Murder Takes No Holiday

by Brett Halliday

  Shayne stayed where he was. “What if the phone doesn’t ring or if nobody wants the elevator?”

  “My men will be here presently. I will send one to telephone. The room is on the fifth floor, five forty-two. From the stairs go to the first turning in the corridor.”

  Shayne unlatched the door. “How much time do I have? You told the husband half an hour. If I get hung up somewhere, I don’t want you sitting down here counting the minutes until you send your army in after me.”

  Alvarez said, “Take the time you need. I have a man to entertain Slater until we arrive, and I will tell him what to say if Slater calls. I agree that you must be quiet and careful.”

  “And what do I do if I can get her to come with me? No, don’t tell me. I ring for the elevator. When it doesn’t show up right away, I get impatient and drag her down the stairs. That way the desk clerk won’t see me.”

  “Excellent.”

  Shayne left the Hillman and went up to the front steps. There was a broad porch overlooking the bay. Instead of entering the lobby he went along the porch, past a line of empty rocking chairs, until he came to a window through which he could look into the lobby. No one was behind the desk. Moving to the next window, Shayne saw the switchboard, but it was unattended. He located the elevator. The door was closed, and an arrow above was moving slowly around a semi-circle. There was a loud, ominous clanking.

  He returned to the front door and entered the lobby. The arrow had stopped at four. Through an archway he looked into the dining room, with tables set for breakfast. He reached the bottom of the stairs as the clanking resumed and the elevator started down.

  He took the steps two at a rime. The elevator, descending slowly and painfully, passed him between the second and the third floor. He continued to five, found Room 542 without trouble, and knocked.

  The transom was open and light was on in the room. When there was no answer, Shayne knocked again.

  “Mrs. Slater?” he said cautiously.

  He heard a faint noise, and saw the doorknob beginning to turn slowly. Then the door came violently open. Martha Slater was standing in the doorway, a gun in her hand.

  7

  “Come in,” she said.

  Her voice was small but determined. The gun was a little .25 automatic. She held it firmly. Michael Shayne came into the room and she kicked the door shut behind him. She was wearing a tightly-belted blue dressing gown. Her blonde hair was brushed out loosely and fell almost to her shoulders. There were lines and shadows on her face that hadn’t been there when Shayne last saw her, but she was still, at thirty, beautiful, intelligent, self-possessed. Her eyes were gray and steady.

  “Don’t you know who I am?” he said.

  “Stay where you are. Don’t move.”

  She backed across the room, feeling for the phone. Her fingers touched the edge of the bedside table and she knocked over a small bottle of sleeping pills. She lifted the phone.

  Then she said suddenly, “Michael Shayne?”

  She looked at him in horror. An instant later she dropped the little gun as though it had bitten her. “Michael! I almost—” She laughed hysterically and put her face in both hands.

  He reached her in two strides and caught her in his arms. She pressed her face fiercely against his chest. “Michael. Michael. What are you doing here?” Then she pulled away from him, the look of horror still in her eyes, and said faintly, “Did you come after Paul?”

  “Take it easy,” Shayne said in his gentlest tone. He put the phone back in its place. “It’s going to work out. Come over here and sit down.”

  He led her to the bed and arranged the pillows. After she was settled he sat down beside her, holding her hands. They were cold and trembling.

  “I just made some cocoa,” she said abstractedly, looking toward the little bedside table, which was badly marked with cigarette burns. “We aren’t supposed to cook, but I have an electric plate. No, I remember,” she said, seeming hardly aware of what she was saying, “you’d like some cognac. I’m sorry I can’t—”

  He stopped her. “We don’t have too much time. When I knocked at the door, who did you think it was?”

  She burst into tears. “Michael, we’ve got ourselves into such a mess! What on earth am I going to do?”

  “We’ll think of something.”

  He grinned at her encouragingly and looked around. The bureau had a caster missing, and tipped drunkenly. The rug was threadbare. It was worse than he expected, and he hated to see Martha living like this. He moved a box of Kleenex where she could reach it.

