Shayne put on the earphones. While he listened to the exchange between Ricardo and Mrs. Geary, he took a pint of cognac from the glove box, offered it to the Cuban and then drank himself.
“What the hell?” he said. “A deposition?”
He listened for another moment. Without waiting for the tape to conclude, he whipped off the earphones and checked his. 38.
“We’d both better go in.”
The Cuban pointed. Three figures came out of the condominium and walked, without hurrying, to a parked car.
“Don’t lose him,” Shayne said. “If he goes home, do some more listening.”
Ricardo’s car, an ancient sedan with a damaged front fender, moved off. Shayne slid out and crossed to the condominium.
Security was one of the main selling points in these hastily built, overpriced buildings, and Shayne found the night doorman in his office off the vestibule, his mouth, ankles and wrists taped.
Shayne ripped the tape off his mouth. The man gasped, “A stickup.”
“Three guys?” Shayne said. “I saw them leaving, I thought I’d check. Does Harry Zell live in this building?”
“In the penthouse. They took my house keys. Do you think that’s whose place-”
“Don’t report this until I find out. Harry’s got strange ideas. He may not want people to know he’s been robbed. If I need help I’ll call you.”
The doorman called after him. “Tell him I tried, but they climbed all over me.”
Shayne rode the elevator to the top. There was only one door, and it was closed and locked. Shayne worked on the lock until it opened for him.
The boys had left the lights on. Every bulb in the place was burning. This was Zell’s office as well as where he lived, and his house architect had been given an open budget and instructions to go for effect. The main room was circular, with a desk the size of a wading pool. The lights ran on overhead tracks. The telephone console was nearly as elaborate as the one on the Surfside control deck.
Harry Zell was tied to a high-backed leather chair, his mouth taped. He made small protesting noises as Shayne walked in, putting away his lock-picks. The developer had been working when the Sanchez group surprised him. Papers and a big ledger were spread out in front of him.
“You’re up late, Harry,” Shayne remarked. “While other people are sleeping or playing, you’re adding up figures. Do you ever ask yourself if it’s worth it?”
Zell’s big face was running with sweat. He worked his shoulders and made more of the mouselike noises. Shayne helped himself to one of Harry’s excellent cigars.
“I’ll give you a hand in a minute. I want to look around first. Impressive office, Harry. I like it.”
The wall safe was open. Papers and folders were scattered on the floor beneath it. Shayne gathered everything up and took it to the desk. There was a locked three-drawer file. Sanchez hadn’t bothered with that. Going to the helpless figure in the executive chair, Shayne felt his pockets until he found the one with the keys. He unlocked the file and worked through it quickly, removing folders for C. and W. Factors, Surfside Kennel Club and Max Geary.
Zell had stopped struggling, and watched sadly as Shayne pulled up a chair and settled down. He sighed heavily once. Shayne looked up.
“That bad, Harry?”
Zell shrugged with his eyebrows.
All Shayne wanted was an outline, not evidence that would convince a jury, and he had most of it by the time the long cigar had burned down to his knuckles. He stubbed it out in an ashtray filled with a long evening’s cigarettes.
“People have been telling me you were hard-up, but I didn’t know it was this bad. Time to make it a two-way conversation, Harry. You’ve been patient.”
He loosened a corner of the adhesive tape and yanked it off. Zell groaned.
“Are you going to report this?” Shayne said.
“Report it? They took every penny I had, my jewelry-”
“I doubt if they cleared cab fare. You haven’t paid your secretary in three weeks.”
“But I’ve been careful to keep up my theft insurance, and I have a very good inventory. Are you going to untie me?”
“The cops can do that. I want to be gone when they get here. I’ve had too many run-ins with cops lately. I’m told Mrs. Geary signed some kind of paper tonight for two million and a half. A steal. I don’t seem to find it.”
“You don’t seem to find it. I put it in the safe. If it’s not there now, somebody probably stole it.”
“I don’t know why, it would have no cash value. Something else I don’t seem to find-Wynn’s deposition.”
After a moment Zell said quietly, “Where do you stand in this, Shayne?”
“I’m looking out for myself, like everybody. My situation is this. If it stops here, I’m through as a private detective. I don’t expect that to bring tears to your eyes. You’ve got troubles of your own. Probably Miami will have just about as much violent crime as it does now, but I won’t enjoy retirement, and I have one slim chance of avoiding it. I need a big name. I wish yours was big enough, because here you are, gift-wrapped. But bankrupt, you’re nobody, and how you’ve stayed out of the bankruptcy court this long I don’t understand.”
“You don’t know anything about it,” Zell said, irritated. “That’s the way we do business.”
“Surely not everybody. I wish I could bring in an accountant and turn him loose, but I don’t have time. I’m looking for the name Castle. You don’t have a file on him.”
“Tony Castle? Why should I? I’ve borrowed money from him, but what’s wrong with that? He has it to lend, I pay him big interest, but he does me a service. I don’t go there unless I can’t get it anyplace else.”
“There’s a slight difference. When you can’t pay back a bank, they don’t come looking for you with bats.”
“Bats,” Zell said with scorn. “Forget that Godfather stuff.”
“Maybe they don’t use those methods anymore. From the look of these books, all we have to do is wait a few days and find out. Harry, we’ve got interests in common. Give me Castle. Tell me what you know about Castle and Surfside. If I can make a big enough stink they’ll close the track and Mrs. Geary will have to go through with the sale. And if Castle’s in jail, he won’t be sending his boys around to collect.”
“Tony Castle will not be in jail. Not in my lifetime. I don’t buy this sanctimonious crap about your reputation, Shayne. You think you’re going to cut yourself a slice of a very big melon. Let me tell you, Max was the only man who knew the word. So forget it. That’s over. It was sweet, but it’s over. Trouble? Trouble’s no novelty for me, and something good always happens before the third-act curtain. I don’t mean a miracle from on high. I mean I make it happen. I’ve still got a couple of deals I haven’t tried.”
“I have a tape of a conversation between Mrs. Geary and Sanchez, in which she explains why she changed her mind. Now, with the deposition missing and Dee dead-”
“Dead?”
“He was drowned fishing,” Shayne said, watching him. “How much did you pay for his statement?”
“Too bloody much,” Zell said through tight lips.
“Harry, I think your best bet is to work with me, throw mud at everybody, keep the story alive. Stall. You’ll have the deal in two months.”
“Two months,” Zell said with a shrug. He indicated the papers on the big desk. “Do you think those people will wait two months?”
Shayne took out a Swiss army knife and snapped out the main blade. “I don’t usually work like this, but as I keep telling you, I’m pushed for time. I know you didn’t give the boys the combination until they scared you a little. I think I have to try it. I’m getting tired of people who say no.”
Zell rotated as Shayne approached. Shayne darted the knife blade upward, a whisker-length from Zell’s nose. The pear face seemed to break apart into globules.
“Don’t!” he squeaked. “I can’t tell you anything about Max’s swindle. All I know for sure, he had one. Castle tried to find out but he never could. I’m telling the truth! And watch out for your woman. The Field woman. They’ve got her.”