that killer to the pros,” Shayne said. “You forgot a couple of things. This guy’s killed once already. He’d do it again. You can bet on it. He’s tough and hard and desperate. And most important of all—”
“What?” Cal Harris interrupted.
“He’s got my gun.”
“Exactly,” said a voice from the doorway. “I have your gun.”
IX
The figure in the doorway was a slender man in dark, turtleneck sweater and slacks and rubber-soled shoes. He had a woman’s nylon stocking over his head and face for a mask. He also had Mike Shayne’s big forty-five Colt’s automatic held in his right hand and pointed at the three people standing in front of the fireplace.
“You always keep coming here,” he said, “so I guess what I’m after must be in this room. After I get you all tied up, I’ll find it.”
“Too bad for you you didn’t find it last night,” Shayne said. “You should have used a bigger gun. Then none of this would have happened.”
“What do you mean?” Sally asked.
The masked man waved the gun at them. “Go on and tell her, shamus. I’d like to know how much you really do have figured out. I don’t think you’re so smart. If you were I wouldn’t have you under the gun right now. Would I?”
“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Shayne said. “I figured more than you think. You’ve been prowling around here watching this place for a long time to see where John hid his money. Only you never found out. Old man Smith saw you, though, and took a couple of shots at you. That hurried you up. Last night right after dark you climbed the oak tree outside the bedroom upstairs and shot the old man with a twenty-two. That’s too small a gun except for a crack shot.
“He was wounded by the ricochet. Then he fooled you. He went and called Mrs. Mullen. While you watched, she came up and fought with him. After that she went away, but you didn’t dare break in right then. It was still early and somebody might see.
“You went off to your job for a while. You work alone and nobody knew you got there late. Probably you figured you’d have to try another night. Am I right?”
“Just go on talking, shamus,” the masked man said. “I ain’t talking. You are.”
“Then you came back by here on your way home. What happened? Did you break in again?”
“You know so much I might as well finish it for you,” the killer said. “You ain’t going to tell nobody anyway. The old fool was hurt and scared. He saw me on the street and called me to come in and help get him to a doctor. I helped okay. I put him out of his misery.”
“You beat and stabbed him to death,” Shayne said, “but you were still scared of the neighbors. You set that fire so you’d have an excuse to be in the house. You went back out and discovered the fire, didn’t you? It gave you your alibi for the killing. Then you figured to come back tonight for the money. You even fixed a window so you could get in. Right?”
“You know too much,” the man said. “Now you all know too much.” He leveled the gun at Shayne.
“He’s going to kill us all,” Cal Harris said.
“Oh,” Shayne said, “Mr. Smulka only thinks that’s what he’s going to do.” Under his breath he hissed at them: “Scream.”
“What did you say?” Smulka asked. “You’re going to die, shamus.”
Sally Harris caught on fast. She opened her mouth for a wild, eldritch screech that roused every cat and dog for a mile around. When that girl screamed, she was a champion.
In spite of himself Smulka jumped. Shayne jumped too.
The big man bent his knees and dove for the killer — going in low like a football tackier.
Smulka got off one shot. He was used to a twenty-two, not a forty-five and the heavy recoil of Shayne’s souped-up handloads almost broke his wrist. The slug went high and smashed the nose of the hanging moose head. The head fell off the wall.
Shayne’s tackle cut Smulka down like an all-American taking out a high school substitute. One big hand got the man’s wrist and twisted until the bones cracked and the big gun fell from nerveless fingers. Then Shayne sat up and slugged the killer with an overhand right. Smulka went out like a light.
“My God,” Sally Harris said.
She wasn’t looking at Smulka on the floor. The wild shot had smashed the nose off the moose head. Tightly wrapped bundles of currency were falling out of the cavity onto the rug where the big head lay. Some were fifties, some hundreds, and some thousand dollar bills. The head must be full of them, the big redhead thought.
Mike Shayne said to Cal Harris, “I guess you were right, boy. I reckon old John Wingren really did pray to the moose.”
The Execution of Barbara Graham
by David Mazroff
Unwanted, unloved, she certainly was. She would sell her body for a fix, her soul for a hoodlums smile. But — did Barbara Graham go to the gas chamber in San Quentin for a murder she didn’t commit? Here are some never-before-told answers to a murder riddle that has baffled crime experts for decades.