Shayne said carelessly, “Maybe somebody beat you to the file.”
Wing’s eyes were narrow and hard. “Maybe. And I hope it wasn’t you, Mike.”
Chapter Five
Michael Shayne dialed Mrs. Heminway’s number again. Joe Wing was standing close enough to the phone so he could hear both ends of the conversation. This time it rang only twice and the voice that answered was both sleepy and irritated.
“Hello? Who is it?”
“Michael Shayne again, Mrs. Heminway. I hate to do this to you. I know you were probably just getting back to sleep. If I came over in half or three quarters of an hour, could you see me?”
“Good heavens, no,” Mrs. Heminway said. “I’m anything but an early riser. As far as I’m concerned this is still the middle of the night. Why the urgency, Mr. Shayne? Only a few minutes ago you were saying—”
“I know. But things have changed. I’d like to get going on it right away.”
“Now wait a minute. Has Mr. Peter Painter been throwing his weight around, by any chance?”
Shayne looked at Lieutenant Wing. His shaggy eyebrows rose. “No, I haven’t seen Petey for a couple of weeks. What makes you ask that?”
“Oh — you said something about detectives, and it occurred to me that Mr. Painter might have been rash enough to try to put pressure on you directly. I understand you two aren’t on very good terms, I mean personally.”
“That’s a fair statement,” Shayne said, grinning. “Personally and every other way. No, these were Petey’s boys, but he wasn’t with them. Put pressure on me to do what?”
“Not to take the case. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a man as upset as he was when I told him I was planning to hire you. But I made that promise in good faith, and I’m afraid I’ll have to stick to it, Mr. Shayne. One o’clock, then?”
“Mrs. Heminway, did you run into a Lieutenant Wing when you went to see Painter?”
“I believe I did. But—”
“I’m putting him on the line.”
He handed the phone to Wing, who said, “Joe Wing speaking. Mrs. Heminway, you’ll be doing us a favor if you’ll talk to Shayne now instead of waiting. The Chief isn’t here now, but he wouldn’t want to hold you to that promise.”
“He certainly wanted to hold me to it last night. Well, you’ve succeeded in arousing my curiosity, if that was what you were trying to do. Tell Mr. Shayne I’ll want a full explanation. Half an hour?”
Wing hung up. “What do you make of that, Mike?”
“What do I make of it? What do you make of it? Did he have anything on his calendar for this morning?”
“Nothing but routine.”
“Nothing but routine!” Shayne said angrily. “Didn’t he have anybody he could trust?”
“Not in the police department, I guess. Mike—” He broke off. “LaBanca. Heinemann. Go on downstairs. I’ll be with you in a minute.”
“Won’t you need some help, Lieutenant?” Heinemann said, looking at the redhead.
“No, I won’t need any help!” Wing snapped. “We’re not arresting Shayne after all.”
“He talked his way out of it, did he?” Heinemann said.
Wing made a threatening gesture. When the two detectives were out of the room he turned to Shayne.
“I still don’t know if I’m doing the right thing, but maybe we’ll get a little extra this way. Just don’t try to play it too cute with me, Mike, because if you do—”
“I’ll live to regret it,” Shayne said impatiently. “Save your breath, Joe. I’ve heard it from Painter.”
“I happen to mean it,” Wing said.
“And while we’re laying down the ground rules,” Shayne went on, “don’t put a tail on me. That’s what Petey would do in this situation, but if I spot anybody behind me our deal is off and it’s every man for himself.”
“Sure, sure,” Wing said. “Now we don’t want to keep the lady waiting.”
Shayne finished knotting his tie. He poured a last shot of cognac. Then he found a fresh package of cigarettes and they went out.
The Bay Harbor Islands are several small man-made keys in upper Biscayne Bay, joined by the Broad Causeway. Michael Shayne parked on the white clamshell driveway beside Mrs. Heminway’s handsome house. The grounds were carefully landscaped and they seemed to be well looked after. As he crunched along the shell path to the front door, he noted the boathouse and dock, the smooth putting-green lawn, the flowering shrubs, and he put a price-tag of $65,000 on the property.
Rose Heminway opened the door for him. Shayne saw a good-looking athletic woman with blonde hair, widely spaced blue eyes and a pleasant mouth. She was wearing a dark-red belted wrapper and high-heeled slippers. Shayne had given her ample time to put on make-up and brush her hair, and she had done both.
She looked at him with approval. “You couldn’t be anybody else but Mr. Michael Shayne. I’ve heard you described. Come in. I think the coffee’s done.”
She took him all the way through to a large kitchen, filled with the agreeable smell of freshly-percolated coffee. “You’ll have a cup, Mr. Shayne?”
“Mmm,” he said. “Yes, thanks.”
“That doesn’t sound too enthusiastic.” She looked over her shoulder. “I was a littly fuzzy when I talked to you on the phone. I took a pill to get to sleep, and I’m afraid I didn’t make much sense. Did I gather that you haven’t been to bed yet? Maybe you’d rather have a drink. Or some brandy in your coffee?”
Shayne grinned. “The service seems to be very good around here.”
“Sit down, Mr. Shayne. I don’t often see this room at this time of morning. It’s actually quite pleasant, isn’t it?”
She waved at an alcove which was getting the early sun. She clicked from the refrigerator to the stove, to a counter, back to the refrigerator and then across to the table with a tray. He was satisfied to sit and watch. She moved well, and the robe moved in interesting ways of its own, opening and closing. She produced a bottle of brandy and poured a large slug in Shayne’s cup, and filled the cup with hot coffee.
“Now,” she said. “Scrambled eggs. Canadian bacon. Croissants. All right?”
“That sounds wonderful,” he said. “I didn’t know I was coming for breakfast, but I can’t turn it down. Do you mind if I ask some questions while it’s on the way?”
“Go ahead, Mr. Shayne.” She began breaking eggs into a mixing bowl. “But tell me one thing first. Were those detectives trying to — I don’t know quite how to put it — well, intimidate you?”
Shayne grinned again. “They started off with that idea.”
“That settles it,” she said briskly. “After I told Mr. Painter what I planned to do, he stalked out with a look of black determination on his face. He told me to listen to the twelve o’clock news. I thought that meant he was planning to do something about the Harris case, finally, but apparently he was planning to do something about Michael Shayne!” She glanced at him. “Though I can’t imagine how he thought he could get any place with you.”
“The only thing he wanted you to do was not to see me till afternoon?”
“He didn’t really want me to see you at all. He went off like a Roman candle when I mentioned your name. I probably shouldn’t be telling you this.” She gave a low laugh. “He was so excited he spilled his drink in his lap.”