bother with a toy like that. You got any females on tap for this?”
“Only one,” Gentry admitted, “but I hardly see how Miss Lally fits. Bring Garvin down to headquarters-and send a couple of men to the Beach to pick up Burton Harsh for questioning. What’s the address, Mike?”
Shayne gave him instructions for reaching Harsh’s place by the most direct route, then asked Hastings, “What’s your personal opinion, Lieutenant? Could it be suicide?”
“Could be. But I’d say no. He’d been drinking some, and I never knew a drunken suicide who didn’t leave some sort of a sob note. It isn’t a contact wound, although fired close enough for him to have held the gun. Take my word for it, Mike. It’s murder.”
Shayne nodded and said, “I’m glad to hear it. Suicide wouldn’t fit what I have in mind.”
“Such as what?” demanded Gentry.
“I’d rather not say yet, Will. Not until we have a talk with Beatrice Lally to check against the statements we get from Harsh and Garvin and Paisly. You picked up Paisly yet?”
“The boys’ll pick him up-if they haven’t already,” said Gentry confidently.
They went to the elevator, where the Negro boy waited with one hand on the door and the other on the lever, ready to give instant service. He rolled his big eyes up at Shayne and asked fearfully, “When they gonna bring out the daid man?”
“Pretty soon now,” Shayne told him.
The boy hunched his thin shoulders forward and drew them together and his body shook.
“He’s harmless now,” Shayne assured him as the elevator stopped four inches too soon and they stepped down into the lobby.
Gentry went to a telephone booth and called the hospital, inquired about Miss Lally’s condition, hung up and called headquarters, then rejoined Shayne.
“She’s okay,” he said. “I’m having her brought to my office.”
“There’s something I want to check on with the clerk,” Shayne said, and they went together to the desk where the old man sat tensely erect and wide awake.
He described Miss Lally and asked whether she had come to the hotel around twelve-thirty.
“Didn’t happen to notice a woman like that go up. She might of, though, without me seein’ her. I don’t bother much about who goes in and out if they don’t stop for a key.”
“Who runs the night switchboard?” Shayne asked.
“I tend to it-after midnight.”
“Any outgoing calls from three-oh-nine after twelve?”
“Nope. One come in for Morton, though. Right after I took over.”
“Did he answer it?”
“Right away. Like he might’ve been expectin’ a call.”
“You didn’t just happen to listen in on what they said?” Shayne pressed him.
“I got other things to do besides listen to private telephone-calls,” he answered with dignity.
“Would you recognize the voice if you heard it again?”
“How could I now? Somebody says three-oh-nine and that’s all. I couldn’t say if it was a man or woman, much less remember the voice to recognize it.”
Shayne turned away with angry reluctance and said to Gentry, “That knocks one theory into a cocked hat. If it wasn’t Ralph Morton who called Beatrice Lally to come here, who in hell was it?”
“The murderer,” said Gentry.
“But why? So he’d have a witness to the killing?” he asked ironically.
Gentry shrugged his heavy shoulders wearily. “Because she knew something that made her dangerous to him, maybe. We’re going to need answers to a lot of things from Miss Lally,” he growled. “One thing I want you to remember, Mike. If you hadn’t played smart and held that girl out on me in the beginning we’d probably know all the answers by this time.”
Chapter Fourteen
Beatrice Lally’s face looked freshly scrubbed and powdered; her lips were rouged, and her blond hair was fluffed around her face to hide more than half of the small bandage in front of her ear. Her round, sooty eyes held an expression of wonderment as she sat across the desk from Chief Will Gentry at police headquarters. She puckered them and squinted at Shayne, who sat on her right, as though to make certain he was still there. Timothy Rourke sat on her left, his slaty eyes feverish with anticipation.
Chief Gentry consulted a sheet of paper containing penciled notes. “I think you can give us information on a lot of important points, Miss Lally. First, there’s Edwin Paisly. We haven’t been able to locate him yet. Do you know where we can find him?”
She turned to Shayne. “Have you told Chief Gentry about us meeting him at the Golden Cock, waiting for Miss Morton to keep a dinner date?”
“I’ve told the chief everything I know,” he said gravely, “and I advise you to do the same.”
“Of course,” she said quietly. “I think I know where you can find Edwin Paisly. I’ve been having him followed by a private detective for the past week. There’s a woman in Coral Gables whom he visited a great deal when he wasn’t with Miss Morton.”
She gave him the woman’s name and address. Gentry wrote it down, pressed a button, and an officer entered immediately.
“Pick up Edwin Paisly if he’s at this address,” Gentry said, passing him the slip of paper. “And bring in whoever is with him. Keep them separated and try to find out how long Paisly has been there tonight, and specifically whether he was there before seven o’clock.”
“Right away, Chief,” the officer said, and went out.
“Now then, Miss Lally,” he resumed, “you say you’ve had a private detective watching Paisly. Was that Miss Morton’s idea?”
“Oh, no. It was entirely my own idea. She was hypnotized by that man,” she said vehemently, “and refused to listen to a word against him.”
“You disliked him?”
“I saw him for what he was.” She tried to suppress her anger, but hatred for Paisly was more convincing in her low, tight tones than in an angry shout. “Marriage to him would ruin her career. He would wring her dry of money-to spend on other women.”
“And you would lose your job?” Gentry probed.
“Probably. He was afraid of me because I had her complete confidence. I was prepared to give up my position if she married him.”
Gentry was rumbling, “We’ll go into that further after we’ve talked to Paisly. Now, Miss Lally, I want you to tell us about the quarrel you had with your employer early yesterday morning.”
She turned to Shayne again and asked in a low, tight-lipped voice, “You mentioned Mr. Harsh to me over the phone. Do I have to-tell Chief Gentry all about-that?”
“He already knows about that old story Sara Morton dug up about him and the letter he received from her demanding twenty-five thousand for suppressing it,” he told her. “Tell us about his visit to her hotel room night before last.”
“One thing at a time,” Gentry growled, with a hard glance at Shayne.
“It’s all right,” said Miss Lally. “They’re sort of mixed up together, anyway.” Color had washed into her face and neck. She folded her hands in her lap and turned back to the chief.
Gentry picked up a pencil and began doodling on the bottom of his notation sheet.
“I had hoped-I still hope,” she resumed, drawing a deep breath and puckering her eyes at Gentry, “that her character needn’t be publicly smirched. Of course, if Mr. Harsh killed her I suppose there’s no way it can be kept quiet. But I-it’s still so difficult for me to believe. I’ve been so close to her for years and never suspected she would
