Too Friendly, Too Dead

by Brett Halliday

  “Without her knowledge?”

  “I’m sure she was served with the necessary papers. It was a Mexican divorce.”

  “Do you have a copy of the decree handy?”

  “See here, Shayne. I don’t like your attitude nor your questions. Both are insulting. What on earth has any of this to do with the murder you claim to be investigating?”

  “Where were you last night?”

  “Do I need an alibi?”

  “The police are going to require one from you.”

  “When they require it, I will produce one. In the meantime, I think I have had about enough of this.”

  Shayne said, “Suit yourself. But if we leave, don’t bother going back to bed. The police will be here within fifteen minutes.”

  For a long moment, Rodman’s glance locked with his. Then he relaxed and said sulkily, “If we can get this over without the police, naturally I prefer it.”

  Shayne said again, “Where were you last night?”

  “At what time?”

  “From ten to midnight?”

  “I was upstairs asleep in my own bed. I had a slight headache and I took a strong sleeping potion at nine-thirty and retired.”

  “A lot of people seem to have conveniently taken sleeping pills last night. Can anybody swear you were at home between ten and twelve? Your wife? Servants?”

  “My wife was out when I went to sleep. I haven’t inquired exactly when she returned and came to bed, but I assume it was not much later than ten. The servants know I went to bed early. Unfortunately,” he added sarcastically, “they are not in the habit of peeking in every half hour or so to ascertain whether I have remained in bed or slipped out.”

  “What sort of sleeping pills do you take?” Rodman’s mouth dropped open in surprise. “What on earth has that to do with it?”

  “Do you mind telling me?”

  “Of course not. Do you also wish to know my favorite after-dinner drink and the breakfast food I prefer?”

  “No. Just the brand of sleeping pills.”

  “I don’t know. It’s a special prescription I got from a doctor years ago. Quite a strong drug, I believe. I’ve had the prescription refilled occasionally over the years.”

  “Sodium amytal?”

  “What?”

  “Is that the name of the drug?”

  “I haven’t the faintest idea.”

  “Would you mind getting your bottle and letting me see the prescription?”

  “Yes, I would mind.” Rodman was suddenly shaken with rage. He said through clenched teeth, “This is a monstrous invasion of privacy. Unless you explain at once what all these questions have to do with murder, I shall ask you to leave at once.”

  Shayne said, “Jerome Fitzgilpin was murdered by an overdose of sodium amytal. And so was your former wife two months ago… also here in Miami.”

  “Rose? You can’t mean it. Dead? And in Miami?” He rose to his feet and strode back and forth in agitation while Shayne studied him closely.

  Shayne said, “She was blackmailing you, wasn’t she, Rodman? Here you were, sitting pretty at last with a wife worth several million dollars, and Rose was a threat to it. So you killed her.”

  “No! That’s a filthy lie. I haven’t seen Rose for more than a year. Or had any contact with her.”

  Shayne said evenly, “I don’t believe that, Rodman. I can prove she came to see you in New York immediately after your marriage at sea and you promised her money for her silence if she would come to Miami to collect it.”

  “You can prove nothing of the sort because it simply is not true.”

  Shayne abandoned that tack for a moment because, of course, he could not prove the accusation. He said, “All right. Let’s take what you do admit up to now. You don’t deny a previous marriage in New York which you concealed from your present wife?”

  “No. I don’t deny that. How can I? It’s a matter of record. It was a foolish mistake which I regretted within a week after marrying her.”

  “As soon as you discovered she wasn’t a Philadelphia heiress and couldn’t pay the hotel bill you’d run up at the Commodore while courting her?”

  Rodman slumped back into his chair sullenly. “I was a fool to be taken in by her,” he admitted. “I just happened to be in a cash bind at the time… with all my liquid assets tied up. It would have been only a matter of time… as I tried to explain to her.”

  “When you offered to pimp for her so she could earn money to pay your hotel bill?” asked Shayne coldly.

