CHAPTER 2
When Mrs. Wilson went into the bedroom and closed the door, Shayne leaned against the inner threshold of the door from the outside office listening to Gentry and his men snapping pictures and going over the death room with microscopic thoroughness.
The room before him was a combined sitting room, dining room and kitchen. Worn and grease-smeared linoleum covered the floor, a sink and cupboard occupied one corner, and there was a gas range and an old- fashioned icebox beside it. A kitchen table covered with faded oil cloth was pushed back against the wall with an unpainted kitchen chair at either end. A shabby sofa stood against the opposite wall, with a floor lamp at one end and a smoking stand drawn up close. Clem Wilson’s blackened briar pipe lay on the smoking stand and the Miami News lay on the floor beside it.
Beyond the other closed door, Shayne could hear Mrs. Wilson moving about in the bedroom, getting dressed and packing a few things to take with her.
Shayne reached in the slanting pocket of his trench coat and took out the bottle of cognac he had snatched up as he ran from his office-apartment. His eyes were narrowed as he twisted the cork out and put the bottle to his lips. He could hear Gentry giving gruff orders about removing the body, and presently there was silence in the outer room.
His gaze wandered around the little room as he recorked the bottle. He had become intimately acquainted with every detail of the scene during long and pleasant visits with Clem Wilson. Though uneducated and poor, Wilson had been a philosopher of sorts and they had had some good talks here in the back room when Shayne occasionally stopped to have his tank filled. Wilson had been proud of his two sons in the service. On the wall where he could lift his eyes to it while seated, hung a framed picture of the boys together.
Shayne sank wearily on the sofa and looked up at the picture. He frowned and drew in his breath sharply. The ten-cent-store frame was still there against the soot-stained wallpaper, but only one pair of eyes looked down at him. This was Joe Wilson, a grave-faced youth proudly wearing the uniform of a sailor. Joe Wilson, who had gone down with his torpedoed ship in the Solomons two months ago.
Shayne slid the cognac bottle back into his pocket and got up, walked over to look more closely at the frame. He was not mistaken. This was only half of the picture which had originally been in the frame. The Wilson boys had posed for it together while Joe was home on leave and Bob had just enlisted in the Army. Joe, the elder brother, had had his arm loosely around the shoulders of his grinning brother, Bob.
Shayne fumbled for a cigarette and stuck it between his lips with his eyes fixed on the picture. He could see clearly that the figure of Bob had been cut out of the double photograph. Joe’s left arm was cut off just beyond the shoulder. The single figure had been moved to the center of the frame, leaving a strip of blank cardboard background on either side.
It didn’t make sense. He knew that Clem and his wife had been as proud of Bob as of Joe. Bob was the baby, their favorite, if, indeed, people like Mr. and Mrs. Wilson had a favorite. Bob had been a little wild, a laughing youngster who refused to consider life a serious business. Bob had been the instrument, in fact, which had brought Shayne and Clem Wilson together. He had been in trouble the previous year, and Shayne had arrested him in the company of older men in an attempted drugstore robbery.
Because of his youth and inexperience, and believing he recognized a basic honesty which had been led astray, the detective had not booked Bob Wilson with his older companions, but had brought him home to his father to be punished.
Shayne remembered that punishment. He still winced when he recalled the thrashing Clem Wilson had administered to his erring son. And Clem had been grateful for the consideration shown. Thus they had drifted into a close friendship founded on mutual respect.
No. It certainly did not make sense. Perhaps because of that one mistake, or because he recognized an intrinsic weakness in his younger son’s character, Clem Wilson had been a proud and happy father the day Bob enlisted in the Army. To him it signified that Bob had become a responsible citizen and a son of whom he could justly be proud.
The doorknob of the bedroom turned and Shayne hastily walked away from the framed picture. He struck light to a cigarette and tossed the match into the ashtray as Mrs. Wilson came out wearing a neat black dress and carrying a rattan suitcase. He took the bag from her withered hand, and asked briskly, “Are you sure you have everything you need?”
“I reckon I have, Mr. Shayne,” she answered tonelessly. “I’ll be going to Joe’s wife. She’s expecting come two months, and it’s just as good I should be with her. Sarah’s like my own girl, and we’ll make out. She’s got Joe’s insurance you know, for her and the baby.” The ghost of a smile moved her thin lips. She gave Shayne the address in the southern suburbs of the city, and followed him apathetically into the office.
Chalk lines and a pool of blood near the door were the only indication that a dead man had recently lain there. Shayne led her out to his car and put the suitcase in the back, helped her in, and drove down the Trail with dimmed lights.
Bright moonlight outlined the Buick coupe and the police car which were still parked off the pavement. Shayne stopped when he came abreast of the radio car, got out, muttering to Mrs. Wilson, “I’ll only be a minute.”
The policeman was lounging in the front seat of his car smoking a cigarette. Mr. Carlton was on his knees beside the Buick tightening the lugs of his spare wheel on the right rear axle.
Shayne went to the police car and rested his elbows on the door. “Got yourself a new job, Gary?”
“Yeh. Damned nursemaid,” he grumped. He spat with disgust through the opposite door. “Chief says I’m to ride herd on this guy. Ain’t supposed to let him out of my sight. Does that mean I have to sleep with him?”
Shayne grinned. “Maybe his wife’s good-looking and you can sleep between them,” he offered.
“Fat chance. Even if I get that break he’ll probably turn out to be a light sleeper. You figure they’ll try to get him, Mike? Account of he saw them two torpedoes.”
“I doubt it. Not if they can get me first. I wouldn’t worry too much.”
Shayne went over to Carlton, who had taken the jack from under the wheel and was stowing it in his luggage compartment. “It looks as if you’ll be adequately protected, Mr. Carlton.”
Carlton nodded, brushing the knees of his trousers. “I don’t like to seem unduly worried, but I confess the protection of an officer will be welcome. It does seem to me,” he went on severely, “that no useful purpose was served by publishing my willingness to identify the murderers. I may have been overly enthusiastic listening to you and Chief Gentry speaking of patriotism. Those men had their hats pulled down low on their foreheads, and they looked very tough. What if I slipped up trying to do my duty?”
“Don’t worry,” Shayne said soothingly. “It’ll give them more reason to bump me off before I can show them to you for identification. I doubt whether they’ll bother you at all if they can get me out of the way. After all, I’m the only one who actually knows where to look for them. You’re not a danger to them unless they’re arrested and put into the lineup. If they are, I’ll see that they wear hats pulled low over their foreheads.”
“That’s some consolation,” Carlton agreed in a relieved voice. He came close to Shayne and asked, “Just between us, how much do you know, Mr. Shayne? I’ll admit I became confused listening to you and Chief Gentry arguing, but it seems to me if the filling station man told you anything definite, you’d be out after them right now.”
Shayne laughed lightly and cheerfully. “It isn’t that simple. I’ve got to do some checking. This is a big thing, and there are a lot of loose ends to be tied together to verify what Clem told me.”
“Oh, I see,” Carlton murmured. “I know nothing of such things, of course.”
Shayne put a hand on Carlton’s shoulder and said firmly, “I promise you it won’t be long, and I want you to know I appreciate what you’re doing. It would have been easy for you to have denied seeing the men. If more citizens would do their duty courageously we’d have less racketeering.”
Carlton squared his shoulders and his eyes were grateful, but his tone was deprecative when he said, “I’m afraid it wasn’t courage that prompted me. Frankly, I’m frightened. I’m a family man, Mr. Shayne, and have to consider others besides myself. But the evasion of rationing is, as you said, a vicious evil, and must be stamped out.”