  “I’m—I’m sorry, Michael. It’s just—seeing you like this, after so many years—”

  Taking her by the shoulders, he gave her a quick shake. “Stop it. I won’t tell you how glad I am to see you, because we don’t have time. I know it’s serious. You and Paul are in trouble, and if you want me to help you you’ve got to tell me a few things. What about the gun?”

  She blew her nose and said faintly, “I don’t know how to begin. I’ve been expecting something to happen for months. I thought—”

  She couldn’t go on, and Shayne said, “You thought it had something to do with the smuggling?”

  Her eyes widened. “Of course. You heard he’d been arrested, and you didn’t like the idea of an old friend of yours being married to a criminal. I don’t like it either. But he’s stopped, Michael! You don’t have to worry about us. He won’t do anything like that again.”

  “It’s a little more complicated than that,” he said. “I heard about it from the customs agent-in-charge in Miami, Jack Malloy. Do you remember him?”

  “Of course,” she said quietly. “Another old friend who thinks—”

  Her eyes filled, and Shayne said quickly, “Keep talking about it, Martha. It may not seem so bad when it’s out where we can look at it.”

  “Michael, don’t you see?” she said desperately. “I knew about it. I’m as much to blame as Paul. Oh, I argued against it, but he could tell I didn’t mean it. He just laughed at me. and went right ahead. I didn’t refuse to take the money he made by it, you notice! Certainly not. That might have convinced him I was serious. I finally laid down the law, gave him a clear-cut set of alternatives, but not until after he’d been caught! I’m so ashamed.”

  “How long has it gone on?”

  “Oh, Michael, for months and months. A man came to Paul and offered to sell him some cheap perfume for export. He—”

  “Was his name Alvarez?”

  She drew in her breath in surprise. “Luis Alvarez. Yes. Do you mean Jack Malloy knows about that?”

  “Not yet. Go on.”

  “Well, Alvarez explained it. What he wanted our firm to handle was bottled as toilet water. Actually it was the concentrated essence of some famous French perfume, worth hundreds and hundreds of dollars an ounce. Paul didn’t tell me about it till it was all over. It was simplicity itself. He consigned the shipment to a dummy company, picked it up and forwarded it to a big perfume company up north. For this trifling service, he was paid fifteen hundred dollars! I was horrified, but apparently not quite horrified enough. Actually, I used to feel irritated by the price my friends paid for imported perfume, and I suppose that smuggling it past the customs didn’t seem like such a terrible crime. Paul put the money in the business, and it just disappeared. Although I’ve suddenly begun to wonder if he could have spent it on—but never mind. Alvarez had another proposition soon afterward. There was never any trouble, and Paul paid less and less attention when I tried to get him to think about what he was doing. Then all of a sudden he was arrested, and it did something horrible to him, Michael. I’ve never seen a man so reduced. And all for a silly little handful of watch movements!”

  “You think that was all he had?”

  She frowned. “I assumed—but they have some kind of X-ray machine, don’t they? I’ve always been told that once they’re suspicious of you, you can’t bring in as much as a carpet tack without their knowing about it.”


  “Jack Malloy has a theory, but there’s probably nothing to it. You said you gave Paul some alternatives?”

  “Yes, I told him that if he didn’t stop for good, I’d leave him. From now on they’ll take extra precautions when Paul comes in. I used to think I was a fairly honest person, but I’m learning some unpleasant truths about myself. Did I give him that ultimatum because what he was doing was wrong, or because he’d surely be caught if he tried again? I don’t know, Michael.”

  “And he agreed to quit?” Shayne said thoughtfully.

  “Finally. We had quite a knockdown, drag-out fight, and even after we’d made our peace and he swore a solemn oath, I think he was still a little tempted. Apparently Alvarez has made a new offer that was very hard to turn down. I don’t know much about that man, but I imagine he got rather ugly when Paul said he was through. I thought he’d sent someone for Paul, and that was who was knocking on my door. But thank heaven it’s after midnight. Paul’s beyond his reach, and I’m going to see to it that he doesn’t come back. As of twelve o’clock tonight, our firm is out of business. What’s more, nobody’s going to miss it but us.”

