Michael Shayne, looking down from the Miami News helicopter, saw the lights of the little city of Leesville, county seat of Jackson County, represented in the Florida Senate for the last thirty years by Judge Grover Kendrick. The pilot set the craft down nicely in the parking lot behind the courthouse.
Having called Kendrick before leaving Tallahassee, Shayne was expected. As he stepped out he was met by a 250-pounder with the unmistakable air of a small-town deputy sheriff. He was an outdoorsman, but that didn’t mean that he got much exercise. He was wearing a stained felt hat and a wrinkled summer suit, bulging in the spot where he would be expected to carry a gun.
He looked Shayne over elaborately, screwing up his little elephants’ eyes. “Mike Shayne-we’re flattered.”
He led the way to a side entrance in the ornate marble building, coming down too hard on his heels, the walk of a whiskey-drinker. Inside, the air had a characteristic courthouse taste, as though it had been in and out of too many lungs. Crossing a lobby lit by a single naked bulb, they passed underneath a display of bullet-torn regimental flags from the losing side in the Civil War, and entered an office.
Judge Kendrick was sitting behind the receptionist’s desk, his carved cane lying in front of him. One gnarled fist was wrapped around a paper cup. The men in the room-there were four or five-averaged fifty pounds apiece overweight. The air was heavy with cigar smoke and male companionship.
They all looked at Shayne as though they considered him a threat to their standard of living and their way of life.
“This here’s Mike Shayne,” the deputy said unnecessarily. “All the way from Miami.”
Kendrick broke the silence that followed by coming to his feet and stretching out a hand. “Yes, I met Shayne this morning at the capitol. I didn’t expect to see you again so soon, but it’s a pleasure and an honor. Let me introduce you around.”
The man who had guided Shayne in from the helicopter was, in fact, a deputy sheriff, named Grady Turner. Next Shayne shook hands with the sheriff. He had the same look around the chops and the same overflowing belly, but he had had a decade longer to ripen. Of the others, one was called “Commissioner,” another “Doc.” They all had chilling smiles and firm handshakes. They looked Shayne in the eye when they shook hands, obviously sincere about hoping he would prove to be a friend so they wouldn’t be called upon to stomp him.
“You boys are going to have to excuse us,” Kendrick told the gathering. “Can’t keep a helicopter waiting.”
He insisted that Shayne precede him, and Grady Turner closed the door behind them. They were in the judge’s own office, a comfortable room furnished with guns and law books, with a large inscribed color photograph of the most recent Democratic president.
The judge stumped to a file and took out a quart mason-jar filled with colorless liquid. There was a burst of hearty male laughter from the outer office, causing a shadow of annoyance to cross his face.
“Let you have a taste of something special,” he said. “Jackson County’s finest export product. Some little old boys made it in the brush up along the Alabama line, but they never applied for a United States revenue permit so you know we had to confiscate it.”
He broke out two paper cups and filled them both, handing one to Shayne. Sitting down behind his big desk, he motioned Shayne to a leather chair facing him.
“Only thing wrong with it, you better drink it fast. Or the wax on the inside of the cup is going to melt on you.”
Shayne emptied his cup in one long swallow.
“It’s smooth,” he agreed. “I don’t want to keep you up any longer than I have to, so-”
“Let me break in briefly. You said you have something for me to hear, and I’ll gladly listen. First let me say a word about your presentation before the committee this morning. Life would be easier if all our witnesses were as succinct. You’re a persuasive arguer. In point of fact, you came close to convincing me.”
“You must have a pretty good idea what I have in my pocket.”
