Stranger in Town (14 page)

“Will this girl be there now?” Shayne asked when Flo finally ran down.”

“Yes. She’s working straight through today. There’s four of us girls, see, and we work straight through every other day. Two of us do. We’ve been shorthanded for a week and I’ve got back-time coming, so I don’t have to go back till six-thirty.”

“You haven’t told me the name of the restaurant, Flo?”

“That’s right, I haven’t.” She looked at him wisely. “I just don’t know.…”

Shayne said, “Don’t be silly.” He got out his wallet and beckoned to the waitress for a check. “I already know it’s on Union Street just off Main, and Mr. Entwhistle runs it. How long do you think it will take a detective to find it?”

He got up leaving some bills on the table, and she slid out hurriedly to stand beside him.

“I’ll walk along and show you. Then if you’re telling me any lies, I’ll be right there to see for myself. If you aren’t a detective like you say, don’t think I won’t call the cops fast.”

Shayne said, “Fine. Let’s go.” He took her arm and they went out the door, blinking as they emerged from the dimness into the light of late afternoon.

The sidewalk was momentarily deserted as Flo turned back in the direction she had been walking from when Shayne first saw her.

He didn’t notice the light gray sedan parked directly in front of them at the curb until a loud gunshot shattered the afternoon quiet of Brockton’s Main Street. The girl in the white dress and drooping hat sagged against him as two more shots followed swiftly. Pain seared the top of Shayne’s shoulder and stung his thigh, and he flung himself forward instinctively to cover Flo’s body as she crumpled to the sidewalk.

As he went down he caught a glimpse of a low-pulled snap-brim hat above the steering wheel of the gray sedan not six feet away, and it roared away from the curb before he could see anything else.

FLO WAS DEAD. The first bullet had struck her at the base of the throat and gone on to smash the spinal column. Blood gushed from the wound and stained the concrete sidewalk beneath Shayne as he crouched on hands and knees over her body.

An excited group gathered about them swiftly as Shayne slowly pushed himself up and found he could stand erect despite the flesh wound in his thigh. He put his hand up on his left shoulder and it was warm and came away smeared with blood.

Uniformed men came running up from two directions and pressed the curious crowd back from Shayne and the dead girl. He snapped at them, “It was a man in a light gray sedan. Plymouth, I think. Get it on your radio fast. The girl is dead.”

One of the officers went to telephone, and a druggist who had emerged from his shop beside the cocktail lounge looked at Shayne’s wounds and volunteered first aid. Shayne limped into the drug-store behind him and he got bandages and sulpha powder and bound both wounds so they stopped bleeding. He didn’t stop talking while he worked:

“… knew they were pistol shots soon’s I heard them from in the back here. First time anything like that ever happened in Brockton. Broad daylight too. Now hold your arm out steady and this won’t hurt. Just nicked you, by golly. A sixteenth an inch lower would have ripped the muscle. There you are. Now let’s see that hip. I’ll just have to make a cut in your pants here. Gangsters, you reckon? Right here in Brockton? Shooting at you, huh? Or the girl? Stranger in town, aren’t you? Didn’t think I’d seen you around before. There we are. This one’s deeper but you got more room here for it to be deeper, ha-ha. Just stand still now.”

Shayne thanked him and offered to pay for the bandages when he was done, but the druggist refused, insisting he was happy to be of service.

Shayne walked to the door, stiff-legged, just in time to see a patrol car pull into the curb in front of the spot where Flo still lay.

George Grimes was at the wheel. His beefy face was grave as Shayne circled the body toward him. Officer Burke stepped out briskly on the other side. He came behind the patrol car and grabbed Shayne officiously by the arm. “What’s going on here? Who’s the girl and what happened?”

Shayne stood very still and disregarded him. He addressed Grimes. “Same guy I asked you about this afternoon. Remember? Driving a light gray sedan. Probably a Plymouth.”

“You come along and tell it to the chief at headquarters,” said the younger officer sternly. “He’s not going to like this big-city shooting stuff in Brockton a-tall. Told you once before to get on out of town, didn’t he?” Shayne stood close beside Burke and looked into his eyes for a long moment with his right fist balled up at his side and his muscles flexing dangerously. Then he made himself relax, and told Burke in a tight voice, “Just the sort of games I do enjoy, of course. Sure. Let’s go tell Ollie all about it.” He jerked his arm loose from the other’s grasp with a sudden turn, stepped sideways and opened the back door of the patrol car.

