“Maybe nothing. But doesn’t that phone conversation suggest anything to you?”
“Sure,” growled Gentry. “They were both being cagy.”
“Exactly.” Shayne turned to Gibson and said, “I presume the widow has been notified of Brewer’s death?”
“Of course. I wired her early this morning.”
“Yet she didn’t mention it to her husband’s partner over the telephone.”
Rourke thrust his thin face and quivering nostrils between them and said exultantly, “It wasn’t necessary, because she was talking to her husband, like I told you, and they plan to make a getaway.”
Gibson turned away from the reporter as though offended by his breath. “It’s perfectly clear,” he went on to Gentry, “that they were both being overly cautious. I haven’t the slightest doubt that they planned it together. It won’t be a betrayal of confidence, now, to tell you that Brewer knew his wife was in love with Godfrey and that he planned to sue for divorce, naming his partner as corespondent. That was the motive. With all the evidence before you, can you refuse to bring Godfrey back to confront these two detectives?” He turned slightly and waved toward Black and Mathews. “As soon as they see him and realize that he is not the man they trailed last night, his carefully planned alibi goes up in thin smoke.”
Will Gentry sighed heavily. He took a cigar from an inner pocket and turned it over in his pudgy hands.
“What do we charge him with?”
“Murder, of course.”
“Godfrey,” growled Gentry, “has an airtight alibi.”
“Which will be nullified as soon as the two detectives who tailed him see him face to face — if my theory is correct.”
“If your theory is correct,” the chief agreed wearily. “If your theory isn’t correct, we go on a wild guess. Suppose Black and Mathews positively identify him as the man they tailed all night, and couldn’t possibly have committed the murder?”
“They won’t,” raged Gibson. “And it’s your duty to arrest him and bring him back.”
“I can have him picked up in New York,” Gentry agreed. “If he is a murderer, he’ll fight extradition, because his one chance of getting away with it is to stay away from Miami and out of Black’s sight.”
“Isn’t the evidence you have enough to extradite a man on?” Gibson demanded.
Gentry puffed on his cigar until the end glowed red. “The only evidence we have so far,” he said placidly, “is a perfect alibi. Unless we have something concrete, a smart criminal lawyer would make fools out of us.”
His telephone rang. He answered it, listened briefly, and said, “Thanks.”
Shayne went back to the desk and asked, “Anything on Mrs. Brewer?”
“Nothing suspicious. She spent yesterday afternoon shopping in New York. Went to the theater and returned home on the midnight train.”
Shayne turned away, tugging at his ear lobe.
Lucy Hamilton came up from her chair and said, “Why are you worried about that, Michael? It’s just what a woman would do if she were in New York — and if she knew her lover had murdered an unwanted husband last night. Hadn’t I better get back to the office? Just in case something comes up?”
Shayne caught her arm in a tight grip. “Wait a minute, Lucy. How do you figure Mrs. Brewer would go shopping and to a theater?”
“To get her mind off of it, naturally. And it kept her away from home during the evening so she could receive a long-distance call from her paramour in Miami — without it being traced — to say the job was done. That’s why they didn’t have to discuss it today.”
Shayne squeezed Lucy’s arm and whispered, “Sit down. Never mind the office.” He turned to Gibson and asked, “Are you willing to bet your theory is correct?”
“Why— I— Almost any sum.”
“All right.” Shayne lowered one hip to the edge of Gentry’s desk where he could face both the chief and the others with a slight turn of his head.
“I felt something like this was going to come up as soon as I learned that Brewer’s body had been positively identified. That’s why I asked Will to get you all together in his office.”
He paused and looked around at the group. Timothy Rourke was sprawled in his accustomed manner, his emaciated legs lost in his trousers. His neck lolled on the top chair rung and his eyes were closed. Henry Black and Mathews were sitting erect, thin faces lined with weariness from lack of sleep, but their eyes were alert. Lucy Hamilton’s soft brown eyes were fixed on Shayne, proud and confident, and her slender body was relaxed. Elliott Gibson was still standing, his hands rammed deep in his pockets and his head bent forward like a bull ready to charge.
Shayne said quietly, “Pull up a chair and rest your ego, Gibson.”
“I’m waiting to hear what you have to say.”
“It’s a long story. Sit down.”
Gibson started with Gentry, glanced around at the others, and sat down.
“As I see it,” said Shayne, “we’ve reached an impasse. We have no proof on which we can extradite Godfrey. Without positive evidence we can’t bring him here to confront Black and Mathews; which means that we’ll never get any proof. If he is guilty,” he added gently.
“What do you propose?” Gibson exploded.
“I propose that you back up your accusations with round-trip fares to New York for yourself and Henry Black.”
“Hold it, Mike,” Black said. “I don’t go anywhere until I collect my fee and expenses. That goes for Mathews, too.”
Shayne looked at Black and shook his head slightly. “We’ll all fly up together,” he continued, “and let Hank have a look at the man in his hotel. If he doesn’t identify him as the person he tailed last night, we’ll have a perfect case against him.”
“And if he does identify him?” Gibson asked.
Shayne shrugged. “Then you’ll have to forget the whole thing, because Godfrey will have an airtight alibi.”
“I’m staying right here until I get my two hundred and expenses,” Henry Black asserted in his monotonous nasal twang, “and catch myself ten hours’ sleep.”
Elliott Gibson hesitated for a moment, then said peevishly, “Since you insist that Brewer came to your office and had you engage this man to protect him, I’m willing to take the responsibility of billing his estate for the price he promised, and the cost of sending a man to New York to identify his murderer, but it would be difficult to justify my going. What could I do?”
“What are you afraid of, Gibson?” Shayne said harshly.
“I’m not afraid of anything,” the attorney snapped. “I’m simply wondering how I could be of use.”
“To make sure the man in the Berkshire Hotel is Godfrey,” Shayne explained patiently. “None of us know him by sight. We not only have Black to swear he isn’t the man he and Mathews followed, but we have to have someone swear he is Hiram Godfrey. If you’re not willing to make that small effort,” he added pleasantly, “you’ve got a hell of a nerve to rant around and tell Will Gentry how to run the Miami police department.”
“Very well.” Gibson drew a long breath.
“I’ll take my two hundred and expenses before the plane leaves,” Henry Black persisted stubbornly.
Gibson clawed at his hair. He sagged in his chair and shouted, “All right. I’ll give you the two hundred and expenses.” He said to Shayne, “I’ll go along with Black, but I fail to see why your presence will be necessary. I can’t authorize any further expenditures of my client’s funds.”
Shayne grinned and said, “I’ll pay my own fare — and Lucy’s. You see, Gibson, catching Brewer’s murderer isn’t my concern at all.” He glanced aside at Lucy Hamilton. She was leaning forward with her full lips parted and eyes beaming. He squinted his left eye in an attempted wink, and continued.