When Mrs. Wilson went into the bedroom and closed the door, Shayne leaned against the inner threshold of the door from the outside office listening to Gentry and his men snapping pictures and going over the death room with microscopic thoroughness.
The room before him was a combined sitting room, dining room and kitchen. Worn and grease-smeared linoleum covered the floor, a sink and cupboard occupied one corner, and there was a gas range and an old-fashioned icebox beside it. A kitchen table covered with faded oil cloth was pushed back against the wall with an unpainted kitchen chair at either end. A shabby sofa stood against the opposite wall, with a floor lamp at one end and a smoking stand drawn up close. Clem Wilson’s blackened briar pipe lay on the smoking stand and the Miami News lay on the floor beside it.
Beyond the other closed door, Shayne could hear Mrs. Wilson moving about in the bedroom, getting dressed and packing a few things to take with her.
Shayne reached in the slanting pocket of his trench coat and took out the bottle of cognac he had snatched up as he ran from his office-apartment. His eyes were narrowed as he twisted the cork out and put the bottle to his lips. He could hear Gentry giving gruff orders about removing the body, and presently there was silence in the outer room.
His gaze wandered around the little room as he recorked the bottle. He had become intimately acquainted with every detail of the scene during long and pleasant visits with Clem Wilson. Though uneducated and poor, Wilson had been a philosopher of sorts and they had had some good talks here in the back room when Shayne occasionally stopped to have his tank filled. Wilson had been proud of his two sons in the service. On the wall where he could lift his eyes to it while seated, hung a framed picture of the boys together.
Shayne sank wearily on the sofa and looked up at the picture. He frowned and drew in his breath sharply. The ten-cent-store frame was still there against the soot-stained wallpaper, but only one pair of eyes looked down at him. This was Joe Wilson, a grave-faced youth proudly wearing the uniform of a sailor. Joe Wilson, who had gone down with his torpedoed ship in the Solomons two months ago.
Shayne slid the cognac bottle back into his pocket and got up, walked over to look more closely at the frame. He was not mistaken. This was only half of the picture which had originally been in the frame. The Wilson boys had posed for it together while Joe was home on leave and Bob had just enlisted in the Army. Joe, the elder brother, had had his arm loosely around the shoulders of his grinning brother, Bob.
Shayne fumbled for a cigarette and stuck it between his lips with his eyes fixed on the picture. He could see clearly that the figure of Bob had been cut out of the double photograph. Joe’s left arm was cut off just beyond the shoulder. The single figure had been moved to the center of the frame, leaving a strip of blank cardboard background on either side.
It didn’t make sense. He knew that Clem and his wife had been as proud of Bob as of Joe. Bob was the baby, their favorite, if, indeed, people like Mr. and Mrs. Wilson had a favorite. Bob had been a little wild, a laughing youngster who refused to consider life a serious business. Bob had been the instrument, in fact, which had brought Shayne and Clem Wilson together. He had been in trouble the previous year, and Shayne had arrested him in the company of older men in an attempted drugstore robbery.
Because of his youth and inexperience, and believing he recognized a basic honesty which had been led astray, the detective had not booked Bob Wilson with his older companions, but had brought him home to his father to be punished.
Shayne remembered that punishment. He still winced when he recalled the thrashing Clem Wilson had administered to his erring son. And Clem had been grateful for the consideration shown. Thus they had drifted into a close friendship founded on mutual respect.
No. It certainly did not make sense. Perhaps because of that one mistake, or because he recognized an intrinsic weakness in his younger son’s character, Clem Wilson had been a proud and happy father the day Bob enlisted in the Army. To him it signified that Bob had become a responsible citizen and a son of whom he could justly be proud.
The doorknob of the bedroom turned and Shayne hastily walked away from the framed picture. He struck light to a cigarette and tossed the match into the ashtray as Mrs. Wilson came out wearing a neat black dress and carrying a rattan suitcase. He took the bag from her withered hand, and asked briskly, “Are you sure you have everything you need?”
“I reckon I have, Mr. Shayne,” she answered tonelessly. “I’ll be going to Joe’s wife. She’s expecting come two months, and it’s just as good I should be with her. Sarah’s like my own girl, and we’ll make out. She’s got Joe’s insurance you know, for her and the baby.” The ghost of a smile moved her thin lips. She gave Shayne the address in the southern suburbs of the city, and followed him apathetically into the office.
Chalk lines and a pool of blood near the door were the only indication that a dead man had recently lain there. Shayne led her out to his car and put the suitcase in the back, helped her in, and drove down the Trail with dimmed lights.
Bright moonlight outlined the Buick coupe and the police car which were still parked off the pavement. Shayne stopped when he came abreast of the radio car, got out, muttering to Mrs. Wilson, “I’ll only be a minute.”