Kendrick lighted a cigar with a kitchen match. “Some proof of lobbying activities on the part of proponents of the bill, I expect. I’m not still wet behind the ears. I’ve spent many a long year ambulating around the corridors of the capitol, observing the interaction of politics and human nature. If this bill passes tomorrow, certain citizens of Dade County stand to benefit enormously, and they can be expected to bend every effort to assure a favorable outcome. Being the kind of people they are, their methods of advocacy may not be gentlemanly or even entirely legal. This is one of the innumerable factors we are obliged to consider. To quote from your testimony, ‘You have to remember these people are crooks.’ Words to that effect. Should we permit such people to solve the state’s financial problems? That is part of the quandary. Did you read the statement I put out yesterday?”
“I’ve been told about it.”
“I tried to pose the questions objectively, without the emotionalism that always seems to force its way in when legalized gambling is mentioned. The tourist interests are for this bill. My own views on the subject of skinning the hapless tourist happen to be somewhat reactionary, but each year tourism contributes more and more, percentage-wise, to Florida’s economic well-being. The old ways are passing. Our state employees want to be paid more money. Welfare costs are rising. Roads, mental hospitals. Do you realize the state budget has tripled in two years? Has tripled? And yet, if we lay an income tax, an inheritance tax, if we increase the already heavy burden on the land and on industry, we discourage new investment and tip the balance even more in the direction of that perpetual carnival you’re running down at your end of the state.”
His cigar was drawing well. He rotated it carefully.
“But you know all the arguments, pro and con, as well as I do, if not better. I almost succeeded in convincing myself that with care and watchfulness we could quarantine ourselves against what would be happening across the Dade County line. And then you came along, with your ‘you have to remember these people are crooks.’ Well.”
“What’s this leading up to? Have you decided to switch back?”
Kendrick permitted himself a tight smile. “Read my statement. Those words were chosen carefully. They meant no more and no less than they said. I came back to Jackson County tonight to take the advice and counsel of some old friends. Up here at the end of the world we look at things differently than you do in the cities.”
“And what’s the consensus?”
Kendrick drew on his cigar carefully. “The consensus hasn’t yet formed. They see the dilemma as well as I do. They’ll be hit by the new taxes. However, this is a godfearing community on the whole, and looked at purely as a political matter, as a question of votes-”
Shayne cut in. “Listen to the tape first. It won’t give me as much satisfaction if you’ve already changed your mind.” He took out a flat tape recorder and set it on the desk beside the jar of whiskey. “I also think you had another reason for coming up here tonight-so you’d have a few witnesses to your whereabouts if you have to dump your son.”
Kendrick’s expression solidified. “Explain that, please.”
“In a moment. I did a lot of chasing around to get my hands on this, and I want to get the right effect. You may not know a lady named Lib Patrick. I took a little Japanese recorder off her about an hour ago. She had it inside her bra-this is hazardous duty. It was about as big as a small pencil. Transistorized, powered by nine-volt batteries, voice-actuated, with three reels of tape. A beauty. I didn’t want anything to happen to it, so I tied it into another recorder and retaped it. I think I can find the part you’ll be interested in.”
Setting the controls in playback position, he pressed the fast-wind button. The recorder produced a gabble of animal noises. When he slowed it down, Grover Kendrick was speaking.
GROVER’S VOICE: — on the vote.
LIB’S VOICE: Never mind. So long as he definitely took the forty thousand.
GROVER: (with a laugh): I had to twist his arm. I never thought it would be so hard to give away money. All those pretty packages of hundred dollar bills.
LIB: That’s a weight off my mind. At just about the last possible minute! And we had to plan around him. I don’t like to think about the next time I wash my hair. I know I’ve turned gray in the last week.
GROVER: Then you’ll be even more gorgeous than you are now. This has been a classy operation. No matter what happens-
LIB: It’s going to work. We can’t lose.
GROVER: That’s right, sweetheart, and what do we want to do to celebrate?
LIB: Not yet. Don’t say things like that, I’m superstitious. I have to ask about a couple of other people. Matt McGranahan is being very cagey, for some reason. How high do you think we have to go?
GROVER: How much has he had from you so far?
LIB: Ten.
