“How did she act, Tiny?”
“Well, she came up and hesitated and first asked if it was all right for her to sit alone at the bar, so I knew right off she was new in town. I told her sure. Then she asks what I think she ought to drink. Well, that’s a funny one, and I say what does she like. And she says she doesn’t drink very much at home, but tonight she feels like it, and isn’t a daiquiri that drink you make with rum? So I mix up a daiquiri for her.”
Tiny paused, shaking his head slowly. “When I turn around to pour it, she’s got a cigarette in her mouth and there’s this guy who has come up behind her and is offering her a light. So she takes it and thanks him, and, hell, that’s all right. Then he sits down beside her and orders a bourbon, and I kind of watch out of the corner of my eye waiting for her to do a chill job on him. But she doesn’t. She picks right up with him. And that is funny. Because I could of sworn she was a real lady.”
“Perhaps she knew him,” Merrill suggested.
“No. Not if it was her first trip like she told me. I’ve seen him around. Gene his first name is… I don’t know his last. He’s okay. Smooth and quiet. But I’ve heard it around that he’s a shill for some of the joints on the Beach. Hangs around bars like this looking for pickups.”
Merrill said sternly, “You know the policy of the Beachhaven, Tiny. We don’t allow…”
“Now look, Mr. Merrill. I know my job behind the bar. No rough stuff goes while I’m on duty. But if one customer wants to buy another customer a drink, and they’re quiet and nice about it, I wouldn’t hold my job very long if I started interfering.”
Merrill sighed. “You know your job, Tiny. I realize it’s difficult. So they got into conversation? You hear any of it?”
“You know how it is,” Tiny said blandly. “I had other customers to wait on. And they didn’t talk loud. Just quiet and pleasant. But I did catch a couple of little things. One was that her husband’s name was Herbert and he was in New York… and that he was the kind of guy who thinks husbands and wives should get away from each other now and then.
“That got me, sort of, when I heard her say that. Up to then I didn’t think much about it. Just that it was all right for her to have a friendly drink with him, and that’d be all. But for her to say that about her husband to a stranger… well, that sounded like a come-on. Then I heard her say something about she couldn’t go back for two weeks, and then they ordered another drink.
“There was something else.” Tiny screwed up his big face in deep thought. “Yeh. She insisted on signing for both drinks. He asked for the check, but she grabbed it and held out her hand for my pencil. And she told him she’d feel like a B-girl if she let him buy, and then asked me if I didn’t think she should. Then something was said about gambling and they went out back through that door into the parking lot.”
“You didn’t hear any place mentioned… where they were headed?” Shayne asked.
“No. I’m sure I didn’t. I watched them go out together and thought, what the hell? You just never can tell about a dame.” He paused to frown thoughtfully again, “Seems to me I’ve heard something about this Gene hanging out some at the Gray Gull Casino. You want I should ask around later on when some of the other fellows start dropping in?”
“You mean some of the other shills for gambling houses who come here to prey on our guests?” demanded Merrill.
“Well, now, that’s putting it pretty strong, Mr. Merrill. Behind the bar like this, you do hear things.”
“Can you describe Gene for us?” Shayne interposed quickly.
“He’s about thirty. Handsome, I guess you’d say. Lean face with a heavy tan. Brown hair. He wears good clothes and smiles easy, and the women like him.”
Shayne said, “I’ve known Tiny a long time, Bob. You’re lucky to have him on the job here. When did you see this woman next?” he asked Tiny.
“I didn’t. Only that one time. I sort of watched out for her, too. Knowing she was registered here, and wondering whether she’d take up with Gene or not. But she never showed again… not while I was on duty. What’s with her, Mike?” he asked earnestly. “Why are you interested?”
Shayne asked, “Want to tell him, Bob?”
“Everyone else around the hotel knows it… I don’t see why he shouldn’t. So far as we can find out, Tiny, you’re the last one who has seen Mrs. Herbert Harris.”
“Is that so? When did she check out?”
“She didn’t,” said Merrill bitterly. “That’s just the trouble. It looks as though she never went back to her room after you saw her walk out that door.”
“Is that a fact?” Tiny shook his head in amazement. “That Gene hasn’t been back either since then.”
“Ask around, Tiny,” Shayne urged, draining the last drop of cognac from his glass and smacking his lips with pleasure. “The police may be around, and her husband may even be in to ask you about her. Tell the police the truth… just as you told us, but take it a little easy on Harris, huh? He’s taking it pretty hard.”
“Yeh. I would be too, married to that doll. You want I should talk to the cops, Mr. Merrill?”
“If they come asking. We can’t afford to cover up anything at this point.” Merrill slid off the stool, leaving half his small beer undrunk. “Coming back to the office, Mike?”
“Just for a minute. We should settle what sort of story Rourke’s going to run with her picture this afternoon.”
Merrill didn’t reply to this until the three of them were in his office with the door closed. Then he asked, “Do you have to, Mike?”
“I took a job… accepted a retainer from Harris to find his wife. Yeh, we have to, Bob.”
“You can keep the name of the hotel out of it, can’t you?”
“You know we can’t,” Shayne told him bluntly. “But we’ll keep the personal bits about the desk clerk, the bellboy, and her pickup in the bar out of it. Right, Tim?”
“I can write in some curves around them,” he agreed. “Do you have the license number and description of the car she rented?” Shayne asked.
“It’s here… since we were putting it on her hotel bill.” Merrill went to a file behind his desk and took out a very slim cardboard folder. He opened it and extracted a typewritten notation which he put on the desk.
“Put that in, Tim.” Shayne lit a cigarette and sucked on it, tugging at his left earlobe while Rourke copied the information. “Right now, finding that car seems our best lead. Of course, the cops are looking for it already, but maybe you can prove the power of the press, Tim, by having one of your readers come up with it under the cops’ noses. Is Harris in the hotel, Bob?”
“Right now? I don’t know. We gave him another room… right across the hall from his wife’s… when it kind of gave him the jimmies to stay in her room. At no charge, of course,” he added hastily. “You want me to check?”
“I wish you would. If he’s in, I think you should talk to him, Tim. Sort of slant your story the way you feel it after sizing the guy up yourself.”
Merrill had lifted the phone on his desk, and he spoke into it. He listened a moment and then said, “Mr. Harris? Mr. Shayne would like a word with you.” He passed the instrument to the detective.
Shayne said, “Harris? I haven’t got anything definite yet, but I do have a couple of leads. In my office earlier, I mentioned getting a story in the News as a possible help. I have their top reporter downstairs with me right now and I’d like to have you talk to him. Timothy Rourke. He’s not only a fine reporter, but he also happens to be a hell of a decent guy and one of my closest friends. Don’t be afraid to tell him anything… and trust him to write the kind of story you’d like to see printed.”
“Of course, Shayne. I’ll be happy to see him. Have you… do you… my God, Shayne! what have you found out?”
“Nothing definite.” Michael Shayne grimaced as he made his voice sound cheerful and optimistic, neither of which he felt at the moment. “Just hold on tight and give us a few hours. In the meantime, Mr. Rourke will be right up.”
He shook his head as he put the phone down and said, “Poor devil. What can you say in a case like this?”
“You can hang up the phone,” said Rourke cynically. “I have to go up and face him… knowing what I do.”
“You’re a reporter,” Shayne reminded him. “You make your living out of the tragedies in the lives of other