Burke hesitated a moment, torn between his desire to take Shayne in like a fugitive and his fear of appearing ridiculous before the large group of townspeople who were gathered on the sidewalk watching the scene curiously. He turned away after a moment and circled around the car to the front seat and got in beside Grimes, who had turned to ask Shayne, “Who’s the girl? What in hell happened anyway?”

“Drive on, George,” he said gruffly, before Shayne could reply. “You know Ollie’ll want to handle this himself.”

Grimes grunted something, but turned back to put the car in gear and pull away from the curb just as an ambulance came up behind them.

Shayne sat silent on the back seat while they circled the few blocks to police headquarters. He was out first when Grimes stopped in front of the side door, and he went through swiftly to the rear door through which Grimes had taken him before.

Burke came sprinting across the small room behind him, ordering brusquely, “Hold on there, Shayne. I’m taking you in to the chief.”

Shayne turned in the doorway and showed his teeth in a grin that was more a snarl than a smile. “Lay a hand on me, Burke, and I swear I’ll knock your teeth down your throat.”

The officer slid to a stop, his face turning a furious crimson. “You see here, Shayne. I don’t take that kind of talk…”

Shayne turned his back contemptuously and strode down the corridor to the room from which Chief Hanger had emerged earlier that afternoon. The door was closed and Shayne went in without knocking, drawing it shut behind him.

It was a large clean office and the chief’s big body was ensconced in a swivel chair behind a flat desk in the center of the room. He had a telephone to his ear and was listening intently, and his only movement as Shayne entered was the shifting of his eyeballs behind the rolls of fat in the detective’s direction.

The door was opened behind Shayne immediately as he stalked toward the desk.

The chief said into the phone, “Okay for now,” and replaced it. Behind Shayne, Burke’s voice came hoarsely and out of breath, “I was bringing this shamus in like you said, Chief, for questioning about the killing on Main Street, but he broke loose and barged right in…”

Shayne kept his back turned. He stopped in front of the desk and leaned forward with the fingertips of his right hand resting lightly on the flat surface. “If you don’t get that punk off my neck, I will.”

Chief Ollie Hanger said, “Beat it, Burke.”

The policeman’s feet shuffled uneasily behind Shayne, and Burke said, “Well, heck, Chief…”

“Beat it.”

Shayne and the chief both maintained their positions until the door of the room was closed and they were alone. Then Hanger’s swivel chair creaked loudly as he ponderously settled back and clasped his hands together in front of his fat belly. “I told you to get out of town while the getting was good.”

Shayne said, “I’m beginning to like it in Brockton.” He turned and pulled a straight chair closer to the desk and lowered his body into it gingerly.

“Who was the woman you just got killed on Main Street?”

“The one that got shot down by one of your local hoods, who then calmly drove away in front of the whole police force?” Shayne asked savagely. “She told me her name was Flo.”

There was a rap on the outer door and Hanger said, “Come.”

A young man in a gray suit and wearing horn-rimmed glasses entered and laid a slip of paper on the desk in front of Hanger. “That’s all they got so far.”

He went out briskly and the chief studied the slip of paper. “Florence Dinwiddy. Waitress at the Union Cafe. Died instantly. Probably a forty-five slug.” He put the paper down and rolled his eyeballs at Shayne. “Why was she bumped, Shayne?”

“Ask the man that triggered her… and me. We had a drink together in the Elite bar and walked out and he started throwing lead. That’s all I know.”

“Nuts,” said Chief Ollie Hanger. “Was she helping you on something?”

“I never saw her before this afternoon.”

“Nuts again. You know, you’re in a real bad spot, shamus. You better come clean fast.”

“In a spot because I can’t buy a waitress a drink without getting myself shot?”

“You might put it that way. We never had any trouble like this in Brockton till you turned up here. That girl would still be alive if you’d got out of town when I ordered you to.”

Shayne said, “Maybe.” He shook out a cigarette and lighted it.