The policeman was lounging in the front seat of his car smoking a cigarette. Mr. Carlton was on his knees beside the Buick tightening the lugs of his spare wheel on the right rear axle.
Shayne went to the police car and rested his elbows on the door. “Got yourself a new job, Gary?”
“Yeh. Damned nursemaid,” he grumped. He spat with disgust through the opposite door. “Chief says I’m to ride herd on this guy. Ain’t supposed to let him out of my sight. Does that mean I have to sleep with him?”
Shayne grinned. “Maybe his wife’s good-looking and you can sleep between them,” he offered.
“Fat chance. Even if I get that break he’ll probably turn out to be a light sleeper. You figure they’ll try to get him, Mike? Account of he saw them two torpedoes.”
“I doubt it. Not if they can get me first. I wouldn’t worry too much.”
Shayne went over to Carlton, who had taken the jack from under the wheel and was stowing it in his luggage compartment. “It looks as if you’ll be adequately protected, Mr. Carlton.”
Carlton nodded, brushing the knees of his trousers. “I don’t like to seem unduly worried, but I confess the protection of an officer will be welcome. It does seem to me,” he went on severely, “that no useful purpose was served by publishing my willingness to identify the murderers. I may have been overly enthusiastic listening to you and Chief Gentry speaking of patriotism. Those men had their hats pulled down low on their foreheads, and they looked very tough. What if I slipped up trying to do my duty?”
“Don’t worry,” Shayne said soothingly. “It’ll give them more reason to bump me off before I can show them to you for identification. I doubt whether they’ll bother you at all if they can get me out of the way. After all, I’m the only one who actually knows where to look for them. You’re not a danger to them unless they’re arrested and put into the lineup. If they are, I’ll see that they wear hats pulled low over their foreheads.”
“That’s some consolation,” Carlton agreed in a relieved voice. He came close to Shayne and asked, “Just between us, how much do you know, Mr. Shayne? I’ll admit I became confused listening to you and Chief Gentry arguing, but it seems to me if the filling station man told you anything definite, you’d be out after them right now.”
Shayne laughed lightly and cheerfully. “It isn’t that simple. I’ve got to do some checking. This is a big thing, and there are a lot of loose ends to be tied together to verify what Clem told me.”
“Oh, I see,” Carlton murmured. “I know nothing of such things, of course.”
Shayne put a hand on Carlton’s shoulder and said firmly, “I promise you it won’t be long, and I want you to know I appreciate what you’re doing. It would have been easy for you to have denied seeing the men. If more citizens would do their duty courageously we’d have less racketeering.”
Carlton squared his shoulders and his eyes were grateful, but his tone was deprecative when he said, “I’m afraid it wasn’t courage that prompted me. Frankly, I’m frightened. I’m a family man, Mr. Shayne, and have to consider others besides myself. But the evasion of rationing is, as you said, a vicious evil, and must be stamped out.”
“You’ve done a brave thing,” Shayne told him cheerfully, “whatever your motives were. But don’t worry. Gary will keep tabs on you,” he called on his way back to his car.
Shayne slid the gears in and rolled away.
Mrs. Wilson put a timid hand on his arm and asked, “How much did Clem tell you tonight, Mr. Shayne? Before he got shot?”
“Enough,” Shayne assured her, “to make certain his murderers won’t get away with it.”
Her hand trembled and tightened on his arm. “Was it… was it gas racketeers like you told the police?”
Shayne glanced at her wrinkled face. “I didn’t exactly tell the police that, but it all adds up… what you heard and the way Clem acted as soon as the car drove away.”
“You’re not… not keeping anything from me, are you, Mr. Shayne?” she asked in a faint voice. Her hand had slid back into her lap and her fingers intertwined.
“What makes you think I am keeping something from you, Mrs. Wilson?”
Her body trembled against him. “Oh, I don’t know. Oh, God! I don’t know.” She began to sob silently.
Shayne waited a while, then asked gently, “You’re not holding anything back from me, are you?”
“You mean… about tonight?” she asked between sobs.
“About tonight,” Shayne said. “You’re positive you didn’t see anyone or recognize the voices arguing with Clem? Didn’t he say anything to indicate who they were when he came in to ask my telephone number?”
She shivered. The night air was growing chilly. Shayne said, “You’re cold. Roll up your window and I’ll close mine part way.”
She fumbled for the handle and rolled her window up tight. “What… makes you think… I mighta recognized their voices?” she asked through chattering teeth.
“Are you sure you didn’t?” Shayne’s tone was suddenly firm.
“Yes… I’m certain sure.” She stopped sobbing and a nervousness twitched her emaciated body. “I’ll swear it… on my Bible. But… I wish you’d tell me who you think it was. Seems to me like… I’ve got the right to know… who killed Clem.”