  “Goddamn it, Shayne. I don’t have to take that kind of talk from any man.” Rodman’s eyes were hot and his right hand shot out to lift the heavy pistol from the table beside him. “You’re goading me beyond the limit a man can endure,” he warned the detective through clenched teeth.

  Shayne leaned back and grinned mockingly. “While you’re about it, tell me how much progress you’ve made in liquidating your industrial holdings in the Mid-west since you’ve been married to Betsy Ann Durand.”

  The automatic wavered in Rodman’s grasp. He said thickly, “None of this has the slightest thing to do with murder… which I understand is your purported reason to be here.”

  “Two murders,” Shayne reminded him. “Your first wife and one of the witnesses to that first wedding. Two murders,” he repeated grimly. “Both by use of sodium amytal and within two months of each other. I strongly suspect that an analysis of your sleeping pills will show them to have a sodium amytal base. Whether we can prove murder against you or not,” he went on dispassionately, “you must realize by this time that you’re washed up in Miami, and have lost every chance you ever had of getting your hands on the Durand millions. How do you think your wife is going to react to the knowledge that you are a penniless adventurer who deserted his first wife because she refused to prostitute herself to pay your bills, and then married her on false pretenses? If you are legally married to her,” he added. “Personally, I doubt that you ever bothered to get a Mexican divorce. Even in Mexico these days there has to be the written consent of both parties, and I’m quite certain Rose never gave her consent. I don’t think a woman like Betsy Ann Durand is going to take all that lying down, Rodman.”

  “Leave Betsy Ann out of this discussion,” panted Rodman hoarsely. “She’s my wife and she trusts me implicitly. You can’t drive a wedge between us.”

  “Maybe not,” said Shayne. “Somehow, though, I find myself doubting the implicit trust of a wife who recently sought to take out a large insurance policy on your life without your knowledge.”

  “What sort of nonsense is that?”

  “It isn’t nonsense. I have a sworn statement to prove it. The funny thing is, Rodman, that she went to Jerome Fitzgilpin with her proposition. How do you explain that?”

  “Not Betsy Ann. There’s some mistake.”

  “There’s no mistake about it. The only question in my mind is why she did it. Is she already getting tired of you, Rodman? Has she discovered the truth… that you just married her for her money?”

  “That’s absolutely false.” Rodman was breathing heavily, his handsome features contorted. “She loves me devotedly. I’m the first man who ever…” He paused suddenly, his face working, and Shayne finished for him mockingly:

  “… the first man who ever proposed marriage to her. Naturally, she was flattered. In the beginning, at least. But how do you explain her attempt to take out insurance on your life without your knowledge? That’s hardly the action of a loving and devoted wife.”

  “I don’t believe a single word of it.”

  “I can prove it,” Shayne told him relentlessly. “Tell me why she chose Fitzgilpin to go to, Rodman. It’s a hell of a curious coincidence that of all the insurance men in Miami Beach she should go to the one who just happened to have been a witness to your previous wedding.”

  “I don’t believe it,” he said again stubbornly.

  “It’s a matter of record. How do you suppose she’ll explain it when I ask her?”


  “Leave Betsy Ann out of this.”

  “She’s in it,” Shayne told him. “Up to her neck. Unless you want to make a full confession and explain how you conned her into going to Fitzgilpin to discover for certain whether he was the same man whom you met at the Commodore Hotel in New York a year and a half ago. Because that’s what she did, and goddamn it to hell, if she doesn’t have a logical explanation for what she did, we’ll charge her with being an accessory before the fact.”

  Rutherford Rodman leaped to his feet, baring his teeth and waving the heavy automatic excitedly.

  “Get out!” he shouted. “I don’t know what your stinking game is, but I don’t want any part of it. If you dare come around saying any of these things to my wife…”

  “What sort of things is the man saying Rutherford?” inquired an icy voice from the hall doorway. They all turned to see a tall, angular woman framed there. Her hair was stringy and her plain face was devoid of makeup. She clutched a blue woolen dressing gown tightly about her, and her lips were thinned against slightly protruding teeth.

