She pouted and then raised gay, shining eyes to his. “I was just fooling about the kitty, Michael. I’ll go-if you’re sure there’s nothing I can do.”
“Not a damned thing, angel.” He guided her to the door and called to the doorman, “Get the lady a cab to the dog track.”
He kissed her lips, then stood in the doorway to watch her disappear into a cab. When it wheeled away, he drew a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped beads of sweat from his face. The lines deepened on his gaunt jaw and his eyes were bleak when he turned back into the lobby. He walked to the desk and beckoned the clerk with a jerk of his head. “Have you a Mr. Samuelson registered from Miami?”
“Mr. M. Samuelson and party. Yes, sir. They arrived less than half an hour ago.”
Shayne said, “Thanks,” and turned away. A reckless light glinted in his gray eyes. He strode toward two men sitting close together on a padded bench where they could watch people get on and off the elevators.
He stopped directly in front of them on widespread feet. One of them pretended to be reading a newspaper while the other was busy cleaning his finger nails with a steel file.
Shayne addressed the newspaper reader coldly. “You boys are off your beat tonight.”
The man lifted glacially blue eyes at Shayne over the rim of his paper. He was about thirty with an athletic, well-knit body. He wore a sober brown suit with somber shirt and four-in-hand. His face was without expression, as inhumanly cold as his eyes. He said, “Scram,” and dropped his gaze again to the newspaper.
Shayne did not move except to thrust his hands deep into his trouser pockets and teeter forward. The younger man glanced up quickly to meet the detective’s eyes. He had sulky lips and his plump cheeks were covered with a soft down. Long, dark lashes added to an effeminate appearance. He wore a wasp-waisted sports coat of expensive material with square padded shoulders. A faint flush crept into his cheeks as Shayne’s lips upquirked in harsh amusement. He glanced quickly aside at his older companion and then began carefully inspecting his nails.
In a tone of gentle derision, Shayne said, “I’m surprised Maxie lets you associate with a tough baboon like this one, Melvin. Isn’t he afraid Hymie might rub off some of the bloom?”
Melvin squirmed. He glanced at his companion again, entreating him to do something.
Hymie lowered his newspaper. He fixed his glacial eyes on the bottom button of Shayne’s coat and advised dispassionately, “Go on back to your knitting, shamus. You’re out of your territory too.”
“Maybe,” said Shayne, “this is some of my knitting.”
Hymie shook his head slowly. “Don’t push us around. We got as much right here as you have.”
Shayne’s smile was bland. “Why, sure. You’ll like it here in Cocopalm, Hymie. Only I thought maybe you didn’t know I was cleaning up the town. If they start running in gorillas from Miami I’m going to get sore.”
Hymie grunted and put his newspaper up in front of his face again. Shayne transferred his attention to the younger man. “When you see Maxie again, tell him I was in Mayme Martin’s room this afternoon when she phoned him.” He turned and went to the elevator.
The door of his suite was standing open. He walked in and nodded casually to Will Gentry and Chief Boyle. The Miami detective chief was a big thick-shouldered man with a pleasant, beefy face. He and Boyle were both working on fat cigars and the room was foul with smoke.
Shayne asked, “Why haven’t you birds taken advantage of my hospitality to order a drink-or hadn’t you got round to that yet?”
“We just hadn’t got round to it, Mike,” Gentry rumbled. “Make mine Scotch and soda.”
Shayne turned to the Cocopalm chief, and Boyle nodded with some constraint. “The same for me.”
Shayne went into the bedroom and crossed to the night table. He ordered two highballs sent up. When he re-entered the living-room, Gentry said placidly, “That wife of yours puts on a slick disappearing act, Mike. She answered the phone but ducked out before I could get up on the elevator.”
“She’s determined to be helpful.” Shayne grinned widely. “She waylaid me down in the lobby to warn me that a couple of hounds of the law were lying in wait for me up here.”
“And you came up anyway?” Gentry squinted at him through a screen of thick blue smoke. “That means you’re ready to come clean, eh?”
“On what?” Shayne went into the bathroom and poured himself a drink of cognac. The boy was at the door with the two whiskies when he returned. Shayne tipped him and signed the check, then passed the tall glasses to his guests. He sat down, swinging one leg over the arm of his chair.
“I think you know what I’m talking about, Mike.”
“Maybe I do. Maybe not. Do you want to make a parlor quiz out of it?”
Gentry sighed and shifted his heavy bulk. “A woman named Mayme Martin was murdered in Miami tonight.”
Shayne pursed his lips and whistled. “Murdered, eh?”
Gentry nodded emphatically. “The killer messed things up trying to make it look like suicide by using a safety-razor blade. The medical examiner says she was dead before her throat was slit.”
Shayne held up his glass and squinted through it. “Why are you telling me about it?”
“Are you going to deny that you knew her?”
“N-o-o,” Shayne hedged. “I won’t deny that I had met her, Will. But we didn’t get very well acquainted. I never saw her before this afternoon.”
“She checked into the Red Rose from Cocopalm this afternoon,” Gentry told him. “You called on her just before dark-the only visitor she had. Then you came helling up here. What’s the connection?”
“When was she killed?” Shayne countered.
“Evidently not long after you went up to talk to her. The doctor hadn’t got around to picking an exact time.”
“If I had done it,” Shayne growled, “I wouldn’t have been fool enough to think I could cross you up by slitting her throat after she was dead.”
Will Gentry nodded unhappily. “I’m not going to hang the murder on you,” he protested. “But she’s mixed up in this Cocopalm thing somehow. I thought she might have told you something that would give us a line to work on.”
“She didn’t tell me anything, Will. She claimed she had information worth a grand to me. That’s as far as we got.”
“Information about what?”
“This counterfeiting deal.”
“I was pretty sure there had to be a connection. That makes three killings in one evening, Mike.” He looked at the redheaded detective reproachfully. “Boyle says you hadn’t more than reached town before you blasted two of the local yokels.”
“In self-defense,” Shayne replied cheerfully.
“I know all about that. But the Martin woman wasn’t murdered in self-defense.” Gentry paused to sip his drink. “Nobody in the apartment house saw anybody else go in or out of her room except you.”
“Did you talk to the redhead at the end of the hall?”
“Yep. She says you acted funny. Passed her by when she gave you the come-on.”
Shayne grinned, then stated flatly, “Mayme Martin was plenty alive when I left her room.”
“Maybe so. But the hell of it is nobody saw her alive afterward.”
“No one,” Shayne corrected, “that you know anything about.”
“Well, yes. You were the only one seen visiting her.”
“I know at least one person who saw her after I did.”
“Good. I thought maybe you’d have something, Mike. Who was it?”
Shayne shook his head solemnly. “Not yet, Will. I’ve got to figure the angles.”
Will Gentry’s manner became brusque. “Don’t hold out on me.”
“But I’ve got to see where I stand,” Shayne protested. “Maybe I’ve got something to trade on. If I give it to you I won’t have anything left.”
“If you don’t give it to me you’re going to be in pretty deep yourself.”
“So that’s the way it is?”
Gentry lifted a square, pudgy palm. “I’m giving it to you straight. We found a little something in her room that I think you can explain.”
Shayne’s eyes narrowed and his face took on a hard, pinched expression. He wasn’t deceived by Will Gentry’s placidly casual approach. They had been friends a long time, but Gentry never mixed friendship with business. Shayne knew he would get a square deal from the Miami detective chief, but no more than that.