said the potential assassin was a female. Something happened at the airport tonight, a peculiar little episode on the face of it, and I want to get your opinion. A lady went into the rest room on the main concourse. I can get you the time if you think it’s important. I made a note of it. About nine. As she told me the story, somebody was being sick into a washbowl. Another lady, naturally, that goes without saying. And she had a gun in her hand.”
Shayne frowned. “Why didn’t you bring this up at the meeting?”
“Mike, after the way Painter was cutting me down I didn’t feel like opening my mouth. And nothing came of it. I investigated myself. By the time I got down from my office there was nobody there. It was kind of touchy going into a lavatory for the opposite sex, but I gritted my teeth and went in. Right in the middle of the floor was this empty suitcase. I say empty. There were some crumpled-up pieces of
“Did you get a description of the woman?”
“Absolutely. That was the first question I asked, but she was leaning over the basin, and of course the view was definitely from the rear. The impression my informant got was that she was kind of middle-aged, and maybe a Negro.”
Shayne considered for a moment. “Tell Will Gentry right away. He’ll want to talk with your witness and check the flight records. If she came in at four o’clock, why was she still hanging around your terminal at nine? Maybe the airline lost her suitcase. The baggage people might remember her.”
“Oh, my God,” Sparrow said, his hands flying. “The one thing I neglected to do when I interrogated that woman was take her name. I mean, I took down her verbatim statement and I thought that was adequate. I didn’t know anything about a possible assassination at the time.”
“We’ll have to work with what we have,” Shayne said, patiently. “She said a gun. Does that mean a handgun?”
“A pistol. Definitely not a rifle or anything.”
Will Gentry appeared with General Turner. Shayne left them conferring with Sparrow, who was having another nervous attack, smiling too much and continuing to pat at his forehead.
Berger and Shayne found a booth in a dim bar two blocks from City Hall. After ordering drinks Shayne told the Secret Service man about Sparrow’s account of the woman who had been seen in the ladies’ room with a gun in her hand. Berger listened skeptically, reserving judgment.
“How do you evaluate it, Mike?”
“I used Teddy a number of times when he had a private detective’s license. He’s not a complete fool. I admit I’d feel better if Devlin was here. He’s a known quantity. But Teddy can surprise you at times.”
Their drinks arrived. Shayne looked down into his cognac without drinking.
“I still can’t believe Gil Ruiz is here in Miami in person. But even if he’s masterminding it from a distance, we have to expect a certain amount of razzle-dazzle. I think Painter may have been partly right. Isn’t it one of the big theories that to win in guerrilla warfare you fake in one place, and come in somewhere else, where nobody’s expecting you?”
“That’s Chapter One. It’s like a football offense. You try to hide what you’re doing until the defense is committed.”
“OK. Somebody sent a telegram that decoyed Devlin out of town, leaving airport protection in the hands of Teddy Sparrow. So we concentrate on the airport. But Crowther won’t be using the terminal tomorrow. He’ll transfer to a helicopter on one of the taxi-strips. Anybody who wants to take a shot at him out there will have to use a rifle. This woman in the ladies’ room had a pistol. The only place the public will get close enough to use a handgun will be at the hotel.”
“Unless that’s the fake,” Berger said. “That whole scene sounds a little peculiar. Let’s see.” He ticked off the possibilities. “Either Sparrow’s witness was lying and there wasn’t any woman, or she had something else in her hand that only looked like a gun. Or she was really there, and really had a gun, but the scene was staged. Or she was really there and the scene wasn’t staged, in which case we’re dealing with a kook, and not a political assassin.”
Shayne drank half his cognac. “Don’t qualify it when you talk to Crowther. Tell him it’s a real woman with a real gun. It may persuade him to stay home.”
“I’ll try. But he’s convinced that if he doesn’t keep this date, he’s through in politics, and he could be right.”
“Do you think there’s a chance he leaked that story about the U.S. Metals retainer?”
“Why would he do that?” Berger said, surprised. “It was a slam. He’s known as a civil-rights man-it’s going to hurt him with the liberals.”
“Unless he’s looking for new backing,” Shayne said. “It costs money to run for senator. It’s just the kind of tricky move he’s famous for. He hasn’t had much exposure on the home screen lately, and from what I know about Crowther, I’m sure it’s been bothering him. This U.S. Metals story is what’s bringing out the demonstrators tomorrow. The more excitement, the bigger the headlines.”
“True,” Berger said doubtfully, “but he doesn’t go out of his way to stir up trouble. One of the few things I like about him, he’s a coward.”
When Shayne laughed, Berger said seriously, “That’s a compliment. A little realistic cowardice is a fine trait in an elected official. It’s the hunters and shooters, who don’t know what it means to be afraid, who drive me crazy. If he didn’t think it was vital to be here-and I don’t mean just important, I mean
Shayne tapped his glass thoughtfully. “He usually follows your suggestions?”
“Always, Mike, he’s always been very docile. If I tell him to go in the back way he may gripe about it-they all do-but he goes in the back way. He takes his hate mail seriously. I remember once-” His eyes narrowed. “You had something to do with the Felix Steele case, didn’t you?”
“Not officially, and too late to change the outcome.”
“It’s a funny thing, but the first person I thought of when I listened to that tape you played us was Steele’s wife, I forget her first name.”
“Camilla.”
“Does she still live in Miami? She used to write Crowther regularly, and if you’re interested in threatening letters, hers were gems. I had a long talk with her myself, and I came to the conclusion that she didn’t really mean what she said. But Crowther thought she meant it. He got her a job, to give her something to think about. We had her arrested briefly, and I think the letters finally stopped. Anyhow they didn’t get as far as me. It’s something I’ll have to check.” He looked at the time. “I’m getting an eleven o’clock flight back, but I’d better phone him before he goes to bed. Conceivably the mysterious lady with the gun will convince him that Miami isn’t healthy. Order me another drink. It’s on the government.”
Catching the waiter’s eye, Shayne made a swirling gesture for another round. Something Berger had said bothered him. He returned to the start of the conversation and followed it through again, ending with the same dissatisfied feeling. He put out his cigarette, crumpling it viciously, and started over once more.
Berger returned, and took the top off his Scotch before saying anything.
“Here’s the current theory, and it’s a wild one. The Steele woman is still writing Crowther, mailing her letters from different cities and using words cut out of newspapers. They aren’t signed, but there’s something about the tone. A sort of playfulness, he says. Very macabre, apparently. He didn’t want to get her in any more trouble because of everything she’s been through, that’s why he didn’t report it. Translated out of Crowtherese, that means he didn’t think the evidence was good enough to get a conviction.”
“How current is this?”
“Very. The last one was two days ago, postmarked Miami. It was in a kind of elementary Spanish. Now I’m going to tell you a secret, Mike. Last month Jenkinson, the Supreme Court Justice, was checking his climbing equipment before he went off to climb some damn South American mountain. One of his nylon ropes snapped under a fifty-pound pull. He turned it over to us for analysis. On either side of the break, the strands had been weakened by acid.”
“What’s the connection?”