  17

  Rodman exclaimed, “Betsy Ann! My dear. I’m terribly sorry you were disturbed. These men are here on business and…”

  “What sort of business, Rutherford? At this time of night and you waving that ridiculous gun around?”

  Rodman looked down at the pistol in his hand as though surprised to discover it there, and Shayne got to his feet behind him. He said, “Police business, Mrs. Rodman. Now that you’re here, I’d like to ask you a couple of questions.”

  “I warned you, Shayne. Leave her out of it.” Rodman whirled about, lifting the gun menacingly, but Shayne’s big right hand shot out and his fingers clamped about the man’s wrist. He tightened his grip inexorably and said, “Drop it.”

  Rodman’s body writhed for a moment against Shayne’s bone-crushing grip, then the automatic dropped from his lax fingers.

  Shayne stooped to scoop it up and dropped it into his coat pocket. He said curtly, “Both of you will answer my questions or I’m taking you in to police headquarters.”

  “What sort of questions, dear?” Mrs. Rodman moved slowly into the room to stand beside her husband and link her arm in his. “I’m certain we have nothing to hide from the police.”

  “That’s what I’ve been telling him,” blustered Rodman. “He’s made the ridiculous and damnable accusation that you have been trying to insure my life without my knowledge.”

  “But, darling. I wanted it to be a surprise,” she said composedly. “You said you wanted us to take out joint policies, but were a little short of cash to pay the premiums, and I thought I’d surprise you by doing it myself.”

  “Using the name of Mrs. Kelly?” Shayne put in.

  “I suppose it was foolish of me,” she agreed, “but I intended to use my right name, of course, when the policy was issued. But the nasty little man I went to was most insulting in his refusal. He seemed to think I had an ulterior motive.”

  “Jerome Fitzgilpin?” Shayne asked.

  “Was that his name? I’m afraid I didn’t pay much attention. You don’t mean to say the police are interested in my trying to take out an insurance policy?”

  “The police are interested in Jerome Fitzgilpin’s murder last night,” Shayne told her grimly. He was somewhat baffled by her ready explanation of her visit to Fitzgilpin’s office. Rodman appeared baffled too, but by this time Shayne had reached the conclusion that the man was a consummate actor.

  “Can you alibi your husband for the period between ten and twelve?”

  “Of course I can. We were right here at home together. Murder, you say?” Her plain, bony face showed an expression of revulsion.

  “You spent the entire evening together?” Shayne demanded swiftly.

  “Don’t answer any more impertinent questions, darling,” Rodman put in before she could reply. “This is utterly ridiculous, but I think I should call an attorney.”

  “But I don’t mind answering his questions, Rutherford. We were together all evening, you know.”

  “Your husband says differently, Mrs. Rodman.”

  “Why would you do that, Rutherford?” Her voice was soothing and almost maternal. She pressed his arm closer to her angular body. “You know you’ve nothing to hide.”

  “He’s been hiding other things from you,” Shayne told her harshly. “Did you know, for instance, that you aren’t his first wife?”

  “Of course I knew that. You mean that silly little Rose in New York? Rutherford tells me everything.”

  For a long moment there was a queer silence in the room. There was a curious, baffled expression on Rodman’s face which Shayne was at a loss to understand. It was as though the two of them had somehow got their signals crossed. As though each one was desperately playing it by ear, and neither was quite sure what the other would say next.

  Shayne said, “Did he tell you also that he had neglected to get a divorce from Rose before marrying you?”

  “That’s a lie!” Rodman jerked around to glare at the redhead. “I told you there was a Mexican divorce.”

  “Have you seen the decree, Mrs. Rodman? Are you sure you’re legally married to him?”

  “I trust Rutherford implicitly,” she stated with quiet and dignified poise.

  “Will you continue to trust him after it’s proven that he murdered his first wife because she was trying to blackmail him, and then murdered Fitzgilpin last night to cover up the first crime?”

  “But that’s ridiculous,” she said aloofly. “Rutherford couldn’t do such a thing. He wouldn’t harm a fly. And I’ve told you we were together last night.”

