She Woke to Darkness (16 page)

“You’re lying in your teeth,” Shayne told him. “There’s nothing mysterious about the phone call, as you well know. Elsie made it and met Green that night. Both you and Jenson know that. You covered up for her at the time… and now
she’s
dead. Get Jenson’s telephone number,” he went on harshly. “You’re going to call him and tell him exactly what I tell you to say.”

Lew Recker shrugged with an elaborate attempt at nonchalance and went to the telephone stand. He took out the Manhattan directory and thumbed through it, wetting his lips and turning to ask, “What do you want me to tell Dave if he’s home?”

“Tell him this.” Shayne moved forward to stand beside Recker. “That he’s to come here at once. That the alibi you and he fixed up for Elsie Murray on Green’s death three months ago is blowing up in your faces since her death last night and things look bad. Insist that he come here immediately. One single word of warning from you to him about what he’s walking into will get you the goddamnedest beating you ever wrote about in any of your lousy books.”

Lew Recker fearfully wet his lips again as he glanced back at the telephone book. Shayne leaned over his shoulder to check the number, and watched carefully while Recker dialed it. He stood ominously close with right fist doubled while Recker waited for an answer, and then said:

“Is that you, Lucy? Lew Recker. Is Dave there?” He turned his head to nod at Shayne, waited another few moments and then drew in a deep breath to say rapidly:

“Lew Recker, Dave. I suppose you know about Elsie Murray last night?”

He listened for a long moment, then broke in impatiently: “Let’s not discuss it over the phone. Come down to my place at once, Dave. It’s damned important. We’ve got to decide what to do. The police have been here and they’re digging into the old Green affair. Remember?”

He listened again, nodding his head slowly. “That’s right. They seem to think there’s a connection. I’ve got to talk with you quickly. Right. I’ll be right here waiting.”

He replaced the receiver and asked sullenly, “Was that what you wanted?”

“Exactly.” Shayne’s voice was uncompromising. “Go pour us a drink if you’ve got one in the joint while I make a call of my own.”

He took the receiver and dialed the MWA number while Recker stepped back and spoke briefly to Estelle and the two of them went out through a side door.

A woman’s voice answered the telephone and Shayne asked, “Is this Dorothy Gardiner?”

“Yes. Who is it?”

“Michael Shayne. Ed Radin and I…”

“Oh, Mr. Shayne. I’ve been sitting here beside the telephone waiting for you to call. They’ve found Brett Halliday. Ed just called in. He’s alive but unconscious and hurt badly, I’m afraid.”

18.

Shayne said, “Where is Brett?”

“At some hospital, I think,” Miss Gardiner told him. “Ed called in a few minutes ago from the Berkshire Hotel. You’re to call him there at room three-oh-five.”

Shayne said, “Thanks. I’ll be at this number another half hour or so if anything comes up.” He looked down at Recker’s number on the dial of the phone and gave it to her, then replaced the receiver and hurriedly looked up the Berkshire number. He dialed it and asked for 305, and a gruff voice answered.

He asked for Radin and waited a moment until Ed’s voice came over. He said, “Mike Shayne, Ed. I just talked to Miss Gardiner.”

“They
think
Brett will recover,” Radin told him. “He’s unconscious and they rushed him to the Lenox Hill hospital for X-rays. May be concussion. He was supposed to be dead,” the crime writer went on angrily, “in this room right down the corridor from his suite. He was evidently slugged unconscious and then dragged down here and left bound and gagged with strips torn from a sheet. He evidently came to his senses enough to roll off the bed and knock the telephone off the bed table. The operator noticed it and sent a boy up. There was a DO NOT DISTURB sign on the door, but they opened up and found Brett unconscious on the floor.

“What else have you got?” Shayne asked evenly when Radin paused for breath.

“Too damned little. This room was rented at six-thirty this morning by a man who registered as Alan Dexter from Waco, Texas. He explained to the clerk that he’d just arrived by plane and his baggage had been held up. He paid cash for the room and requested one on the third floor with some vague sort of explanation about a phobia he had. It’s a slack time and there were several vacancies, so he managed to get three-oh-five near Brett. That’s all of it.”

“Description?”

“Hell, it’s like it always is. No one paid particular attention. He was well-dressed and medium all over. Desk clerk
thinks
he could identify him but isn’t at all sure.”

