Shayne waited impatiently while Gentry asked questions, settled back when the chief kept nodding his head. He hung up and turned on Shayne. “Now what the hell do you know about this murder?”
“Did the description check?”
“Yeh, pimples and all,” Gentry growled.
Shayne drew in a long breath and said, “Sounds like the kid who paid me a visit this morning and was so interested in the view from my windows.” He gave Gentry full details concerning the messenger and the envelope containing the blank paper.
Gentry said, “I’ll be damned. Suppose it’s got anything to do with the other?”
“Your guess is as good as mine. Are you taking me over to see Osgood?” Shayne stood up again.
Gentry heaved his bulk from the chair. “If that’s the way you want it, Mike. Maybe you’ll talk for Osgood.” His face was dark and glowering as he reached for his hat.
They went out and across Flagler Street to the Dade County Courthouse.
State’s Attorney Osgood was a big man with stern dark eyes and mane of white hair. He was dictating rapidly to a competent-appearing young woman when Chief Gentry and Shayne went in. He dismissed the young woman with a wave of a manicured hand and remained seated behind a large polished desk as the two men came toward him.
Waving them to seats across from him, Osgood came swiftly to the point. Over a leveled forefinger he asked brusquely, “Now what’s all this about your holding information from the authorities, Shayne?”
“I’m working on a case. It’s my legal and ethical right to withhold confidential information given by my client until I solve the case.” Shayne’s tone was clipped and firm.
Osgood’s stern eyes regarded him coldly. “It’s the State’s case. This is no time to play fast and loose with important evidence. As a licensed private detective you are as much an officer of the State as I. If this Wilson murder, as you contend, is a result of the machinations of a gasoline ring, then I say to you all the more reason that ring should be stamped out.”
Shayne crossed one long leg over the other and nodded. “That’s exactly why I’m forcing them to come to me.”
“Do you expect me to believe that’s your only reason?”
“I don’t give a goddamn what you believe,” Shayne told him bluntly.
“Just a minute,” Gentry groaned; “he doesn’t mean that, Osgood.”
“The hell I don’t,” Shayne snapped.
Osgood cleared his throat and pursed his lips. “You leave me only one course, Shayne. I’m going to order your immediate arrest.”
“On what grounds?”
“Suppression of evidence in a murder case.”
Shayne got up. “I’ll stay in jail as long as it takes my lawyer to get a writ of habeas corpus.”
“Now look, Mike,” Gentry interposed, but Shayne interrupted him wearily:
“Osgood is bluffing. He’s not going to arrest me. He’s got enough sense to realize his only chance to crack this thing is to leave me in circulation where Wilson’s murderers can get a crack at me.” He turned and stalked out, leaving the State’s Attorney’s face a mottled red.
Outside the door of Osgood’s private office his arm was seized by Timothy Rourke, his long-time friend and a reporter for the afternoon News.
“Just got a tip Osgood had you on the grill,” Rourke ejaculated, his nose twitching like a bloodhound’s on a hot scene. “What’s up, Mike?”
Shayne advised, “Ask Osgood,” and went down the hallway.
Rourke went with him, complaining, “All I know is what I read in the Herald. Give me an angle, Mike.”
“Play up the Herald angle,” Shayne said. “It’s a good one.” He stopped at the elevator shaft and pushed the DOWN button.
“But I figured on busting that story wide open,” Rourke said cheerfully. “Hell, it was practically libelous. They all but accused you of holding out for a bribe from the murderer for keeping your mouth shut.”
Shayne’s wide mouth twisted into a sour grin. “Maybe I could use a bribe.” An elevator stopped and he got in.
Rourke went in with him. “Don’t give me that. I made the mistake of falling for a shenanigan like that once before.”
When they got out on the ground floor Shayne took Rourke’s arm and guided him to the Flagler exit of the building. “Had breakfast yet?”
“No. I’ve been chasing around trying to dig up some dope.”
“And I’ve been dodging bullets and State’s Attorneys.” They went into a small restaurant and took a table for two in the rear. “Sit down and spread your ears, Tim. You can do something for me if I’m still alive when you go to press this afternoon.”
CHAPTER 6
After breakfast Shayne and Rourke argued on the sidewalk outside the restaurant. Rourke was disgruntled and adamant, demanding a headline that had at least a hint of the truth in it.
“Sorry,” Shayne said, “but that’s the way it has to be,” and made his way to an old building on Miami Avenue.
A sardonic grin twisted his features as he entered and walked up two nights, turned to the right in the dark corridor and stopped before a wooden door on which a painted shingle read, MANUEL P. MARKLE, Atty. at Law.
Manny Markle was the shrewdest criminal lawyer in Miami. His clientele included the wealthiest crooks of the nation who flocked to the sunny, semi-tropical playground during the season. But Shayne knew that his expert legal mind was as dirty as the offices he maintained.
He turned the knob and entered a dingy room which appeared crowded with a desk and four chairs. It was unoccupied.
An inner door was marked PRIVATE. Shayne opened it and walked into an office twice the size of the reception room. It was lined with law books. Near the windows was a scarred desk which was dusty and cluttered with papers. A squat iron safe stood open behind it.
Manny Markle was alone in the office. He looked up from his desk and said, “Hello, Shayne,” without cordiality. His face was thin, almost gaunt, except for thick lips which looked puffed by comparison. His eyes were a pale, cold blue and predatory, overshadowed by heavy brows. A wisp of long hair made a grayish-brown strip across the top of his bald, pointed head. He wore a rumpled Palm Beach suit smeared with ashes.
“Hello, Manny,” Shayne responded. Upon closing the door marked PRIVATE he noted that it had a rusty iron bolt on the inside. “Your secretary taking the day off?”
“She hasn’t come down yet. The third girl I’ve had in three weeks and they get progressively worse. They try on jobs like they try on hats. Sit down,” he ended negligently.
Shayne sat down and leaned forward with his forearms on the attorney’s desk. He said, “I need a little information, Manny.”
“My fee is fifty dollars in advance.”
Shayne said, “This information isn’t going to cost me anything. I’m not trying to beat a rap.”
Markle rustled some papers in front of him and murmured, “You know I’m always willing to co-operate with the dicks.”
“Sure. I know that, Manny. That’s why this is going to come easy. It goes back a year. You represented three punks on a breaking and entering charge. A drugstore on Miami Avenue. They were Garson, Axtell, and Dimoff.”
Markle’s eyes were fixed on Shayne’s face, cold and inscrutable, telling him nothing.
“Do you recall the case?” Shayne prompted.
“Maybe I do… maybe I don’t.”
