The medical examiner rocked back on his heels, looked up at Chief Gentry and said, “Either bullet would probably have been fatal. Thirty-two’s, I think. The one in his chest was shot through the glass… the other by someone standing directly over him.”
Mrs. Wilson began crying silently when the examiner made his pronouncement. Her eyes stayed wide open and tears trickled into the crevices of her pinched cheeks. She let go her tight hold on her wrapper and wrung her hands, but made no other movement.
Will Gentry went over to her and said soothingly, “We know how you feel, Mrs. Wilson, but you’ve got to help us all you can. How did this happen?”
She pressed her lips tightly together, shook her head mutely from side to side, and copious tears dripped from her chin onto her wrapper.
A uniformed policeman behind Gentry shuffled his feet and cleared his throat. Detective Sergeant Grayson was in plain clothes beside him. Shayne didn’t recognize either of the other two men crowding the small office. One was a youth wearing a modified zoot suit with brown and purple stripes. The other stranger was a tall man with clean-cut, impassive features. He wore a well-tailored gray business suit and held an expensive Panama hat in his right hand. One trouser leg of his suit was badly torn. His calm gray eyes rested on Mrs. Wilson with an expression of sober pity. Shayne pushed past them to stand beside Chief Gentry, and facing Mrs. Wilson. He said quietly, “You remember me, Mrs. Wilson. Clem was telephoning me when it happened.”
She nodded her unkempt head. “Sure, Mr. Shayne, I know.” Her voice had a high, nasal quality. “Clem come runnin’ in to ask me your telephone number and I couldn’t remember and he had to look it up. He was scared-like. No… more mad, I reckon. I didn’t know what’d got into him. Talkin’ to hisself he was, when he went out to phone you. Then I… I heard what sounded like shootin’…” She broke off and her eyes were filled with terror as they moved from one officer to another. It was as though realization of the tragedy suddenly came to her. Her body swayed and trembled violently.
Shayne caught the emaciated flesh of her forearm and held her steady. He asked gently, “Where were you when you heard the shots, Mrs. Wilson?”
“I… I was in bed a’ready. In the back, you know. Time I could get out here the car was gone, an’ Clem… was layin’ there. I knew he was dead soon’s I looked at ’im.”
“You didn’t see the car, nor anybody?” Gentry asked. Her head moved jerkily and negatively. “I didn’t see nothin’. I heard the car drivin’ off. There’d been some men here talkin’ to Clem. It was right after they left when he come in to hunt up your number.” Her tears started afresh, washing away the terror, and hopelessness again became her only outward show of emotion.
Gentry turned to Shayne and asked, “What do you know about it, Mike? You had the squad cars called out.”
“Only what Clem told me over the phone before he was shot.” He glanced over his shoulder at the men in mufti behind him. “Who are those two men?”
“The kid is a Herald police reporter. He’s new on the job. And you,” Gentry said to the tall man, “didn’t you say your car was broken down close by?”
“I had a flat tire. I was changing it when I heard the shooting up here. My name is Carlton… Herbert P. Carlton. I live in Coral Gables. I hurried up here as fast as I could after hearing the shots and seeing a car whiz past me. Matter of fact the car almost ran over me. I had to jump back into the side of the road and tore my pants.” He looked down ruefully at his knee, then went on, “I knew that something must be wrong. I had been here only a moment when you arrived.”
“What kind of a car whizzed past you? Exactly what did you see?” Gentry demanded.
“It was a sedan… some dark color… with two men in the front seat.” Carlton paused and a thought crease formed between his eyes. After a moment’s hesitation, he went on diffidently:
“I’d been noticing something queer going on up here. That is… well, you know how it is at night when you’re alone on the highway changing a tire. You notice things… and perhaps your imagination works overtime. The lights of the filling station were the only thing I could see. In fact, I debated about coming here to get my tire changed, but decided the damage to the tire would be too great, so I changed it myself. As I worked, I kept glancing up here.”
