“Like what?” Russco’s voice matched his so that their words couldn’t be heard more than three stools away.
Shayne waited until an open bottle of Cordon Bleu and a pot-bellied brandy snifter stood in front of him and the bartender had gone back to his other customers. He poured the glass half-full and held it between his two big hands for a moment, and then said, “Like maybe you’re careless about leaving corpses scattered around in your hotel rooms. Bad publicity.” He lifted the glass and drank deeply. “One less for the cops to find wouldn’t hurt, I guess?”
“God, no,” the security officer breathed fervently. “You mean to say we got that kind of trouble?”
“The less you know about it the better it’ll be all the way around. Let’s keep this discussion purely hypothetical, huh?”
“You bet, Mike. Hypothetical as hell.”
“On that basis,” said Shayne, “and knowing your way around the joint as you do, how would you go about getting a body down from one of the upper floors and away from the hotel without any fuss or muss?”
“Simple enough,” John Russco told him. “There’s a service elevator that’s hardly ever used this time of night. It goes down to the basement, mostly for refuse removal, into an empty room with a door opening directly out into the alley. Park a car just outside…” He paused, watching Shayne expectantly.
Shayne nodded, drinking again. “Sounds good. Show me, huh?”
“You bet. Want a little more of that melted gold out of the bottle first? We’re picking up the tab,” he reminded him generously.
Shayne shook his head and drained the snifter. “Another time, John. Right now, let’s explore the basement.”
They both slid off their stools and Russco led the way back through the lounge and past the rest rooms to a corridor with a closed wooden door at the end. He opened it with a key and pushed a wall switch to light a concrete stairway leading down. The big hotel boiler-room was at the bottom of the stairway, steamy and warm, with overhead pipes leading in all directions. Russco led the way past hissing valves to a narrow, white-painted hallway and down it past closed doors on both sides to a small square room lined with empty refuse cans.
He turned on the overhead light and indicated a small self-service elevator with sliding doors standing open. “This goes all the way up, Mike. Just push the button for any floor you want. What number did you say it was?”
“I didn’t say. We’re keeping this hypothetical,” Shayne reminded him with a grin. “This the door to the alley?” He nodded to a closed door across from the elevator.
“Yeh.” John Russco went to the door and pulled it open, showing four brick stairs leading up to ground level. “It automatically locks behind you,” he warned as he went out into the warm, Miami night air.
Shayne followed him, leaving the door ajar. There was a narrow alley with a two-story building on the other side of it. There was a street light some sixty feet away, and Russco pointed to it. “That’s the street at the back of the hotel. None of the stores are open there at this time of night. A car driving out of the alley that way wouldn’t be noticed.”
“Unless a cop happened to be cruising by,” Shayne grunted.
“That’s right. But you could park a car right here in the dark and be pretty safe.”
Shayne nodded and agreed, “It looks good, John.” He went back down the stairs and across to the open elevator and stepped inside. “How does this thing operate?”
“Just like any self-service elevator.” Russco followed him in and pointed to the bank of buttons.
“They’re numbered for each floor. And see this one marked HOLD. See, it’s pushed in now. That holds the cage at any floor with the doors open until someone steps inside and presses another button. Otherwise the doors will close behind you and it can be taken away by anyone pushing a button on any floor. Not likely this time of night, but don’t forget the HOLD button if you want it to stay in one place. As soon as you get inside and push another button no one can stop you from where you want to go.”
“All right.” Shayne stepped out and got the dead man’s parking stub from his pocket. He held it out to the hotel dick with a grin. “Here’s your part in this hypothetical maneuver. Get this car out of your parking lot. You can do it easier than I… and no questions asked. Drive it around here in the alley and leave it outside the door with the lights off. Unlock and open the trunk and leave the keys in the ignition. Now. How much likelihood that someone will drop in here and be in the way if I should come down in the elevator with a hypothetical corpse?”
“Almost none.” Russco accepted the ticket with a frown. “However, if you want I can hang around and send anyone packing if they do happen to show.”
Shayne said, “Thanks.” He looked at his watch. “How long to get the car set outside?”
“Ten minutes.” Russco looked at his watch.
“Get going then. If I’m not back in fifteen minutes, drive the car down the street and park it some place where it won’t be noticed until morning. Then get back and forget you saw me tonight.”
“All right, Mike.” Russco started to say something else, but checked himself and headed back for the boiler-room with a wave of his hand.
He was disappearing from view when Shayne remembered the pair of stockings in his pocket. He called, “Wait, John,” and went toward him.
Russco turned back and Shayne said, “You don’t happen to have a pair of gloves you can put your hands on quick?”
“Gloves? Christ, no.”
“That car you’re going to pick up,” explained the redhead. “You and I’ll have fewer questions to answer if our fingerprints aren’t found on it when it’s picked up tomorrow. Here. Try these on for size.” He pulled the cellophaned stockings from his pocket and held them out to the hotel detective.
Russco took them dubiously. “Am I stealing a car, too?”
“Just giving it back to the owner,” Shayne told him with a grin. “Slide your mitts into these before you get into it. And keep them handy for me to put on when I meet you down here later.”
Russco took them with a nod of understanding and turned away again.
Shayne watched him go out of sight, then turned back and got into the elevator and pressed the button numbered 8. The doors slid shut silently and the cage began to move upward. When it stopped at the eighth floor and the doors opened, Shayne carefully pushed the HOLD button, and checked to see that it stayed down.
Then he stepped out into the wide corridor and looked at the room number across from him to orient himself. It was 804. By the grace of God and with an assist from the Shayne luck, the room he sought was only three doors down the hall. He knocked twice and waited a moment, and then three times.
The door opened instantly. He grinned reassuringly as he stepped past her, and asked, “Has your daughter phoned?”
“No. I’m getting scared, Mike. She should have before this. Do you suppose…?”
“I suspect she’s holed up somewhere trying to get up her nerve to lift the telephone receiver and call this number. Remember… she hasn’t the faintest idea whether you or the police will answer the phone. Look,” he said firmly, taking her by both arms and looking into her frightened face. “Stop worrying. Everything is going to be okay. All you have to do is be here when she calls. Then tell her to come on back… and have a damned good story made up and ready to tell her to explain who Al Donlin was and why he came here looking for you tonight. Do you understand?” He gave her a little shake to emphasize his words.
Tears swam into her eyes. “Oh, Mike,” she breathed. “You are going to…?”
“I’m going to give a girl a break on the eve of her wedding day,” he told her lightly. He released her arms and stepped back, glancing at his watch. “I’ll have to take a blanket or something to roll him up in.”
She followed him to the door of the bedroom, asking shakily, “Is there anything I can do… to help?”