“It seems a little late for that now,” murmured Rourke.
“What else is there to do?” Chief Jenson spread out his hands and glared at the reporter from Miami. “Maybe we ain’t no big city police force, but you tell me what else the Miami police would be doing. First murder we ever had in Sunray Beach, I can tell you that. Mighty nice, quiet, friendly little town. We’ll get him, don’t you worry. Not so many strangers around this time of year that somebody won’t’ve noticed him. I figure he must have hung around some and cased the house, you see. Maybe saw Ellie go in and out and got ideas about her. You know. She had a figure a man would get ideas about.”
“The kind that wanted men to notice her?”
“Now don’t be getting no wrong ideas.” Chief Jenson frowned portentiously. “Maybe she did shake it a little bit, but that was just her way. A man didn’t know her, he might get the idea she’d be an easy lay, but he’d be Godalmighty wrong. And it’s my theory that’s maybe what did happen last night. He must of waited till after she and Sissy went to bed and then sneaked in and upstairs thinking she’d, well… welcome him, like, to bed. And then he had to shut her up from screaming, and… and…” The chief paused and dragged a handkerchief out from his hip pocket and mopped his perspiring face.
“How would a stranger in town have known she and her child were alone in the house last night?”
“He could of asked around easy, I guess. Everybody knew Marv was in Miami at that car dealers’ convention and wasn’t due home until today. House is off by itself pretty much.”
“Has the husband been notified? “ asked Rourke briskly.
“I didn’t see any need to. I always say, bad news travels fast enough without any help. What could Marvin do about it? Let the poor devil finish up his convention and be happy while he can. Time enough for him to find out when he gets back on the train.”
Timothy Rourke shrugged and looked at his watch. “Do you know what train he’s due in on?”
“Three-thirty this afternoon. It doesn’t leave Miami till noon. Last night was the big night of the convention for the boys to make whoopee, and they’ll all be nursing kingsized hangovers, I reckon. Including Marv. Not that he’s a drinking man, you understand,” Ollie went on hastily. “But being away from home to a convention with the rest of the boys and all… you know?”
Rourke nodded absently and muttered, “I should call in a story, and I could use a quote from the bereaved husband. Do you know the hotel Blake is staying at?”
“Convention headquarters was the Atlantic Palms. I know that much.”
“Use your telephone?” Rourke reached out a long arm for it and lifted the receiver.
“You going to try and call Marv from here? That’ll be long distance and mighty expensive. There’s a pay phone…”
“Long distance please,” Rourke interrupted him, speaking into the mouthpiece. “Charge it,” he muttered to the agitated chief of police, and into the phone he said, “A person to person call to Miami charged to credit card number…” He paused and screwed up his face and repeated a series of digits from memory.
“That’s right,” he told the operator. “I want to speak to Mr. Marvin Blake at the Atlantic Palms Hotel in Miami. I don’t know the phone number. Yes, I’ll hold on.”
While he waited, Chief Jenson sank back in his creaking swivel chair and regarded him wonderingly, “I sure envy you your job, Mister, but I’m just as glad you’re doing it instead of me this afternoon. I been racking my brains how in hell you break it to a man that his wife’s been murdered while he was out having fun at a convention, and I…” He broke off as Rourke spoke into the telephone, “What’s that, operator? Are you certain? Let me speak to the desk clerk at the Atlantic Palms instead of Mr. Blake.”
He put his hand over the receiver and frowned across the desk at Jenson. “They say that Marvin Blake checked out of the hotel yesterday afternoon.”
“Can’t be. I know the convention lasted through last night. It was the big banquet and shindig. Stands to reason…”
“Hello.” Rourke spoke into the telephone again. “This is a reporter from the News calling long distance from Sunray Beach. It’s extremely important that I contact Mr. Marvin Blake before he catches the noon train from Miami. He was at an automobile dealer’s convention which didn’t end until this morning.”
He paused and listened thoughtfully to a scratchy voice coming over the wire from Miami. After a time, he said, “I see. Well, thank you very much.” He hung up shaking his head.
“That seems to be definite. Blake checked out of the Atlantic Palms a little before four o’clock yesterday afternoon even though the convention did run through last night and most of the delegates are still there right now.”
Chief Ollie Jenson’s jaw hung open slackly. “Yesterday afternoon? I don’t get it. Where’d Marv go? He’s not due home until today. He wouldn’t just walk out on the convention. It don’t stand to reason.”
Timothy Rourke’s eyes were feverishly bright and he reached a thin hand for the phone again. “I think we’d better try to find out where Marvin Blake was while his wife was getting herself murdered. Operator? Another person to person call to Miami charged to the same card number. You got it? Michael Shayne.” He gave her the redheaded detective’s office number and Chief Jenson leaned forward nervously.
“Hey. Mike Shayne! That’s that private detective in Miami ain’t it? I don’t know as I like you calling him…”
“Hi, Mike,” Rourke said into the phone. “Tim Rourke. I’m calling from Sunray Beach where we had a sex murder last night. Doing anything the next half hour?”
From Miami, Michael Shayne said, “Not a thing, Tim.”
“Write this down. Marvin Blake from Sunray Beach. Delegate to the auto dealers’ convention at Atlantic Palms Hotel which ended last night. His wife was murdered here at midnight. Blake has been expected home on the noon train from Miami, but I just talked to the hotel and they tell me he checked out at four yesterday. If you get over there right away you may find some of the delegates who know him. Get anything you can on his whereabouts last night… why he checked out. You can call me at… no, wait a minute. I’ll be moving around up here. I’ll call you in an hour. Got all that?”
Shayne said, “I’m on my way.”
Timothy Rourke hung up and stared moodily across the desk at Sunray’s chief of police. “You say you’ve got a man on the Blake house?”
“Leroy Smith. He’s a real smart young…”
“How do I get to the Blake house?” Rourke was on his feet and turned toward the door.
“Wait a minute now. I ain’t one bit sure I want any newspaper reporters messing around…”
“Nuts,” said Rourke dispassionately. “You’ve got one whether you like it or not.” He went out the door while Jenson was laboriously pushing himself upright.
7
Leroy Smith was a sober, serious and sincere young man of twenty-two with a crew-cut, and he wore his neatly-pressed khaki uniform of the Sunray Beach Police Department with prideful self-consciousness. Since the age of twelve, his one desire and ambition in life had been to become a member of the F.B.I., and he felt that his appointment by Chief Jenson as a probationary patrolman last year was the first major step toward achieving his ambition.
One decent break was all he needed. One major case which he could solve triumphantly and single-handedly by application of the rules of Scientific Crime Investigation as set forth in his books on the subject might well bring him nation-wide prominence and a personal invitation from J. Edgar Hoover to appear in Washington forthwith.
After eight months of patient waiting, Leroy Smith’s big chance had finally come to him. Here he was, in charge of a big important murder case. Well, practically in charge. There was no doubt in his own mind that the solution of the crime was strictly up to him.
Hadn’t Chief Jenson said so this morning when he dispatched him to the Blake house to conduct a thorough and Scientific Investigation at the Scene of the Crime?
“I reckon it’s up to you, Leroy. Fingerprints and all like that. Mighty glad I got a smart young man like you to take charge else I’d have to call in the State Police and have them traipsing all over and stealing the credit. Might
