“I know those guys,” Rourke said. “Sleeping.”
The dispatcher kept trying, and finally a voice answered, giving the cruiser’s location.
“We’ll meet them at Lummus Park,” Shayne said. Shayne and Rourke arrived first. The cruiser pulled in and Shayne walked around to the driver’s side. Hamzy was a plump youth with glasses who had been on the force for less than a year. Parker, at the wheel, was the veteran.
“Shayne?” Parker said. “They didn’t say it was you. We have an unwritten rule in this department, I don’t know if you know about it, that we don’t put ourselves to extra trouble where Mike Shayne is concerned.”
“That’s all right. We just want to find out if you know anything about a dispatch case with six thousand dollars in it. Turn off the motor and talk to us.”
Parker came out of the car at once. “What dispatch case? Where?”
The porches of the family hotels on the other side of the avenue were still brightly lighted, although the guests who usually sat there had long since gone to bed. Shayne perched on the seawall.
“Relax,” he told the younger cop, whose hands were flying. “The chances are very good that it burned up in the fire. Even if it didn’t there’s no reason we can’t work something out.”
“Work it out with me,” Parker said, “not the kid. To begin with, we don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You realize that today I’m in no position to make moral judgments. And Painter has his own theories-he won’t want to listen to mine. At the same time, it’s just as good not to let rumors get started. Then the money gets harder to spend. You can’t take an ordinary vacation without people making remarks, especially if the bills are a little singed.”
Hamzy’s hand jerked, and to prevent it happening again, he put it in his pocket.
“I know Geary had that dispatch case when he left the track,” Shayne said, “but nobody else has mentioned it, and there’s no reason it has to be in Tim’s story tomorrow.”
“No reason whatever,” Rourke said, “and besides, I don’t know what you’re talking about, either.”
Hamzy took his hand out, made it into a fist and said hotly, “I don’t like this hinting! Let me tell you-” His partner put a hand on his arm, and said quietly, “Why don’t we let Shayne finish?”
Shayne said, “Do you think it’s possible there was somebody in the back seat, who was thrown clear?”
“The car would be rocking coming off the embankment. It turned over when it hit the palm tree. Geary had his belt on, which had the effect of keeping him inside. But we didn’t see anybody-did we? — and you have to remember that the way that fire was burning, it was bright as daylight.”
“But if you were busy picking up money-”
“Goddamn it!” Hamzy burst out. “Just because we’re cops does that mean we don’t have any rights?”
His partner looked at him in amazement. “Boy, you’ve got a lot to learn.”
“Don’t bicker,” Shayne said. “You’ve got to go on living together. The suggestion’s been made that there was another car in the accident.”
Both cops looked at him, and Parker said, “Are you talking about deliberate?”
“That’s what I’m talking about.”
“Meaning homicide,” Parker said softly. “Which would take it out of our hands.”
“That’s the way it seems to be going. I want to hurry it up. A vague recollection of a couple of taillights, moving too fast. Does it begin to come back? You didn’t say anything to anybody, it wasn’t that definite. You did some quiet detective work in the neighborhood, and turned up a witness who remembers hearing a first crash, like two cars colliding, before the big one.
“And who is this witness?”
“That’s it. The witness refuses to become involved.”
“It could be Mike Shayne,” Parker said, “but we don’t want to use that name because of that unwritten rule in the department. Somebody who couldn’t get to sleep that night. I think we can swing it, don’t you, Hamzy?”
“If you think we ought to. But what’s the point?”
“I don’t see the point either, but you know we’re just beatmen, not thinkers.”
Chapter 11
A theory was beginning to take shape, but there were still many blanks. Until Shayne could fill them in, he decided to take a few ordinary precautions. Instead of returning to his own apartment, he drove south on One, and picked a motel where his car couldn’t be seen from the road. He slept for three hours, had a quick breakfast in the coffee shop, and got on the phone.
He woke up the real estate editor of Rourke’s paper, and after apologizing for that, asked if there was any truth in the rumors about Harry Zell, the developer. Shayne had heard his business was about to fold.
“That’s nothing new, Mike. It’s always about to fold. He’s been in some terminal jams, and he always came out smelling of roses. I don’t know where his Surfside deal stands, now that Geary is dead. God knows Harry could use a winner. At the same time, it might be a cash drain, so nothing’s simple.”
“If you were giving advice to an investor-”
“I’d tell him to cross the street when he sees Harry coming. But I always give that advice about Harry, and some of my friends hate me for it. I’m not predicting anything. He’s had some dazzling successes when the phone company was just about to shut off his service. What can I tell you about operators like Harry? Most of the time they aren’t using their own money. In a typical office-building deal, they can’t get the mortgage commitment until they get a lease from the main tenant, and the tenant won’t give them the lease until they have the mortgage. So what they contribute is confidence. People have to be confident they can put it together. And Harry has lost some of that.”
“Who are his big creditors, banks?”
“Banks, yes, but he can’t get real money at the prime rate anymore. He’s in pretty deep with factors. C. and W. is the main one, and the vigorish there is brutal. Twenty percent and more. In other words, loan-shark money. They make loans to people the banks won’t let in the door.”
“What does C. and W. stand for?”
“Probably nothing. Charlie and Wilbur? I don’t know.”
“Can you find out?”
“I’ll try, Mike. If I get anything I’ll give it to Tim.”
More phone calls, to Rourke, to the sports editor, Ben Wanamaker. After several unsuccessful attempts, Shayne located Bobby Nash, a dog track owner. The Nash track was dark at present because Surfside, again, had been awarded the valuable middle dates. His father, now dead, had been a contemporary of Geary’s, and had been through the same kind of early trouble.
“I don’t know if I ought to be talking to you, Mike,” Nash said. “But I probably can’t catch anything on the phone. Just don’t try to put the bite on me, because I’m a poor man. Ask anybody. Ask IRS.”
“I’ll tell you in a minute why I’m calling,” Shayne said. “Can I ask a couple of general questions first?”
“Go ahead. That doesn’t mean I’ll answer them.”
“Were you surprised at the names on Max’s payoff fist?”
“Surprised?” Nash made a bitter sound. “In most cases, for obvious reasons, not at all. That statement is not for quotation. I’m surprised Max thought he had to write it down. To be frank with you, the one name that really surprised me was yours. My father used to think highly of you. I seem to remember you did a couple of jobs for him-straight jobs for a straight fee, agreed upon in advance. So surprised is too mild a word. Mystified would be better.”
“Thanks,” Shayne said. “What effect do you think this is going to have on dog racing?”
“On dog racing as a whole? I hope we can survive it. Everybody’s going to want to wipe the mud off his boots, and you know who they’re going to try to wipe them on. Max is out of the picture. The rest of us aren’t. I’ve just had my first report from Tallahassee. Two investigations in the works. Two separate committees, public hearings, possibly televised. I’ll be called. There’s no way it can be avoided. I’ll be asked questions that may be mighty hard to answer.”