The Corpse Came Calling by Brett Halliday

rattled the knob. A hoarse voice shouted:
    “Open up in there before we break the door down.”
    Leroy said, “Sounds like cops—but how the hell? Come on, Joe! Out the fire escape.”
    They ran through the kitchen to the fire escape while the pounding went on. Shayne was still working on the job of getting to his feet. He lurched to the door and jerked it open, sagged back against the wall while two red-faced policemen burst in, followed by the desk clerk.
    Shayne pointed to the kitchen and muttered, “They went that way.”
    The cops ran through the kitchen and a moment later were clattering down the fire escape.
    Shayne drew in a deep breath and grinned weakly at the clerk. “The telephone, eh? When I threw the bottle it knocked the phone to the floor.”
    “That’s right, Mr. Shayne. I was on the switchboard and I could hear noises and voices. I knew something must be wrong. There were two policemen still in the lobby, so I thought—”
    “Didn’t a couple of thugs ask at the desk for me?”
    “No, sir.” The clerk shook his head emphatically. “They must have slipped in the side door and up the stairs.”
    Shayne nodded. He stumbled away from the wall and made the distance to Phyllis. He pulled her robe together, and the clerk helped him loosen the tape binding her mouth and limbs while he clucked solicitously and asked anxious questions which Shayne did not answer.
    Phyllis tried to laugh and drew Shayne’s battered head to her bosom when she was released. Through lips that were sore and swollen from removing the tape she cried, “Oh, Michael! I thought I’d die. Sitting here unable to move—”
    Shayne muttered, “I was afraid I wouldn’t” He lifted his head and said over his shoulder to the clerk, “Thanks a hell of a lot, bud. I guess you’ve done about all you can do right now.”
    The clerk stammered, “Yes—I guess I have, Mr. Shayne,” and went out hastily.
    It was very quiet in the apartment. Shayne was on his knees with his arms around his wife, and he kept his head pressed against her for a long time. Then he drew away and said, “I’m getting your robe bloody, angel.” He got up, steadying himself with one hand on the table.
    Phyllis covered her face with her hands and began crying.
    Shayne said, “It’s all right, Phyl. Some good cognac spilled—that’s all the real damage. And we’ve learned something important. A while ago we were wondering whether the scrap of cardboard meant anything. We don’t have to wonder about that angle any more.”
    Phyllis took her hands away from her face. Tears were rolling down her cheeks. “C-Couldn’t you—have thought of an easier way to find out?”
    Shayne fingered his swollen jaw, the lump on the side of his head, and his bleeding ear. “I’ve always done things the hard way. And,” his voice hardened, “I’ve never yet taken a beating that someone didn’t pay for later.” He leaned over and caught her face between his palms. “Don’t think those birds won’t pay for this.”
    Phyllis shivered and caught his wrists. “Can’t you drop the case, Mike? Give the police that piece of cardboard—tell them the whole truth?”
    Shayne stood up. He took a backward step and dragged air into his lungs. He asked, “Do you want me to quit, Phyl?”
    She looked at him with tears still streaming down her face. His bare flesh was bruised and crimsoned with his own blood. Through her dimmed eyes she saw him as he had been when he inexorably stalked Leroy and the menace of his gun. It seemed to her that she could still hear the sound of his laughter ringing through the room. Terrible laughter. She shuddered and closed her eyes.
    “Shouldn’t you—this time?” she pleaded. “You’re pitting yourself against the federal authorities, the police—and against those horrible thugs. If the G-men were after Lacy, don’t you suppose it was because of the piece of cardboard? Shouldn’t you co-operate—just this once?”
    Shayne asked more