“It’s very important for me not to tell what Clem told me,” Shayne said. “I couldn’t even tell Chief Gentry for fear he might bungle things trying to do his duty.”
“Why are you so dead set on keeping it to yourself?” she asked after a brief silence. “If anything happens to you there’d be nobody else could do much.”
“You’ll have to trust me.”
“You’ve been a good friend to us, Mr. Shayne. Clem was always that proud of the way you’d set and talk with ’im, and you were mighty good that time when Bob got in trouble. Oh, I do trust you.” Her voice shook with sincerity.
“Then let me handle this my own way. I’ve got the others to fight, and I know what I’m doing.”
Mrs. Wilson suddenly relaxed and her slight weight leaned against Shayne as though she sought warmth and strength from his body. “Tell me one thing,” she whispered. “You’re not keeping nothin’ back on account of friendship for Clem and me? Swear you’re not.”
Shayne felt her tense again and grow rigid against him. He frowned and said slowly, “I don’t believe I understand exactly what you mean, Mrs. Wilson.”
“Maybe you don’t, but I want to tell you this. Clem was a mighty good man. I reckon just about the best man any woman ever had to do for her. I don’t care who killed him. Do you hear me? I don’t care who done it… you’re not to protect ’im. I want he should pay for it.” Her voice rose to a hysterical note and she moved away from him, crouching against the opposite car door.
Shayne said soothingly, “Of course they will pay. I’ll see to that.”
His answer appeared to satisfy her. She sighed deeply and made herself comfortable against the cushions, drying her eyes with a man’s cotton handkerchief.
Shayne turned to the right off Tamiami Trail. He said, “How about Bob, Mrs. Wilson?”
“Bob? What… about Bob?” She stiffened to an upright position and her voice had a sharp ring.
“I mean about notifying him of his father’s death. If you’ll give me his address I’ll take care of it for you. Maybe he could get a furlough and come home.”
“I… I don’t know his address.” Her voice trembled and she continued to sit stiffly, her body bent slightly forward with her hands tightly clasped. “Bob was due to be shipped out to God knows where. That’s what he said in his last letter.”
“Yeh. I know. Clem told me a couple of weeks ago. But you have some address where he could be reached.”
“There’s a letter and some figures after his name,” she mumbled vaguely. “Care of the postmaster in New York, I think ’twas. But there’s no use tryin’ to let Bob know. He’s… most likely on the ocean right now.”
“He may not have been shipped yet,” Shayne said gently. “Maybe I can get in touch with his outfit and find out. Wasn’t he at a camp in Georgia?”
“Y-e-e-s.” She gave him the name of the camp reluctantly. “But you got enough on your mind ’thout botherin’ about Bob, Mr. Shayne. I’ll get a telegram off to ’im right away.”
Shayne said, “You do that. It’ll be better that way.” He slowed and stopped in front of a small stucco bungalow on 14th Street. “I believe this is the number,” he said doubtfully.
“This is it.” She had the door open, ready to get out, but Shayne detained her.
“There’s one thing I want to warn you about, Mrs. Wilson.” He paused thoughtfully and phrased his words carefully. “They may suspect Clem told you more than he did before he telephoned me. There’s a chance they’ll try to harm you… try to find out how much you know. I’m going to ask Gentry to post a police guard over you and your daughter-in-law.”
“You won’t do no such thing,” she responded with spirit. “Sarah’s got Joe’s pistol and I’d be proud of a chance to use it on whoever killed Clem.”
Shayne studied her thin face in the dim light. “Well, promise me one thing,” he said earnestly. “If you notice the least thing… anyone hanging around or following you… anything of a suspicious nature… call the police at once. Don’t go out by yourself at night, and above all, don’t let yourself be lured away by any fake telephone calls or messages.”
“Don’t you worry about me. You go right out and get them crooks.” She got out and Shayne lifted her suitcase from the rear of the car and went up the walk with her. There was no electric button, so he knocked loudly on the door.
A light came on and after a moment the door opened. The young girl standing in the opening was quite obviously and proudly pregnant. She exclaimed, “Why… Mother! What on earth…?”
Shayne slid the suitcase inside the door and went back to his car. He had a sour taste in his mouth as he drove away. He slumped low under the wheel. He had inured himself against hurt. Sorrow and grief were for lesser men than he, but as he drove toward Miami in the bright moonlight an acute pain gripped him. Sarah Wilson, the widow of Joe Wilson, carrying his child so proudly within her slender body, and Shayne suffered the agony of the damned, remembering his own slender, dark-eyed wife who had not been so fortunate as the humble wife of Joe Wilson.
With all his strength he pulled himself erect. He was nearing the outskirts of the business section of Miami. He squinted at the numbers on buildings and realized that the one he sought was in the next block.