  Shayne poured some cocoa from the little pot into the waiting cup. He had been feeling his way blindly, and he couldn’t do anything effective without knowing a few more facts. He had ten minutes, perhaps fifteen at the outside.

  He handed Martha the cup. “Better drink this. I’m going to ask you some questions, and I have a few things to tell you. Then we’ll decide what to do.”

  “Michael, before you start, I want to tell you how wonderful it is to see you. I’ve been so terribly tense and upset, and now all at once I begin to think that things may turn out all right. That’s what I remember about you—how reassuring you could be. Without saying anything, just by being there. I’ve kept up with your cases, and I’ve always been so proud of knowing you! I’m afraid I boasted about it a little sometimes. You—never married again, did you, Michael?”

  Shayne shook his head. “No. When this is over, I’ll tell you about my secretary, Lucy Hamilton. You were married to a cop. I think you’d understand why I don’t want to let anyone in for—” He broke off abruptly. “But that’s neither here nor there. Why did Paul charter a plane tonight instead of waiting for a regular flight in the morning?”

  “His mother’s doctor cabled him. She’s very sick and wants to see him. They’ve always been very close. If you want to know the truth, I don’t think she’s all that sick—she’s a bit of a hypochondriac. I shouldn’t be saying this, but I’ll bet any amount of money that she’ll still be around thirty years from now. But Alvarez had been threatening Paul, and it suddenly occurred to me that here was my chance to wipe the slate clean. I could use my mother-in-law’s sickness to get Paul away before anything happened. Needless to say, we can’t afford to charter a plane. But I insisted. I made all the arrangements and bundled him into a taxi, without giving him time to open his mouth to protest. And to show you how wealthy we’ve become, with all of Paul’s desperate smuggling, after scraping up enough to pay for the plane I was feeling too poor to pay for a taxi back from the airport. So I said goodbye to him here.”

  “Did you actually see that cable?” Shayne asked.

  “No,” she said, puzzled. “He read it to me on the phone. But why?”

  “Well, brace yourself,” he said bluntly. “I may be all wrong, but here’s how it looks to me. I don’t think there was any cable. He needed an excuse to get off the island in a hurry, without waiting till morning. He set up a date with Alvarez for tonight. When Alvarez showed up, Paul slugged him with a monkey wrench and took the contraband without paying for it. This was risky, but he planned to be on a plane half an hour later, and he planned to let you persuade him not to come back.”

  Martha set the cocoa back on the bedside table, being very careful to keep it from spilling. She said slowly, “I don’t believe it.”

  “I was there with Alvarez,” Shayne said. “I didn’t see who did the slugging, but I do know he was slugged.”

  “It wasn’t Paul!” she said, putting her hand impulsively on his arm. “I know him, Michael. He couldn’t have done it.”

  Shayne, who had had some experience with husbands and wives, knew how little they often knew about each other. He said skeptically, “When did he leave?”

  “He wanted to allow plenty of time for all the red-tape. About a quarter to eleven?” she said hopefully. “Maybe later. He called from the airport to say goodbye. That must have been around eleven-thirty. Wouldn’t that prove—”

  “He could say he was at the airport and not be there.”

  “Well, I don’t suppose I can convince you, Michael. But you just don’t know how impossible it is. If you could find the taxi driver, couldn’t he settle it? No, the simplest thing will be to cable Jack Malloy. Have him meet Paul’s plane, and find out if he’s smuggling anything.”

  “Paul didn’t take off,” Shayne said.

  The color drained slowly out of her face as she stared at him. “Alvarez thinks Paul hit him with a wrench and robbed him, and Paul is still on St. Albans?”

  The redhead nodded somberly.

  “But how did it happen?” she said. “Did something go wrong with the plane?”

  Shayne shook his head. “Alvarez got him on the phone just before he took off. He told him he’s holding you as hostage, and warned him not to leave if he wanted to see you again.”

  She breathed out in a kind of shudder. “And Paul stayed? Thank God.”