GROVER: That’s enough, for God’s sake. He only has his one vote. As far as his influence goes, it’s zero.
LIB (doubtfully): I’m afraid they’re trying to outbid us. I would have said we had Matt pinned, but with Mike Shayne in the picture I’m beginning to worry. Shayne has a well-deserved reputation for getting results. We haven’t heard from him all day, and maybe he’s gone home. I hope. He’s no blue-nose about gambling, like some of these people. I wish I’d thought of hiring Jackie Wales. It never occurred to me.
GROVER: If you don’t mind a suggestion, what you need with McGranahan is leverage. He’s a married man. I thought that was why some of these girls-
LIB (lightly): Darling, leave that part to us. I’ve got a very far-out idea I’d like your opinion on. What do you think Sheldon Maslow would say to a money offer?
GROVER: Are we thinking about the same Sheldon Maslow?
LIB: I know it sounds impossible, but is it really? The race for governor is wide open. If he could get the nomination he could probably win. But getting the nomination will cost money, and everybody tells me he doesn’t have it.
GROVER: Do you have anything to go on? It sounds so-
LIB: Nothing but a look he gave me in a restaurant last night. I went to the ladies room and he made a point of being where he could see me on my way back.
GROVER: Well, you said it was far-out. You couldn’t get him for ten thousand.
LIB (ruefully): As I’m well aware. And the petty-cash box is nearly empty.
Shayne pressed a button, freezing the tape. “That gives you the idea. There are three other male voices besides Grover’s. The subject is the same each time-votes and money.”
“As a matter of curiosity,” Kendrick said, “how much did those votes cost her?”
“The exact sums weren’t mentioned. Does it matter?”
“Perhaps not. But the senate is my stamping ground-I like to keep up with what’s going on there. Now I presume you’re going to tell me what I must do to prevent you from calling the press together to hand out a transcript of that conversation.”
“I’ll come to that in a minute. I’ve been told you had an argument with Maslow this morning. What about?”
“He wanted my support for governor. I refused it.”
“You could have done that by saying no.”
Kendrick gave another frosty smile. “The man has an offensive way about him at times. As governor, he would be a calamity. A thoroughgoing hypocrite, completely unscrupulous.”
There was a tap at the door, and Grady Turner, the deputy sheriff, put his head in.
“Associated Press, from Tallahassee, Judge. What should I tell them?”
“At this time of night? I’d better take it.”
He picked up the phone on his desk and said cordially, “Yes, Joe, Kendrick speaking. How are you and how’s your fine family? — No, you’re not disturbing me a bit. I’ve been sitting around the office with a few old friends, swapping lies about last hunting season.”
He listened for a moment, and said more soberly, “No, I haven’t heard about any fire.”
While Shayne poured himself more whiskey he heard the scratchy voice from Tallahassee telling Kendrick about the events at his fishing lodge. Kendrick had come forward in his chair, his hand closing on his stick. His eyes touched Shayne’s briefly.
“Was anybody hurt? — Who? Who? — I see, yes. That’s terrible news. Joe, do they know how it started? My God! I can’t believe it. Sheldon Maslow. I can’t deny that we’ve had our differences, but I never had anything for him but the highest respect as a man. How terrible, how tragic.” The other voice asked a question Shayne didn’t hear, and the judge answered, “Grover said something about asking a few people out for a drink, to break the last-minute tension, but as far as I know it was completely unplanned. Whoever happened to be sitting around the George Bar. Joe, this is shattering news. I know you’ll understand if I hang up now. Grover must be trying to reach me. Thank you for calling, and I’ll get back to you if possible before the night’s over. I may have to come down.”
He replaced the phone slowly. His eyes were cold and hard.
“Two people dead. That puts your tape in a different light.”
“Senator Maslow’s the only one I know about.”
“And a repairman from the power company. I’ve been calling the camp regularly and getting a busy signal. I notice now that your eyebrows are singed. You were there.”
