“It’s the same committee, plus the FBI district director. And minus Sparrow-Devlin is back. If you have something you want me to tell them-”
“I can’t make a deal with a committee.”
“No deal, Mike. No deal is possible. Please believe me.”
“I asked for you, Abe, because you have a few more brains and a little more experience than the local people. And you have more to recoup. Your assignment was to protect Crowther, and you didn’t do it very well, did you?”
“We know why.”
“I know why. I don’t think you do yet. Are you assuming I was in on a plot to assassinate your boy?”
“I’m reserving judgment. I know damn well you were in on something! Come in and we’ll talk about it. You can have your lawyer present.”
“Do you want Camilla too?”
Berger said cautiously, “Have you got her?”
“I know where she is. I hope somebody’s given you her medical history. She’s a little unstable, to put it mildly. She attempted suicide a couple of hours ago. Right now she’s full of morphine and counter-morphine and barbiturates on top of alcohol, some kind of amphetamines and God knows what else. She may come out of it and she may not.”
“We’ll see that she gets the best of medical attention. Bring her in.”
“Abe, what’s the matter with you? You’ll get her. You can have custody by ten o’clock tonight. But you may have custody of a corpse, depending on what you decide right now.”
“I want her alive, Mike.”
“Sure. But you would have shot her in the elevator if I hadn’t decked you. Your gun would have gone off by itself. I’m in a position to play God. I can give her to you, and there’s a chance she’ll pull through. And after that, the way things look at the moment, she’s a cinch to be found guilty of first-degree murder. So why should I give her to you? She’s not guilty of first-degree murder. She’s guilty of holding a gun that killed Crowther. Hundreds of people saw her do that. There are going to be some very tricky legal questions. When all the facts are known, you people are going to be combing the books to find what charge to bring against her. In the end you may decide not to bring any.”
“Are you still trying to persuade people that Crowther arranged to have himself shot?”
“Think of some other explanation. That’s the only thing that fits the bullet holes in the wall. How did the bullets check out?”
“They were all fired from the same gun.”
“Yeah-he used an odd caliber to make it easier for you. And harder for her to replace if she noticed hers were blanks, which she wasn’t likely to do. You’re probably thinking I should have called you up last night and told you about those holes in the wall.”
“Why, no,” Berger said ironically. “Why should I think that?”
“If you haven’t worked it out for yourself, here’s why I didn’t. You’d have told Crowther. He’d say, ‘My God, bullet holes in the wall, something funny going on down there and I’d better stay away from Miami after all.’ Camilla would go on falling apart. Sooner or later, the pills would kill her. Crowther would run for the Senate and probably make it. Eight years from now, with that wonderful head of hair, he’d be a good presidential possibility.”
“God forbid,” Berger said involuntarily.
“All right, Abe. That remark makes you an accessory. The weapon that killed him wasn’t a Czech automatic. It was Camilla Steele. She’s going to put in a stretch in a mental hospital, whether she’s sent there by a judge or somebody else. She may pull out of it in the end. Meanwhile, I’m going to see to it that the public knows the facts about the gun and where it came from. Crowther won’t do any lying in state in the Capitol rotunda.”
“Let’s be sure they are facts.”
“Now that’s the first sensible remark you’ve made in this conversation. Last night when she picked up the gun she was in no condition to kill anybody except possibly herself, and she couldn’t do that because it wasn’t loaded with live ammunition. Somebody-not Crowther, somebody else-straightened her out, switched clips, found her a place to sleep, made a few little changes in the plan so she’d have a chance to get away, and then left her a syringe with an overdose of morphine, so she wouldn’t be around to identify him in court. I was hoping she could describe him. She can’t remember much. She’s already beginning to paper it over. By tomorrow she may not remember anything at all. Here’s what I want you to do.”
“Now we get to the pitch.”
“That’s right. There are still major blanks in her story. I want to take her over the same route tonight and see if anything else comes back to her.”
“Impossible.”
“Abe, it’s our only chance to find out who really killed Crowther. It may not work, but it seems to me we have to try it.”
“Bring her in. Maybe we can arrange something.”
“That’s not the deal,” Shayne said coldly. “I think she finally trusts me, but it’s been touch and go. I can’t take a chance on turning her over to anybody else, and I obviously can’t do this without your help. If you can’t talk your committee into it, I’ll stop working on her and let her die.”
“Say that again.”
“I’ll let her die,” Shayne said harshly. “It’ll save her from a sure death by execution, and I won’t be any worse off than I am now. Here’s the option. Call off your dogs. All of them, Abe. At nine tonight I’ll bring her to the airport. You can have a thousand cops out there, as far as I’m concerned, so long as they’re in plain clothes and keep out of my way.”
“It’s a stunt,” Berger said. “I don’t like it a bit.”
“But you’ve got to do it.”
Berger hesitated. “Well-maybe so. It’ll mean stalling the media wolves, getting clearance from Washington-I don’t think you have any conception of the kind of tension we’re under. Let me think if there’s any way it could backfire.”
“Any number of ways.”
“Call me back in ten minutes. No, make it twenty. I’ve got some selling to do.”
Shayne put the phone down slowly. Outside on the terrace, Camilla was still being walked slowly up and down. Her face was empty of expression. At nine o’clock that night, when Shayne had told Berger he would deliver her at the airport, she would be unconscious.
The next time around, Shayne asked Paul London to let Dr. Miller relieve him for a moment.
CHAPTER 17
Promptly at nine, an ambulance arrived at the taxi discharge point at the Miami International Airport. Michael Shayne came out first, and helped a woman to dismount. She was wearing a full black wig, dark glasses and the same nondescript flowered dress the assassin of Eliot Crowther had worn that morning. She carried a black handbag with a long strap slung over her shoulder.
She entered the terminal alone.
The real Camilla was sleeping in the North Miami clinic, breathing fitfully and occasionally throwing her head from side to side. To Shayne, looking down at her before they left the clinic, it had seemed that she was a long way from giving up. Paul London had agreed readily to the substitution. One of the nurses let out the side seam of the dress so it would fit him. Another nurse with exceptionally large feet contributed shoes and supervised the makeup. Not much padding was necessary. He had trouble walking in the high heels, but presumably Camilla herself would be walking unsteadily because of drugs.
He went directly to the baggage claims window. He surrendered a check and was handed the same lightweight suitcase Camilla had picked up the night before. He took it to the ladies’ room near the Pan-American ticket counter. He hesitated briefly here, but went in.
Tonight there were a half dozen women inside, including two armed policewomen. He entered a booth with
