Bayliss dropped the paper to the floor and said, “All right. I was there. I grabbed the gun and killed Cochrane. I didn’t think she recognized me in the dark.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Shayne poured a drink and handed it to Lance. He asked, “Why did you kill Cochrane?”
Bayliss gulped down a big drink and said, “I guess I went crazy for a moment.” He walked over to the window and stared out, his back turned to Shayne, and continued. “I suppose it was seeing her with that rat — going to that foul dive with him. I’ve dreamed about her for ten years, Shayne — of coming back to her. I had an idea, God help me, she’d be the same.”
“Why didn’t you go in to see her the night you went to the house — when she was alone and waiting for you?”
Lance turned slowly, the muscles in his thin face quivering. “What do you know about it?”
“I saw you parked in the street in front of the house. You drove away as I passed.”
“So that was you — with the spotlight,” Lance said. “I parked there for an hour trying to get up enough nerve to go in. I didn’t know whether she’d want to see me or not. I’ve changed a lot myself.”
Shayne sat down on the bed and sipped his drink thoughtfully, then asked, “What were you doing in that Juarez alley last night?”
“Does that matter?” Lance answered irritably. “I was there. I grabbed her gun and killed Cochrane with it.” He slumped into a chair. “You suspected me all along, didn’t you? You knew I’d give myself up when I read the newspaper story and realized it was the only way to save her.”
“I knew that’s what you would have done ten years ago. But why did you kill him?”
“I’ve told you.”
“You gave me an answer that’ll sound good enough in court,” Shayne agreed. “I’d like the truth.”
“Why don’t you take me in?” Bayliss said roughly. He clamped his lips, and looked at the drink in his hand.
“There are still two other deaths to be accounted for,” Shayne reminded him.
“What do they matter now? I’ll hang for killing Cochrane. Forget the others.”
“I think they were all committed by the same person.”
“I didn’t come here to talk about any other murders. I gave myself up to you instead of the cops because I hoped I could make a deal.”
“What sort of deal?”
“I told you I was doing some undercover work. I’ve picked up a lot of stuff that should be turned over to the FBI, or the army. The police might not pay any attention to a confessed murderer. I hoped you would, Shayne.”
“What kind of stuff? Activities of foreign agents?”
“I thought that’s what it was at first,” Lance said despondently. “But it isn’t that important. There’s a ring operating in El Paso that makes a business of encouraging soldiers to desert the army, and smuggles them into the interior of Mexico for a thousand bucks a head.”
Shayne said, “I’ll see that your information is used. Who heads the ring?”
“That’s one of the favors I wanted to ask of you. Will you arrange to put off the round-up until after the election?”
Shayne’s gaunt face hardened. “Manny Holden and Honest John Carter?”
Lance Bayliss flung out his hands. “I’ve got to trust you with it now.” He finished his drink and set the glass on the floor. “I’ve got enough dope to put them both in Federal prison. All I ask is that you hold off until Carter is elected, then spring it. If we make it public now, Jefferson Towne will be elected mayor. Wait until he’s defeated.”
Shayne said, “Towne would make El Paso a good mayor.”
“We went over that once before,” Lance said. “He’s dangerous, Shayne. You don’t realize how he sees himself. Give him this first political triumph, and God knows where he’ll stop.”
“I won’t promise anything. Turn your information over to me and I’ll use it as I see fit.”
“It’s here in my briefcase,” Lance muttered.
Shayne asked, “Is a Mexican girl named Marquita Morales mixed up in the deal?”
Lance looked surprised. “You do get around, don’t you?” he said. “I don’t think so — not knowingly, at least. I suspected her when I learned she helped soldiers get a change of clothes to cross the border in. But that’s only a small sideline of the ring.”
“Did you ever talk to Marquita about her mother?” Shayne asked.
“Her mother? I didn’t know she had a mother.” Lance got up and stood before Shayne to demand, “Come on — take me in. What are we waiting for? Carmela will be released as soon as I give myself up, won’t she?”
“As soon as your story is checked,” Shayne corrected him. He began pulling on his trousers. “I’ll go down to headquarters with you.”
Thirty minutes later they entered Chief Dyer’s office, to find him fuming over a news item which he held in his hand. “What’s this about Cochrane and the Towne girl?” he stormed at Shayne. “Why the devil didn’t you notify me last night? By God, I have to read the papers to find out what’s happening around here.”
“That’s a headache for the Juarez police,” Shayne reminded him. “Chief, this is Lance Bayliss. He’s giving himself up for the murder of Neil Cochrane. I’ll let you take care of getting him across the border where he belongs.”
Chief Dyer started barking astonished questions, and Lance Bayliss answered them firmly.
It was half an hour later before Shayne and the police chief were again alone in Dyer’s office. The chief fitted a cigarette into his long holder and tilted it between his teeth. “You’ve suspected this Bayliss fellow of having a hand in things all along,” he charged.
Shayne said, “He was in and out of it all the way. Frankly, I thought he might be mixed up in some Nazi spying activities.”
“There’s still a lot of his story not told,” Dyer said. “I figure he just came to the end of his rope on Cochrane and gave himself up to save the girl. We’ll sweat the rest of it out of him, all right.”
“He’s holding a lot back,” Shayne agreed. “By the way, I left the death gun with ballistics for a report last night. Has it come in?”
“Not yet. I don’t see that we need it now.”
Shayne said, “It might be important.” He changed the subject abruptly. “Ever hear of the Plata Azul mine in Mexico?”
Dyer nodded with a look of surprise. “One of Jeff Towne’s properties. A white elephant, from what I hear.”
“What do you hear?”
“The Free Press carried a write-up about it a month or so ago,” Dyer recalled. “Taking Towne to task for investing capital earned in this country in a worthless Mexican mine. Seems he’s a stubborn cuss and has been pouring money into it for ten years without getting anything out, installing a modern stamp mill and keeping a big crew at work without producing anything. Mining men are apt to be like that. Make a fortune out of one mine, and put it all back into another hole in the ground.”
“Where’s the Plata Azul located?” Shayne asked tensely.
“Chihuahua, I think. About a hundred miles northwest of Ojinaga.”
“How close to the border is that?”
“Not so far from the Big Bend. Queerest part of it, as the Free Press pointed out, is why an American wants to fool with looking for Mexican silver when our government pays a subsidy on American silver making it worth almost twice as much.”
Shayne settled back with a frown. “Say that again.”
“Sure.” Chief Dyer was relaxed and discursive, with Lance Bayliss safely in jail. “One of the New Deal boon- doggles still in effect. I think it was back in 1934 when they raised the price of raw domestic silver to about seventy
