“You’ve done a brave thing,” Shayne told him cheerfully, “whatever your motives were. But don’t worry. Gary will keep tabs on you,” he called on his way back to his car.
Shayne slid the gears in and rolled away.
Mrs. Wilson put a timid hand on his arm and asked, “How much did Clem tell you tonight, Mr. Shayne? Before he got shot?”
“Enough,” Shayne assured her, “to make certain his murderers won’t get away with it.”
Her hand trembled and tightened on his arm. “Was it… was it gas racketeers like you told the police?”
Shayne glanced at her wrinkled face. “I didn’t exactly tell the police that, but it all adds up… what you heard and the way Clem acted as soon as the car drove away.”
“You’re not… not keeping anything from me, are you, Mr. Shayne?” she asked in a faint voice. Her hand had slid back into her lap and her fingers intertwined.
“What makes you think I am keeping something from you, Mrs. Wilson?”
Her body trembled against him. “Oh, I don’t know. Oh, God! I don’t know.” She began to sob silently.
Shayne waited a while, then asked gently, “You’re not holding anything back from me, are you?”
“You mean… about tonight?” she asked between sobs.
“About tonight,” Shayne said. “You’re positive you didn’t see anyone or recognize the voices arguing with Clem? Didn’t he say anything to indicate who they were when he came in to ask my telephone number?”
She shivered. The night air was growing chilly. Shayne said, “You’re cold. Roll up your window and I’ll close mine part way.”
She fumbled for the handle and rolled her window up tight. “What… makes you think… I mighta recognized their voices?” she asked through chattering teeth.
“Are you sure you didn’t?” Shayne’s tone was suddenly firm.
“Yes… I’m certain sure.” She stopped sobbing and a nervousness twitched her emaciated body. “I’ll swear it… on my Bible. But… I wish you’d tell me who you think it was. Seems to me like… I’ve got the right to know… who killed Clem.”
“It’s very important for me not to tell what Clem told me,” Shayne said. “I couldn’t even tell Chief Gentry for fear he might bungle things trying to do his duty.”
“Why are you so dead set on keeping it to yourself?” she asked after a brief silence. “If anything happens to you there’d be nobody else could do much.”
“You’ll have to trust me.”
“You’ve been a good friend to us, Mr. Shayne. Clem was always that proud of the way you’d set and talk with ’im, and you were mighty good that time when Bob got in trouble. Oh, I do trust you.” Her voice shook with sincerity.
“Then let me handle this my own way. I’ve got the others to fight, and I know what I’m doing.”
Mrs. Wilson suddenly relaxed and her slight weight leaned against Shayne as though she sought warmth and strength from his body. “Tell me one thing,” she whispered. “You’re not keeping nothin’ back on account of friendship for Clem and me? Swear you’re not.”
Shayne felt her tense again and grow rigid against him. He frowned and said slowly, “I don’t believe I understand exactly what you mean, Mrs. Wilson.”
“Maybe you don’t, but I want to tell you this. Clem was a mighty good man. I reckon just about the best man any woman ever had to do for her. I don’t care who killed him. Do you hear me? I don’t care who done it… you’re not to protect ’im. I want he should pay for it.” Her voice rose to a hysterical note and she moved away from him, crouching against the opposite car door.
Shayne said soothingly, “Of course they will pay. I’ll see to that.”
His answer appeared to satisfy her. She sighed deeply and made herself comfortable against the cushions, drying her eyes with a man’s cotton handkerchief.
Shayne turned to the right off Tamiami Trail. He said, “How about Bob, Mrs. Wilson?”
“Bob? What… about Bob?” She stiffened to an upright position and her voice had a sharp ring.
“I mean about notifying him of his father’s death. If you’ll give me his address I’ll take care of it for you. Maybe he could get a furlough and come home.”
“I… I don’t know his address.” Her voice trembled and she continued to sit stiffly, her body bent slightly forward with her hands tightly clasped. “Bob was due to be shipped out to God knows where. That’s what he said in his last letter.”
“Yeh. I know. Clem told me a couple of weeks ago. But you have some address where he could be reached.”
“There’s a letter and some figures after his name,” she mumbled vaguely. “Care of the postmaster in New York, I think ’twas. But there’s no use tryin’ to let Bob know. He’s… most likely on the ocean right now.”
“He may not have been shipped yet,” Shayne said gently. “Maybe I can get in touch with his outfit and find out. Wasn’t he at a camp in Georgia?”
“Y-e-e-s.” She gave him the name of the camp reluctantly. “But you got enough on your mind ’thout botherin’ about Bob, Mr. Shayne. I’ll get a telegram off to ’im right away.”
Shayne said, “You do that. It’ll be better that way.” He slowed and stopped in front of a small stucco bungalow on 14th Street. “I believe this is the number,” he said doubtfully.
“This is it.” She had the door open, ready to get out, but Shayne detained her.
“There’s one thing I want to warn you about, Mrs. Wilson.” He paused thoughtfully and phrased his words carefully. “They may suspect Clem told you more than he did before he telephoned me. There’s a chance they’ll try to harm you… try to find out how much you know. I’m going to ask Gentry to post a police guard over you and your daughter-in-law.”
“You won’t do no such thing,” she responded with spirit. “Sarah’s got Joe’s pistol and I’d be proud of a chance to use it on whoever killed Clem.”
Shayne studied her thin face in the dim light. “Well, promise me one thing,” he said earnestly. “If you notice the least thing… anyone hanging around or following you… anything of a suspicious nature… call the police at once. Don’t go out by yourself at night, and above all, don’t let yourself be lured away by any fake telephone calls or messages.”
“Don’t you worry about me. You go right out and get them crooks.” She got out and Shayne lifted her suitcase from the rear of the car and went up the walk with her. There was no electric button, so he knocked loudly on the door.
A light came on and after a moment the door opened. The young girl standing in the opening was quite obviously and proudly pregnant. She exclaimed, “Why… Mother! What on earth…?”
Shayne slid the suitcase inside the door and went back to his car. He had a sour taste in his mouth as he drove away. He slumped low under the wheel. He had inured himself against hurt. Sorrow and grief were for lesser men than he, but as he drove toward Miami in the bright moonlight an acute pain gripped him. Sarah Wilson, the widow of Joe Wilson, carrying his child so proudly within her slender body, and Shayne suffered the agony of the damned, remembering his own slender, dark-eyed wife who had not been so fortunate as the humble wife of Joe Wilson.
With all his strength he pulled himself erect. He was nearing the outskirts of the business section of Miami. He squinted at the numbers on buildings and realized that the one he sought was in the next block.
CHAPTER 3
He stopped in front of a downtown office building and went in. A night light burned in the foyer, but the elevators were not running after midnight. He walked up two flights of stairs and down the corridor to an office door with only a number on it.
He rapped, then turned the knob. It opened and he stepped inside a large room containing two big flat- topped desks, several armchairs, and a number of filing cabinets.
A tall man with alert blue eyes sat in a swivel chair behind one of the desks. He wore the uniform of a United States Army Captain, with the blouse unbuttoned and his tie askew. He took a cigar from his mouth and waved a
