Shayne didn’t look at Lucy or the other woman. His gaze remained broodingly fixed on the airline envelope in his hand while his fingers idly clawed through his hair. She was right, of course. Damn it, she was so right. He had built his reputation as a private detective by playing fast and loose with the law. By ruthlessly driving ahead on his own, suppressing evidence any time it seemed a good idea to do so.
He drew in a deep breath and tucked the airplane tickets in the breast pocket of his coat. “All right, angel,” he said mildly. “I can’t very well refuse when you put it that way. I’ll play along on one condition.”
“Oh, Michael!” Lucy’s voice broke and she swayed toward him so he had to catch her and hold her close. “I knew you would and I bet you won’t regret it.”
“What is your one condition, Mr. Shayne?” Mrs. Wallace was completely calm now. Looking at her sitting erect and precise on the sofa, no one could have guessed the strain she was under… that the body of her husband lay on the floor not more than twenty feet away.
“You listen to this, Lucy.” Shayne held her away from him and shook her a little. “You both have to promise me you won’t tell the police a direct lie. I won’t touch this otherwise, because we’re all playing with fire.
“Here’s the way you do it,” he went on rapidly. “I’ll get out of here fast. Wait five minutes and then you phone the police, Lucy. Tell them the truth. That Mrs. Wallace telephoned you at home and you hurried over to her without knowing what the trouble was. That you found Mr. Wallace dead, and phoned the police. You don’t have to tell them how much time elapsed or that I came with you. Let them assume that you came alone and phoned immediately.
“Then telephone me a few minutes after you call the police and before they get here. Leave a message if I haven’t reached my hotel by that time. When Gentry gets here, tell him you phoned me. Then he won’t be surprised when I turn up a little later, and he won’t ask any embarrassing questions… I hope.” Shayne drew in a long breath.
“Got that? Don’t tell any lie that may tangle you up later. No one saw me come in with you, and if I’m lucky no one will see me go out.
“Now, Mrs. Wallace. Tell me a couple of things fast. Your husband was some sort of broker, wasn’t he?”
“Yes. A partner in the firm of Martin, Wallace and Tompkins. The main office is in New York, and Mr. Martin manages a branch office here. During the winter season, my husband and Mr. Tompkins normally alternated coming down, but during the past month both have been here.”
Shayne said “Martin?” rubbing his jaw. “Rutherford Martin? Didn’t he run for city councilman a few years ago?”
“He did. And was defeated.”
Shayne nodded. “I know him casually. Has a house in the Little River section. Do you know the address?”
Mrs. Wallace supplied him with a number on N.E. 106th Street.
Shayne wrote it down and said grimly, “Here we go. Both of you, for God’s sake, watch yourselves. This is dynamite, and don’t forget it. You’re in for a rough time, Mrs. Wallace. Start working on your alibi before Gentry gets here.”
“My… alibi, Mr. Shayne? Surely no one will suspect that I could possibly…”
“You’re set up for the prime suspect,” Shayne told her roughly. “Start going back every moment of the time that’s elapsed since you landed at the airport. Remember whom you saw and spoke to, exactly what you did.”
“But how could they suspect her, Michael? She came here and found him dead. There’s no gun here.”
“That’s what she says, angel.” Shayne swung on his heel. “Remember to wait five minutes before calling police headquarters. Get yourself excited and a little hysterical. Just give the address and tell them Mr. Wallace is dead. Phone me a few minutes later. I’ll be around… and I won’t know anything about the set-up when I get here. Don’t tell any lies that may catch you up.”
He went out swiftly, rubbing both doorknobs as he went through to obliterate fingerprints and trying to remember whether he had touched anything else inside the apartment that would betray the fact that he had been there.
He didn’t think he had. He hoped not. The elevator was waiting at the floor where he and Lucy had left it, and he went down and out the front door, again rubbing away fingerprints, without being seen by anyone in the apartment house so far as he knew.
A moment later he was in his car headed for downtown Miami fast.
Chapter three
It was exactly eight minutes later when Shayne strode briskly into the lobby of his apartment-hotel on the north bank of the Miami River. The desk clerk was at the night switchboard as he entered, and he waved to the detective when he turned his head and saw him.
“A call for you, Mr. Shayne,” he called out as the redhead increased his pace. “It’s Miss Hamilton. You can take it on the house phone there.”
He manipulated plugs and Shayne lifted the indicated instrument and said, “Lucy?”
“I’m so glad I caught you, Michael. I’m at Mrs. Wallace’s apartment. Mrs. James Wallace. Remember? Helen Pearce’s mother?”
Shayne said, “I remember. What’s up?”
“It’s Mr. Wallace, Michael. He’s been murdered. I’ve called the police, but they haven’t come yet. It’s on Northeast Fortieth.” She gave him the street number of the apartment house.
Shayne said, “Sit tight. I’ll be tied up for a short time, but I’ll get there as fast as I can.”
He hung up and the clerk turned from the switchboard with the headset still on. “Trouble, Mr. Shayne? I couldn’t help hearing…”
For once, Shayne was glad that the clerk took so much interest in his affairs and had a propensity for monitoring the telephone. If the police did have occasion to ask any questions, Dick could testify that Lucy had called him after notifying the police.
Shayne nodded, rubbing his jaw thoughtfully. “James Wallace has been murdered. One of his partners is a Rutherford Martin. Got a phone book there, Dick?”
“Right here, Mr. Shayne.” Dick picked it up, eager to be helpful.
“See if you can find Martin’s address and number.” The clerk flipped through the pages. “Rutherford Martin.” He read off the street address Mrs. Wallace had supplied Shayne, and added a telephone number. Shayne jotted them down on a sheet of hotel stationery, and glanced at his watch. “It’s a little late, but… try that number, Dick.”
“You bet.” The clerk turned back to the switchboard and Shayne leaned a negligent elbow on the desk, getting out a cigarette and lighting it, then lifting the receiver of the house phone as Dick nodded over his shoulder to him.
A distant telephone was ringing steadily. It stopped ringing and a woman’s voice said, “Yes?”
“Is Mr. Martin at home?”
“He’s retired. Who is calling?”
Shayne hung up without replying. The clerk looked at him with a dropped jaw and said, “Jeez, she’ll be wondering…” Shayne grinned and waved a big hand as he started out. “Part of the technique, Dick. Keep ’em wondering.”
He drove north on the Boulevard again, slowing as he passed 40th Street to glance toward the Bay. The lights of a police cruiser were blinking at the curb a block and a half away. He speeded up to 79th Street, swung left and then to the right after a few blocks. It was a fairly new residential section of substantial homes with large, well-kept lawns. Most of the houses were dark, but there was an automobile parked in front of the Martin residence, the porch light was on and the front windows showed light behind drawn curtains.