“Just the highspots for now. You were alone at that point?”
“Yeah.”
Shayne rubbed the day-old stubble on his chin, remembering. He had not only been alone, he had been the only solitary eater in the crowded restaurant. He had been painfully aware of the fact. The truth was, he had come to depend on Lucy Hamilton’s Company at the end of the day more than he liked to admit.
He continued: “The place was jammed, and I must have been there — oh, maybe an hour. I was in no rush. I went back to the airport bar and had a few more drinks. Then I decided to kill some time at the movies.”
“What movie?” Wing said quickly.
“It turned out there wasn’t anything I wanted to see. I came in to the Beach and hit a few bars. When I ran into Tim Rourke it must have been around ten. Maybe nine-thirty, maybe ten-thirty, and it won’t do you any good to ask Tim, because that late at night he doesn’t keep track of the time. He wanted to play some poker. We rounded up a few people and went to his place. You’ll be happy to hear that I was the big winner.”
Wing looked anything but happy. He was scribbling in a notebook. “Who were the other players besides you and Rourke?”
Shayne told him.
“Even Petey wouldn’t make you boys put in all this overtime without a good reason,” Shayne said. “Give me a specific time. Maybe I can be more definite.”
Wing didn’t look up. “Let’s say between eight-thirty and nine.”
Shayne frowned. “I’d say that would be about when I was in a place called the Three Deuces on the Beach, near Washington and Fifth. I haven’t given them any business in a long time. One of the bartenders used to be a good friend of mine. Gus Pappas. He might remember when I came in, but there was a good crowd there and I was moving around. I don’t think anybody would want to swear to the whole half hour. I wouldn’t swear to it myself.”
Wing and LaBanca exchanged a look. Wing said, “What kind of transportation were you using, Mike? Your own car, or taxi?”
“I had the Buick. I’d like a little information, Joe. Is somebody dead?”
“People are dying all the time. When was the last time you saw Painter?”
“That’s something else that happens pretty often,” Shayne said. “I hear a siren, and there he is. That man is getting siren-happy.”
Wing started to smile, but he quickly suppressed it. “That’s not what I mean, as you probably know. Have you had any business with him lately?”
“I haven’t had any business with anybody lately. I’ve been turning people away, or Miss Hamilton has been turning them away for me. I got pretty well knocked around on that last case, not that I was the only one. She’s been trying to get me to take a rest.”
“Well, there’s a definite statement, finally,” Wing said. “Do I understand you to say that you aren’t working on anything at the moment?”
“That’s right,” Shayne said easily. “Write it down.”
“What about this Mrs. Heminway who’s been calling you?”
“I’m supposed to see her in the morning.” He looked at his watch. “And unless you boys let me get some sleep, I’m not going to be very goddam bright-eyed. It’s your turn now, Joe. What happened last night between eight-thirty and nine?”
“You really don’t know, Mike?” Wing said softly.
He took his notebook to Shayne’s phone, and rattled until he woke up the clerk downstairs. He asked to speak with the detective in the lobby. When the man came on he relayed the names Shayne had just given him, and told him to find out if they’d run into Mike Shayne recently.
“They won’t like that,” Shayne said. “They just got to bed about fifteen minutes ago.”
Wing said into the phone, “Has Heinemann come in yet?... Send him up to Shayne’s room. Now tell the clerk to give me an outside line, and keep the switch open so you can make notes on the call.” He looked around at Shayne. “I’m going to dial Mrs. Heminway’s number for you now, Mike, if you don’t mind.”
“Hell, yes, I mind,” Shayne said. “But I know that’s not going to cut any ice with you.”
When Wing had a dialtone he looked up a number in the book beneath the table. “She said to call her when you came in. She didn’t say not to call her if you didn’t get in till five in the morning.”
Shayne finished the cognac without hurrying. After dialing the number Wing handed him the phone. It rang several times, and a woman’s voice said sleepily, “Yes?”
“This is Michael Shayne,” the redhead said. “I’ve got some cops here, and they thought I ought to call you. It wasn’t my idea. Go back to sleep, and I’ll call again at a civilized hour.”
“Oh, Mr. Shayne,” she said. “No. Wait a minute till I pull myself together. Did you say something about — cops?”
Shayne grinned across at Joe Wing. “The whole Beach detective force has been looking for me all night, it seems. I don’t know if that means anything to you. If it does we’d better talk about it later. When was our appointment? Nine?”
“Yes. But wait, Mr. Shayne. That’s what I wanted to tell you. My wits are all over the place. Mr. Painter wants me to put that off till afternoon. Could you make it at one instead?” She gave an exclamation of dismay. “I wasn’t supposed to tell you that Mr. Painter asked me.”
“One o’clock’s fine, Mrs. Heminway,” Shayne said quickly. “Maybe they’ll let me get some sleep before then.”
He broke the connection. Wing took the phone and asked the detective in the lobby for Mrs. Heminway’s end of the conversation. He hung up sadly.
“You haven’t really started cooperating yet, have you, Mike?”
“I’ve had a few arguments with your boss on that point,” Shayne said bleakly. “If my clients want the cops to know about their problem, they don’t bring it to me. On top of that, I don’t like to have people listening in on my phone conversations.”
There was a respectful tap on the door. Wing let in another detective Shayne had seen around Beach headquarters. He wore a strong look of resentment, as though he had a grievance against society, and an X of adhesive tape over a shaved place at the back of his head.
“Take a good look at him, Heinemann,” Wing said.
Heinemann stared at Shayne suspiciously, then walked around him in a half-circle. Shayne turned.
“Do you want both profiles, or just one?”
“He’s got the build,” Heinemann said doubtfully. “And the hair. But if you want to know if I can pick him out of a showup, Lieutenant, let’s say I’d like to think it over some more.”
“That adhesive tape on your skull hasn’t had time to get dirty yet,” Shayne said. “When did you get slugged, between eight-thirty and nine?”
“About ten of nine,” Heinemann said, “give or take a couple of minutes.”
Joe Wing said sharply, “That’s enough of that. And if you don’t have the sense to keep your mouth shut, we may have to decorate you with more adhesive tape, in a new place.”
“All I said was—” But he wilted under the lieutenant’s look, and didn’t go on.
Wing helped himself to more Scotch. “I’ll ask you again, Mike, and this time I’ll leave off the please. Why does Mrs. Heminway want to hire you? And if you don’t feel like answering, we’ll get the State’s Attorney to repeat the question in front of a jury.”
Shayne made a rude noise. “That’s Petey’s speech, Joe, and I’m surprised to hear it from you. The legal ground is very shaky. You can’t get me up before a grand jury in less than three days, and that’s the minimum. You wouldn’t have been waiting for me all night unless you were in a hurry.”
“Goddam it, Mike, one of these days—”
“That’s Painter’s speech, too,” Shayne said, breaking in. “And now that we’re on that unpleasant subject, where is Painter? How come he’s letting you ask the questions?”