  “Please, Betsy Ann,” begged Rodman helplessly. “Let’s not say anything more. I insist upon consulting an attorney.”

  This was the weak point, Shayne realized anew. This was where they hadn’t gotten together in advance and synchronized their stories.

  “Exactly what time did you return home last night?” he demanded of the heiress.

  “I was with Rutherford all evening. He couldn’t possibly have done anything to that little man.”

  “He said you were still out when he went to bed with a strong sleeping pill at ten o’clock,” Shayne told her. “Why do you suppose he told me that?”

  “But, Rutherford, dear,” she protested. “You know I was right here…”

  Rodman’s face was ashen. He swallowed hard, looking at her with an odd expression as though he were seeing her for the first time.

  “But you weren’t, Betsy Ann. Why do you keep on saying you were here with me? Why do you lie about it?” His voice rose shrilly. Frightened and nearing hysteria.

  She replied quietly, “Because I thought you wanted me to, darling. Because I thought you needed an alibi.” Her voice became warm and possessive, “You know I’d lie for you any time, my dearest one.”

  “And provide yourself with an alibi at the same time,” Shayne put in swiftly. “Isn’t that it, Mrs. Rodman? Isn’t that what you really wanted? It was you who phoned Fitzgilpin, wasn’t it, and asked him to meet you some place for a drink? Did you tell him you had reconsidered about the insurance policy and had told your husband all about it? He would have responded to that sort of invitation. There was a hell of a big premium involved if you made it a legitimate proposition.”

  “Betsy Ann,” begged Rodman, a look of horror on his face. “You didn’t! You…?”

  “Don’t look at me like that,” she told him coldly. “I did it for you. I did everything for you. I love you so much. I can’t lose you, Rutherford. You’re all I have. My husband.” Her face was awed as she crooned the two words. She held her chin aloofly and closed her eyes as though in unbearable pain, but tears streamed from under the closed lids and coursed down her cheeks.

  “Rose came to you in New York, didn’t she? You were the one with the money. She knew better than to bother with your husband.”

  “Yes. That bitch! That supremely self-satisfied little bitch. Only three days after we
were married. And she had her marriage certificate showing she was married to Rutherford.”

  Betsy Ann opened her eyes wide and stared candidly at Shayne. “He was mine,” she said simply. “I didn’t care what the law said, he was mine. Do you think I wouldn’t kill to protect my marriage? She didn’t. She was a fool. A simple little fool. She didn’t know the meaning of love. I promised her anything. She wanted fifty thousand dollars. I told her, of course, but she’d have to come to Miami to collect it. And she believed me. The little fool believed me.”

  Betsy Ann Rodman started laughing hysterically. “It was so easy. I took three of Rutherford’s sleeping pills which he’d told me were terribly strong. She enjoyed the vodka martini I dissolved them in. And then we went for a boat ride. Just the two of us. I told her I wanted to give her the money where there would be no witnesses.”

  Her eyes became glazed as she spoke. Little bits of froth appeared between her lips. Rodman had drawn away from her and he was regarding her with open-mouthed astonishment.

  “The little fool,” she said again, viciously and flatly. “She deserved what she got. She even laughed at me for thinking one minute that Rutherford really loved me. He loved only money, she said. My money. That’s what I couldn’t stand. That’s when I decided to kill her. When she laughed at me.”

  “You saw Fitzgilpin’s name on the marriage certificate as a witness,” Shayne said helpfully. “Later, when you saw the story about him in the Miami paper you were afraid it was the same man, and you went around to his office to see him and find out if he was the right Fitzgilpin.”

  “Yes. What else could I do? It was my happiness,” she cried out stridently. “My life. My… my husband. I did it for you, Rutherford.”

  She turned to him, crying out fearfully, “Don’t look at me like that. My God, don’t look at me as though I’d done anything wrong.”

  She held out her arms and swayed toward him, and when Rodman stepped aside hastily with a look of loathing on his handsome face she fell into a crumpled, sobbing heap at his feet.

  18