“Where is your car now?” Gentry asked.
“About a half-mile down the road. I didn’t quite finish changing the tire. Thought I’d better hurry up here to see what the trouble was.”
“Go on,” Gentry said.
Mr. Carlton stroked his chin meditatively, and with a hint of apology in his voice resumed:
“I’m explaining this to give you the picture as I saw it. Probably it isn’t important. I noticed a car parked here and it stayed quite a while. Then a man got in and drove away. I watched the car come toward me, but it stopped a couple of hundred yards up the road from my car, turned around, and went back. Well, I watched, thinking perhaps the driver was turned around in his direction and had started out the wrong way. But… it pulled in here at the filling station again. Almost at once I heard what sounded like a backfire. Then I saw a man running in the door and heard another shot and then he ran out and the car roared away. I could see him quite plainly in the bright light outside the station. Before I had time to make up my mind what I ought to do, the car shot past me, too close for comfort. As I say, there were two men in the front seat. I felt something must be wrong, so I hurried up here as fast as I could. I’m afraid none of that will be of much assistance,” he ended deprecatingly.
“Could you get the license number… or see the men?” Chief Gentry asked.
“It all happened too fast,” Carlton said regretfully. “I didn’t think to try to get the license number. That probably would have been impossible. But with the moon so bright and with a dim light on their instrument board I did get a glimpse of the men. But it was only a glimpse.”
“Could you identify either or both of them if you saw them again?” Gentry queried.
Carlton hesitated, his gaze resting briefly on the corpse on the floor. A flicker of fear swept across his features. He moved his head slowly and spoke with unnecessary force. “No. No… I’m afraid not.”
Shayne had been standing aside studying Carlton keenly. He moved up beside Gentry and said harshly, “You’re evading the issue, Carlton. You’re afraid to admit you might be able to identify those men, aren’t you?”
Carlton compressed his lips and looked coldly at Shayne. “After all, I’m merely an innocent bystander. I don’t…”
“You’re afraid,” Shayne charged. “You don’t want to stick your neck out. You’d stand by and see a couple of murderers go free rather than put your own life in jeopardy by appearing against them.”
“But I have done what I could,” Carlton argued. “The car passed me going at terrific speed, and…”
“You had the advantage of standing still as the car approached you. The moonlight is bright, and you say there was a light on the instrument board. Now you were very curious about what the men were up to, they almost ran you down, and you probably made every effort to get a good look at them.”
“Wait a minute, Mike.” Gentry caught Shayne’s arm and pulled him back. “Mr. Carlton seems to be doing what he can. And now, Carlton,” he went on, taking a step nearer to the man, “if you’re holding something back because you might endanger your own life, let’s have it, and we’ll guarantee you full police protection.”
Carlton looked from Gentry to the dead man, moistened his lips, and took a step backward. “It isn’t up to me,” he burst out. “I’m a private citizen. It’s police work… dealing with murderers.” He turned toward the door.
“Wait a minute,” Shayne called harshly. “This is more than a police job. Clem Wilson was murdered because he had guts enough to stand up for what’s right. For his country, by God. He died fighting an enemy that’s just as dangerous as any Jap or German. It is up to you, Carlton. It’s up to every citizen to help us catch his killers.”
Chief Gentry frowned and demanded of Shayne, “What are you talking about? Some sort of subversive activity connected with this killing?”
Shayne gestured savagely toward the crumpled corpse. “What do you make of it? Don’t you get the picture? A couple of mugs come here and argue with Clem. As soon as they pull away he rushes in to call me. They come back and catch him at the telephone and blast him through the door without asking any questions, then come in and give him another slug just to make sure. Sweet Christ, do you need a diagram, Will?”
Gentry mumbled, “Keep talking.”
“If you’d known Wilson personally, you’d know what I mean. We were talking only yesterday and he told me about veiled propositions he’s been receiving since gas and tire rationing. Black market gas and hot tires. Schemes
