only two lines:
I killed bertJacksonm and Bettr docsnST know anything about it nomatter what she tellsyxx yox.
Ned Brooks hurried back to the living-room shouting, “Ambulance will be here in a few minutes. My God, Shayne, what’ll we do? Tear up that note before the police get here? I’m willing to do whatever-”
“The police?” Shayne swung on him angrily. “I told you to call a doctor.”
“Well-it’s an emergency,” faltered Brooks. “I called headquarters because they’re faster.”
“You were probably right at that,” Shayne grunted absently. His bleak eyes reread the note for the tenth time, and he mumbled, “It’s too late to try to cover up anything now.”
Brooks sank down in a chair and hid his face with his hands. “I suppose it is,” he moaned.
“Is this your typewriter?” Shayne asked abruptly.
“Yes. I opened it up for Tim when he first came and wasn’t so tight. He said he might write a story. My God, Mr. Shayne-I wonder if he was planning that while I was still here? That gun. He must have had it in his pocket all the time.” He uncovered his face and asked miserably, “Do you really think he’s still alive? The bullet didn’t- didn’t-”
“He’s got a pulse,” Shayne growled. “I didn’t examine the wound closely, but it looks to me like it bounced off without actually penetrating. Tim’s got a thick skull, and a twenty-two doesn’t have too much power. Tell me exactly how he acted before you left,” he went on swiftly. “Everything he said that you can remember. We haven’t got much time before Gentry gets here-that is, if you reported who you wanted the ambulance for.”
“I did,” moaned Brooks. “I thought they’d be faster if they knew it was Tim. He-Tim had been drinking, like I told you, and he acted funny. I got the idea he was worried about Betty Jackson.”
“What do you mean he was acting funny?” Shayne asked harshly.
“Look, I’m not a detective,” said Brooks, moving his arms in a gesture of despair. “You know a lot more about such things than I do, but if you’ve read that note carefully, don’t you get the idea that he was really covering up for Betty? Or do you think they were in it together and when he got drunk he decided to do it this way and take all the blame? He must have been awfully drunk after emptying that fifth of whisky.” The thin keening of a siren sounded from a distance as Brooks finished. Shayne turned without answering and went to the window. He watched in silence until the ambulance came into view, then hurried out to signal the driver as he slowed to hunt for house numbers.
The vehicle swung into the curb at his signal and an intern leaped nimbly from the front seat. Shayne urged him inside with a jerk of his thumb and a couple of words, waited for the attendants to pile out of the ambulance, then followed them as far as the front porch where he said, “Wait here until the doc calls you.”
When he re-entered the living-room the intern was bending over Rourke. Shayne motioned Brooks to a corner and muttered, “You understand that Will Gentry will have to draw his own conclusions if Tim doesn’t stay alive to tell us anything. You’d better tell them the exact truth about phoning Rourke to warn him you’d set the cops on his tail, and how you invited him over here to hole up to sort of make up for it. The truth won’t hurt you, and anything else is likely to. Tim wasn’t a fugitive, and there’ll be no charge against you for harboring him.”
Other sirens were screaming close by. Shayne whirled toward the door, adding, “Think it over carefully, Brooks,” and went outside again.
A radio car with two officers pulled in behind the ambulance. Shayne halted them as they trotted up the walk. “Doc’s inside,” he told them shortly. “This is for Homicide. Chief Gentry will be here in a moment, so you’d better not mess around too much.”
The senior patrolman knew Shayne by sight. He nodded and said to his partner, “I’ll go inside, Jenkins. If Chief Gentry shows up-”
“There’s his car now,” Shayne interrupted. “I’ll tell him you’ve got things under control.” He moved slowly down the walk as Gentry heaved himself from his sedan and walked stolidly toward the detective.
“I thought you’d be in on this,” the chief growled without rancor. “What is it with Rourke?”
“It looks like attempted suicide, Will. With a twenty-two target pistol.”
