photograph from his pocket and showed it to him.
Thurston studied it carefully and drew in a deep breath and then said, “Well, now, that’s a question that’s been bothering me since yesterday afternoon. I just wasn’t sure in my own mind and I was waiting for a talk with Ned Brown first. He was on the door that night.”
“Which night?”
“Monday was when it happened. I know because that’s the last night Ned and I worked the same shift.”
“What happened?”
“Well, it was a funny one, sir. There was this big cream-colored convertible drove up about ten o’clock… I disremember whether it was a Pontiac or not. There was a lady driving and a man in with her. Ned was right there to open his door, and he stepped out just as I was reaching out to open her door. And whoosh! Damned if she didn’t step on the gas and go around the circle on two wheels, leaving that poor devil standing there staring after her with the funniest expression on his face you ever did see.” Thurston chuckled broadly at the memory. “Ned and I kept our faces as straight as we could, and he asked the man if he wanted a cab, but he said no, it was just a few blocks to his hotel.”
“And this woman was driving?”
“I can’t swear for sure. I just got a glimpse of her behind the wheel before she took off like a bat out of hell, practically jerking my hand off me. But I’ve had this funny feeling ever since that picture was in the paper yesterday. I do believe it was her. Maybe Ned got a better look.”
“Can you describe the man?”
“Sort of. There wasn’t anything special about him.” Thurston hesitated, thinking back, and then gave a vague description that fitted Benjamin as well as hundreds of other men.
Shayne thanked him, and said, “This may be important. The police will be around to talk to you about this. And they’ll want to check with Brown. Don’t try to embroider it any. Just tell it straight as you’ve told it to me.”
“Sure. Say, aren’t you Mike Shayne, the famous detective?”
“I’m a detective and my name is Shayne.”
“Gee, my kid’ll be nuts when I tell him. He watches your T-V show every Friday night, but that actor doesn’t look like you much.”
Shayne grinned and got back in his car as a taxi drew up behind him.
He drove direct to police headquarters and went in.
15
With a hot murder case on his hands, Chief Painter was in his office this Sunday morning, and Shayne wasn’t kept waiting this time, although Painter welcomed him coldly: “What is it now, Shayne?”
He shrugged and said, “I’ve got some information on the Harris case that I want to give you. And I wondered what progress you were making… whether you have an autopsy report yet.”
Painter sat very erect behind his desk and folded his arms across his chest. He was the only man Shayne had ever known who could successfully strut sitting down.
“The Harris case has become a homicide case, Shayne. Homicides are my business in Miami Beach. As long as Mrs. Harris was a missing person, her husband had a perfect right to hire any jack-leg detective he wanted to go out looking for her. But I’ve warned you before, Shayne. Keep your nose out of murder cases on the Beach. If you want information, try reading the paper for a change. I’ve issued orders to my entire department that they are not to discuss the case with you.”
Shayne said, “I thought you might be interested in getting a line on the man Mrs. Harris met at the Gray Gull Monday night.”
“I have a line on him, thank you, and I’m convinced he’s our killer. I expect an arrest any moment now.”
Shayne said mildly, “Yesterday you were equally convinced that as soon as you located her rented car you would have her and her paramour… your word, I believe. Well, Tim Rourke and I found the car for you… and no paramour.” He spread out his hands and grinned.
“I have work to do, Shayne. If you have nothing more to say…”
“But I have. I told you I’ve got information which I’m going to give you, whether you want it or not.”
“What sort of information?” Painter’s tone was withering. “We have a full description of the killer and several witnesses who can identify him.”
Shayne shook his head slowly. “You haven’t got anything, Petey. Except the kind of crap you’re always handing out to the papers.”
“Now, by God to hell, Shayne…
The redhead put his hands flat on Painter’s desk and leaned forward to glare at him. “If I weren’t a conscientious citizen and didn’t feel sorry for you, goddamn it, I’d walk out of here and leave you to continue running around in circles looking for a man who had nothing to do with her death whatsoever.”
“Now, you listen to me, Shayne…”
“No, damn it, you listen to me. Send a couple of men over to the Mirabel Hotel to ask Tom Thurston, the parking lot attendant and Ned Brown, a doorman, what happened there Monday evening. I’m giving this to you for free because I hate murderers and particularly the sadistic kind who smash up anything as beautiful as Ellen Harris was. Now I’m walking out of your damned office, and, the next time I come back, it’ll be to bring your killer along and throw him in your face.”
He wheeled about and strode out, his cheeks trenched with anger.
He had begun to laugh at himself by the time he reached his car and climbed in. When would he ever learn to control himself and not let Painter upset him? This feud between the two of them had been going on for years and it always ended the same way.
He stopped at the first public telephone he saw, and called Benjamin at his hotel. When the Detroiter answered, he said, “Mike Shayne, Benjamin. Relax. Everything is under control. I’d stay away from the locality of the Mirabel, if I were you, but otherwise I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”
“I… see. I… ah…”
In the background Shayne could hear a strident female voice asking who was calling.
Shayne went on quickly, “How long are you staying in town?”
“We’d planned another week here.”
“Good. Don’t leave without letting me know and giving me your home address. I think the chances are a hundred to one against anything else coming up, but I’ve got to be covered.”
“Of course, I understand. About the price…”
Shayne said, “Forget that. It was worth it to me to see the look on the face of a certain chief of detectives when I tossed it in his lap.”
He hung up feeling good. Mr. Benjamin would return to Detroit with a lesson well learned, and remain a faithful husband for many years to come.
16
Michael Shayne was alone in his apartment late that afternoon when Timothy Rourke breezed in carrying a thick wad of copy paper. The reporter tossed it on the table in front of Shayne and exclaimed dramatically, “Read all about it. Latest developments in the Harris murder case. Quote, Michael Shayne, the private detective who had been retained by Mr. Harris to search for his missing wife, retired from the case abruptly after Mrs. Harris’ corpse was found in the trunk of her rented car. We quote Chief Painter in an exclusive interview with this reporter: ‘Homicide is the exclusive business of the duly constituted law-enforcement officers. During the past twenty years of my tenure as Chief of Detectives of Miami Beach, no single murder case has been solved with outside assistance. Our own facilities are more than adequate to cope with any problems arising from a homicide committed within our