  She went on quickly, “There’s something I haven’t told you, Michael. It’s mixed up with the rest in a queer way, I don’t know how. He’s been seeing another woman, apparently for some time. I only found out about it yesterday. Oh, things have been quite hectic around here for the last twenty-four hours. At the end he promised to give up both the smuggling and the girl, but I’m not sure I believed him. That’s the real reason I didn’t go to the airport. I was wrung dry. But Michael—if he knows that Alvarez suspects him of doing this crazy thing, he must know how dangerous it is to stay on the island.” She turned her head. “And if in spite of that he stayed—”

  She sat erect and said briskly, “What are we going to do about it, Michael?”

  “We’ll try to put him back on the plane. Alvarez told him to go to some place in the country. A cab from the airport could make it in half an hour. Does that mean anything to you?”

  She moved her head, frowning. “I don’t understand. How do you know all this, Michael? And you said you were there when Alvarez was robbed. You haven’t got into trouble on my account, have you?”

  Shayne grinned at her. “Nothing serious.”

  Her breath caught, and her face was suddenly flooded with comprehension. “He’s waiting downstairs!”

  She swung off the bed and went to the window, approaching it cautiously from one side. Drawing back the curtain a few inches, she peeped out.

  “Two cars,” she said quietly, turning. “Yes, of course. Before Paul puts his head in the noose he’ll want to make sure that Alvarez isn’t bluffing.”

  “That’s right. So here’s what we’ll do. I’ll tell Alvarez I talked you into coming with me, but something made you suspicious and you gave me the slip. Get out by the back door. Steal somebody’s bike and get as far as you can in five minutes. Then stay out of sight. Maybe Paul will have sense enough to keep clear. If he doesn’t, he’ll have an easier time holding up under the pressure if you aren’t around.”

  “Michael, wait a minute. Did you say half an hour from the airport? It seems to me Paul once pointed out a driveway that went in to a wonderful modern house, and said something mysterious about the wages of sin. I’ll just bet—it must be!” she exclaimed, becoming excited. “Michael, he’ll wait downstairs, won’t he? Alvarez? If we could get a taxi, maybe we could get there ahead of him and warn Paul.”

  Shayne snapped his fingers. “All right, we’ll try it. Get your clothes on.”

  She ran to the closet and snatch
ed a skirt and blouse off a hanger. She pulled open bureau drawers. Carrying the bundle of clothes, she hurried to the bathroom.

  “Leave the door open,” Shayne called. “I’ve got some more questions to ask you. Did you or Paul know Albert Watts?”

  “Who?” she said behind the partly closed door. “You mean the Englishman who was killed?”

  “That’s the one. Did he have any connection with the smuggling?”

  “I’m trying to think,” she answered after a brief pause. “I don’t see how. He had some kind of job with a tourist agency, didn’t he? A strange little man with a mustache, a very fat wife. I was maneuvered into dancing with him once—quite against his will. He suffered agonies because we hadn’t been properly introduced. I thought it was terribly sad. Such a conventional little man, and then to be killed in such a disreputable and unconventional way. I’m hurrying, Michael.”

  Suddenly she appeared in the open doorway, looking at Shayne, aghast. She put on the skirt and had an arm in one sleeve of the blouse.

  “Michael, you don’t think Paul had any connection with that!”

  Shayne lit a cigarette and spoke around it, his eyes squinting against the smoke. “Watts made a trip to Miami to find out how much the customs service pays informants. A little later Malloy got a cable from him, fingering Paul Slater. That’s how Paul happened to get arrested. When all Malloy’s boys could find were a few measly watch movements, they wrote Watts down as a nut, without much sense of proportion, and didn’t give Paul a real hard look. If it hadn’t been for those watch movements, Paul would have been followed around every second he was in the States. Then Watts was stabbed before he could collect his two-bit fee.”

  Martha abruptly became aware of being only partially dressed, and disappeared. Her voice came through the opening. “And Jack thinks—”

  “What else could he think? The cops here don’t know about the cable. Jack wanted to see what I could find out, if anything, before he turned it over. And as soon as he does, they’ll pull Paul in and hit him with it. This is pretty rough on you, but you might as well know it now.”