Gentry puffed furiously on his cigar, avoiding Shayne’s cold gray eyes, aware of the close bond of friendship between the rangy redhead and the crusading reporter. His own relationship with Timothy Rourke had been very close in the past, and his voice was strangely hoarse when he asked, “Is he bad?”
“There was just a flicker of pulse when Brooks and I got here,” Shayne told him as they walked unhurriedly toward the house. “He left a note that looks bad. I knew he was here at Brooks’s place, Will. I sent him here early this morning.”
“To keep us from getting hold of him,” said Gentry without inflection.
“Yeh.” Shayne’s mouth twisted bitterly. “I didn’t know. There were a lot of things-and I needed time to work on some angles. Before God, Will, I don’t know what I’d have done if I had decided that Rourke fired a bullet into Jackson’s head.”
“I knew something like that was worrying you,” said Gentry heavily. “Better stick around outside while I take a look.” He stalked up the steps and disappeared into the living-room.
Shayne paced the length of the walk twice before the summons came. Gentry met him just inside the living- room door and said, “It’s not too good, Mike. The intern has patched him up and gives him a fifty-fifty chance. Tim’s beginning to come out of it, and a hypo is necessary. We’ll have maybe three or four minutes to question him before it takes effect, and I’m giving you a break. Come on in and hear what he says. If he doesn’t recover I don’t want you feeling there was any funny business.”
Shayne’s throat was dry. “Thanks, Will,” he said huskily. “But do me one more favor. Since Tim will be conscious to answer only a few questions, let me ask them. I know what to say to get the truth out of him.”
“Sorry,” said Gentry gruffly. “I’m stretching a point to let you listen in-”
“Don’t you gee how it is?” Shayne burst in angrily. “I know Tim didn’t do it. A dozen things tell me. Damn it, Will, he’s covering up for Betty Jackson, and she’s not worth it! I don’t have time to give it to you now, but if you’ll let me talk to Tim I’ll get the truth.”
“This is a police investigation,” Gentry reminded him.
“Hell, don’t you think I realize that? Let me do the talking-give Tim the impression I’m alone. Stand aside and listen in.”
Gentry took a dead cigar from his pudgy lips, glanced aside at the intern, who crooked a forefinger for them to come closer. He sighed and said, “Okay, Mike.”
Shayne was on his way to the couch where Rourke’s body lay in a comfortable position, the white bandages around his head making a sharp contrast to his deeply sun-tanned face that was drawn and discolored from the impact of the shot and loss of blood. He motioned to the intern, went close to him, and said in a low whisper, “Get out of sight, over there with the chief. If either of you object to my questions or the replies I get, you can intervene. But if you really want to know the truth,” he added to Gentry, “you’ll let me do it my way.”
Gentry frowned but said nothing. The intern bent over Rourke, his fingers on Rourke’s pulse. “In about thirty seconds the patient will rouse,” the young doctor said. “He should be conscious for a few minutes before the hypodermic takes full effect. But I must warn you that he must not become excited. If he chooses to answer questions of his own volition, however, it shouldn’t harm him.” He stepped aside and joined Gentry.
Timothy Rourke’s head moved slightly. He opened his slate-gray eyes. The pupils were dilated, and he looked up at Shayne with a dull, blank expression. Recognition came slowly as his eyes focused on Shayne’s face a foot above his own.
“It’s all right, Tim,” Shayne said softly. “Don’t move, and listen to me. Can you hear me?”
“Yeh,” Rourke answered feebly. “What the hell?”
“Let me ask the questions, Tim. You’re going to pass out in a minute or two, and it may be too late after that. You may be dying.”
“Yeh,” said Rourke again. “I guess I passed out, huh? Ned and I were sitting here drinking-”
“Save your strength for something very important,” Shayne broke in anxiously. “You’ve got to stop covering up for Betty. She’s not worth it, Tim. I swear she isn’t.” His voice became harsh as he continued. “I know you thought she did it because she loved you, but she didn’t. She gunned Bert for cash-to get twenty-five grand. That was her real reason, Tim.”
For a brief instant Rourke’s eyes glittered, and he tried to raise his head and shoulders from the couch.