“So now you quit horsing around and give me the story. This is my town, Shayne, and I aim to know what’s going on. If you’ve got legitimate business here that your private license entitles you to have, lay it on the table and we’ll cooperate. What brought you here in the first place?”

“I was driving through last night and stopped off for a drink before going on to Miami. Your boy Burke picked me up on a parking ticket and slugged me with his partner’s help and I spent a pleasant night in your stinking can. So I decided I’d stick around a little and see what makes your town tick.”

“So why’d you tell Dr. Philbrick you were checking on the amnesia case for the girl’s father?”

Shayne shrugged and spread out his hands. “All right. I was trying to keep it quiet while I found out a few things.”

“You claim now you are working for Mr. Buttrell in Miami?” The chief’s voice was hard as flint. Shayne sensed the trap behind the question. If Hanger had done some checking of his own and learned that Amos Buttrell was a phony, he’d know an affirmative answer from Shayne was a lie. And if Shayne denied it, he’d be left without a client to explain his interest in the girl.

He said, “All right. Buttrell isn’t my client. I used that gimmick to get Philbrick to talk. The Miami
Daily News
is interested in the story and I’m getting together the facts for them. Is that legitimate business that my license entitles me to have in Brockton?”

“If it happens to be the truth.”

“Call the City Desk and check with Timothy Rourke. He’s the one sent me out.”

Chief Ollie Hanger said, “I’ll maybe do that. And if you’re lying I’ll throw your singed butt into the can for more than one night. Even if you’re not, I want to know what your interest was in Florence Dinwiddy that got her killed.”

“I met her on the street and bought her a drink.”

“Why?”

“Didn’t you ever have an impulse to buy a pretty girl a drink?”

“Maybe. But I didn’t end up murdering her.”

Shayne said, “That’s your job, for god’s sake. Maybe she’s got a jealous husband. Your men picked up the killer in the gray sedan?”

“Not yet. Nobody seems to have seen him except you, Shayne.”

“If your cops weren’t so busy dragging me into jail, maybe they’d have time for something else.” Shayne dropped his short cigarette butt on the floor and toed it out angrily. “You going to arrest me this time for getting myself shot on your main street?” He stood up as he spoke, and glowered down at the fat chief of police.

“Not this time. But I’m giving you a last warning. Get out of Brockton and stay out.”

Shayne turned away and walked out of the office with a slight limp. Burke was lounging against the wall just outside. He started eagerly erect when Shayne came out and looked hopefully through the open door behind the detective. Shayne grinned at him and said, “Not this time, Burke. Ollie and I are real palsy-walsy and the next time you bother me I’m not going to restrain myself.” He continued down the corridor to the outer room where George Grimes was loitering at the counter talking to the man on his stool behind it.

He joined Shayne eagerly and asked in a low voice as they went out, “What the hell goes on around here?”

Shayne said, “I wish I knew. First time I ever got pulled in for letting myself be shot at.” His voice and manner were grim. “Which way is Union Street from here?”

“Turn to your left two blocks.” Grimes walked beside him, dropping his voice still more. “What you said back there on Main Street. You mean the guy that shot the girl was the one named Gene you mentioned this afternoon?”

“I’m pretty sure it was, George.” Shayne stopped and looked down into the worried red face gravely. “That give you any ideas?”

“No,” Grimes disclaimed hastily. “That is…” He looked around furtively and lowered his voice still more. “I told you this afternoon I’d maybe seen him around. In Ollie’s office, that’s where.”

Shayne nodded slowly. He said, “You better get on back to your car. Don’t forget the last person seen talking to me is dead.”

He went away toward Union Street in long strides, leaving Grimes gaping after him.

THERE WASN’T MUCH BUSINESS in the Union Cafe when Shayne entered a few minutes later and stopped just inside the front door to look it over. In the lull before dinner, only three of the wooden tables covered with red-and-white checked cloths were occupied.

A young couple sat against the wall near the front, more interested in each other than in the food before them. Halfway down the long room a farmer and his wife and two children sat at a table for four, sipping water from tall glasses while they waited for their meal to be served, and farther on a white-uniformed waitress was standing with her back to Shayne in conversation with a male customer who sat alone at a small table.