“I think we’ll be able to give him a chance to do that within an hour or so,” Shayne said crisply. “I’m here at Lew Recker’s apartment waiting for a visitor who should be able to clean things up for us. Where’ll you be?”

“Up to the hospital to check on Brett first. What has Lew to do with it, Mike?”

Shayne heard a clink of glasses behind him and turned his head to see his unwilling host re-enter the room with a tray of drinkables. He said loudly into the phone:

“Recker has enough to do with it that I’m going to beat his goddamned brains out if Brett doesn’t come out of it all right. He’s Ralph, Ed. And I’ve got Doris here, too.”

“Ralph and Doris?” Ed Radin’s voice was excited now. “You’re moving fast. Shall I call you from the hospital?”

“Please. The moment you know anything.” Shayne hung up and turned with a scowl to the couple who were standing side by side at the rear of the room, looking at him with frightened speculation.

“You heard me, Recker,” Shayne said grimly, moving toward them. “On account of the lie you told the police three months ago, Elsie Murray is dead and my best friend may be at any moment. Think that over while we’re waiting for Jenson to show up.”

He went deliberately to the low table where Recker had placed the tray containing an ice bucket, whiskey and glasses. He put three cubes of ice in a tall glass, filled it two-thirds full of whiskey and swirled the cubes slowly while Recker demanded in a shocked voice:

“Brett Halliday? He’s hurt?”

“Badly.” Shayne took a drink of whiskey, glaring over the top of his glass at Recker.

“What did you mean by saying I’m Ralph?” Recker asked weakly.

“And that someone named Doris was here?” put in Estelle. “I told you my name is Estelle Stevens.”

“It’s an idiosyncrasy of mine,” Shayne told them. “I get cryptic as all hell when I’m working on a case. I refer to my suspects by names I feel they
should
have instead of their real names.”

“Suspects?” Recker sounded half-shocked and half-amused. “Estelle and myself?”

“Someone murdered Elsie Murray last night. And someone tried to murder Brett Halliday early this morning because he knew too much.” Michael Shayne took a deep draught of the iced liquor. “I’m narrowing it down,” he went on quietly, “and neither of you, by God, is in the clear. Have a drink, you two,” he went on conversationally, “while I make another phone call.”

He turned toward the telephone, hesitated and asked Estelle, “What’s the name of the bar where I met you?”

“The Durbin.” She spelled it out for him while Lew Recker, his face tight and expressionless, carefully began mixing highballs for the two of them.

Shayne looked up the Durbin in the book and dialed the number. When a voice answered, he said, “I’d like to speak to Officer Grady, please.”

“Grady?” The voice sounded doubtful.

“The cop from the beat. If he happens to be around.”

“Oh, him? Hold it a minute.”

Shayne held it until Grady’s voice came over the wire, “Yeah? Who’s calling?”

“Mike Shayne. Keeping an eye on our friend all right?”

“You bet.” The bluecoat lowered his voice. “Nothing happened yet. It’s the lunch hour rush and he’s stepping lively pouring drinks.”

Shayne said, “I want him over here.” He gave Recker’s address and apartment number. “Can you handle it or should I call Headquarters to send a detective around?”

“I can handle it okay.” Grady hesitated, then went on doubtfully, “If it’s not a pinch, how’d it be if I wait fifteen or twenty minutes? Things’re beginning to slack off now, and he’s due to be off duty shortly. That way’ll be easier, if there’s no big rush.”

“No rush at all,” Shayne told him. “I’ll trust you to bring him along as soon as he’s free.” He hung up and moved back to the tray to pick up his drink with a preoccupied look on his face.

Recker and Estelle had been conferring together in low voices while he was telephoning, and Recker now demanded defiantly:

“Isn’t it about time you quit being so mysterious and told us what’s on your mind? You bust in here without any explanation at all, make all sorts of vague accusations with nothing to back them up. Haven’t we any rights at all?”

“You’ll both get exactly what’s coming to you,” Shayne promised him. He began pacing up and down the room, taking short sips of his drink, his brow furrowed in thought.

“How soon will your friend be here?”

“Dave Jenson? Any time now. If he took a subway down.”