“Yeah. The place was a tinderbox. The power was off. They were using candles and a kerosene lamp. There was marijuana around, as well as plenty of booze. It could have been an accident. But you know more about Maslow than I do. Who didn’t like him enough to want him dead? That’s why the cops will be asking why you whacked him with a stick this morning. ‘Will the honorable gentleman from Biscayne County yield?… No? Wham!’”
“Senatorial courtesy stops at the edge of the senate floor,” Kendrick snapped. “Where was he when the fire started?”
“In a locked bedroom upstairs, passed out on the floor. Lib Patrick tells me that just before the fire started she heard a pop. When I get a chance I want her to listen to the sound a handgun makes when it’s equipped with a silencer. That would do it. You could shoot in through a window and put a slug in the kerosene lamp. You’d get a Molotov-cocktail effect.”
“How do you know he was drunk?”
“He seemed to be drunk. I dragged him out in time, so we can take a blood sample and find out for sure.”
“Do you have any other bad news for me, Shayne?”
“No, that’s about all.”
Kendrick made a face and stubbed out his cigar. “I suppose I sounded like a politician on the phone. I meant some of that. Sheldon Maslow was totally uncongenial to me. His ambition was too naked. There are explanations-his family didn’t have money, he had to work like a dog to put himself through law school. I shouldn’t have spoken as I did about his lack of ethical judgment.”
He reached for the whiskey, but checked himself. “Shayne, what are your terms?”
“For suppressing the tape? I may not be able to do that. What effect will this death have on the vote tomorrow?”
The judge considered before shaking his head. “There are too many imponderables.”
“Yeah. I’ve been trying to add them up, and they cancel each other out. What was an anti-corruption man doing at a lobbyist’s party? I hope the cops managed to get the names of everybody there. I have an idea some of the girls have been fingerprinted, at one time or another. What are the possibilities? If he wanted to get in on the flow of cash, that’s bad for us. If he wanted to take pictures so he could blackmail the guests, that’s also bad. It’s even bad if all he wanted to do was expose the methods the opposition was using. That kind of thing is all right for people like me, but he’s not supposed to get down in the mud personally. He had too much to drink and they took away his camera. That’s terrible. It makes him a joke. All you can say for sure is that there’s one less vote against the casinos, Maslow’s own.”
Kendrick slumped sideward in the big chair, and all at once he looked tired and old.
“Let’s do it this way,” Shayne said. “We’ll want a statement from you early enough to make the nine o’clock news. You’re shocked and moved. Sheldon Maslow’s tragic death makes you realize he was right, and you want the senate to vote down this bill as a memorial to everything he stood for. And make sure your people know you mean it, because if the bill goes through, we’ll use the tape to get a veto.”
“That seems-well thought out,” Kendrick said heavily.
“It would be a hell of a climax to your career, whether or not they get you for malfeasance.”
“Glorious,” Kendrick said, and struggled to stand. “My elderly stomach is about to betray me, I find. The stress is at cross-purposes with the corn whiskey.”
Leaning painfully on his stick, he went into a little washroom off his office, and Shayne heard the door of a medicine cabinet open.
The air was crackling with messages. Kendrick was hardly the type to be sick to his stomach at a time like this. Perhaps, Shayne decided, the moment had come for him to get the hell out of Leesville.
He wasn’t quick enough. Glass shattered in the washroom, and the jagged neck of a medicine bottle struck the carpet at Shayne’s feet. He opened the door to the outer office, and Judge Kendrick cried in a shrill voice behind him, “Stop the son of a bitch.”
The cry brought all the fat men to their feet. Turner and the sheriff groped automatically for their weapons. They were all looking past Shayne with expressions of horror.
Shayne turned. The judge was leaning against the edge of his desk, blood streaming down his face. He had drawn the jagged edge of the bottle across his forehead in a long, slanting line.
He said, “I’m going to make sure you regret that, Shayne.”