Shayne nodded, pausing to study the room with narrowed eyes. “I’m going to assume that you’re as interested as I am in getting the goods on Elsie’s killer.”

“Naturally I am.” Lew Recker spoke strongly. “I simply can’t see Dave in that connection. My God, he’s…”

Shayne made a swift gesture with his open hand. “No matter what sort of person Dave Jenson is, I strongly suspect he’s a double murderer. Keep that in mind while I go on.

“His first reaction when he arrives is going to be very important. I want him to do some talking before he realizes there’s anyone else here. Even Estelle. I want you to lead him on, Recker. It shouldn’t be too difficult. Act scared as you did over the phone and tell him the police have been here questioning you about the Elbert Green murder. Remind him of the way you helped cover up for Elsie on the telephone call, and…”

“But I didn’t,” protested Recker between clenched teeth. “I’ve told you again and again I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“And I still say you’re a liar. You play this my way or else.” Shayne strode through the side door off the living room and found himself in a hallway leading directly into a small kitchenette, with a bedroom opening off on the left.

He turned back and beckoned to Estelle, saying, “You and I will step in here when Jenson comes. We’ll leave the door ajar so we can hear everything, and I’ll be watching you, Recker. Put your door on the latch right now, so you can stand back here in my sight while you call for him to come in. Stay there in my sight while you talk to him. If you make one gesture to warn him I’m here it’ll be too damned bad for you.”

“I won’t do anything like that,” protested Recker weakly. “Why in the name of God should I? If Dave has done anything, I certainly have no reason to protect him.”

He went forward as he spoke, opened his front door and pressed the button that took it off the night-latch. He closed it again, and Estelle came over submissively to stand next to Michael Shayne at the side door. She was trembling and her voice shook a trifle as she asked him, “Couldn’t I just go now? I’ve told you everything I know. I don’t see why I have to stay.”

“Because I don’t know yet how much you’ve told me is truth and how much isn’t.” Shayne put his hand on her arm and stiffened as the soft thud of footsteps sounded in the carpeted hallway outside. “That may be Jenson now. Do your stuff, Recker.”

He drew her back through the doorway, holding her arm in a firm grip. Leaving the door partially ajar, he stood where he could watch his host through the opening.

There was a knock on the door, and Recker glanced aside nervously to be sure Shayne and Estelle were invisible to anyone entering the room, then called out loudly, “Come in.”

Shayne heard the outer door open, and a pleasing baritone voice exclaimed, “Lew! What’s this about Elsie and the police?”

Recker stood where he was. “You heard what happened to her last night?”

“Of course. She got her foolish neck twisted just as she’s been begging to have done for years. What’s that to do with you and me?”

“I don’t know. The police seem to think her murder goes back somehow to that other thing three months ago. When a man named Green was murdered.”

For a moment there was no response from David Jenson. Shayne would have given a great deal to have been able to watch his face at the moment, but it was best, he thought, to remain concealed as long as possible.

“Green?” the newcomer finally said in an oddly altered voice. “I thought that was what you said over the telephone. But why, Lew? She was completely in the clear on that, as you know.”

“The cops don’t seem to think so.” Recker’s voice shook slightly. “They’re trying to tear down her alibi for that night… trying to prove, I guess, that she went to the hotel with him and did it.”

“But that’s impossible! You took her home that night, practically passed out, and… well damn it, maybe you never did know this, Lew. I don’t suppose the police told you at the time. No reason why they should. They were damned decent about not giving it to the papers, and Lucy never did find out. But I
know
she had nothing to do with Green because I was in her apartment with her all the time.”

“I didn’t know that.” Watching Lew Recker carefully through the half-open side door, Shayne was convinced the writer hadn’t known this fact. He made a hopeful gesture, now, and said, “All you have to do then is to remind the police of that and convince them they’re barking up the wrong tree.”

“But how did they get started on this line?” demanded Jensen’s voice in a tone of genuine puzzlement. “They’ve got your testimony and mine in the old records.”

“Don’t ask me why any cops thinks what he thinks or does what he does. There’s something,” went on Recker unwillingly, “about a telephone call Elsie is supposed to have made that night.”

“A telephone call?”

Recker nodded, tight-lipped. “I don’t know where the idea came from but they’re trying to prove she went to some barroom near her place that night and telephoned Elbert Green to come and pick her up outside the place.”