Blood on Biscayne Bay by Brett Halliday

the planking last night while she drifted away. Whatley and I figure she was bopped on the head when she come around back to get in last night, and then the guy carried her out here and slit her throat while he was holding her out over the edge so’s there wouldn’t be any bloodstains left. We figure—”
    “Keep your figuring to yourself,” said Painter furiously. He turned on Shayne and said, “Keep out of my way. I’m warning you, just keep out of my way.”
    Shayne grinned and nodded. He said, “Okay,” and turned and sauntered back across the lawn to the front.
    A Buick roadster was pulled up behind his waiting cab, and behind that was Chief Painter’s official car. A Beach homicide sedan was parked behind it.
    Shayne got in the cab and said to the driver, “Pull ahead a couple of blocks and then circle back where we can watch these cars without being seen. We may have a long wait.”
    “Look, boss,” the driver remonstrated, “waitin’ around like this ain’t so good these days. A guy don’t put much on the meter standin’ still.”
    Shayne gave him a five-dollar bill and asked, “Will that fix it?”
    “Sure—you bet,” the driver said, and followed the instructions Shayne had given him.

 
Chapter Six: COMPROMISING LETTERS
     
    SHAYNE HAD A LONG WAIT in the taxi. He had time to think things over, particularly with regard to his own unenviable position in the affair. Chief Painter would inevitably discover that he had ridden to the Hudson house in a taxi with Natalie Briggs. The doorman had ample opportunity to get a good look at him the preceding night, and the odd scene regarding the cab would cause him to remember vividly. As soon as the story and the dead girl’s picture appeared in the papers the taxi driver, too, would come forward with his story.
    Shayne frowned and worried his left ear lobe. It looked now as though Natalie had walked around to the back of the house and met a waiting murderer at the moment Shayne was at the front door inquiring for Mrs. Hudson. The taxi driver had seen him follow the girl through the front gate, but couldn’t testify that she had hurried on to the rear while Shayne went up the front steps. The hibiscus hedge shut off his view. He would probably say that there had been sufficient time for Shayne to have done the job before he returned to the cab and was driven back to Miami.
    There would be no point in catching the noon plane to New Orleans now, Shayne mused. Painter would jerk him back for questioning before he’d have time even to start investigating the Belton case. And it certainly wouldn’t do to make a clean breast of his part in the affair to Painter. There were too many implausible coincidences that couldn’t be explained. He was definitely behind the eight-ball, and the only way to get out was to turn up the real murderer in a hurry.
    From his own predicament, his thoughts drifted to Christine. He realized he was more worried about that angle than about his own involvement. She hadn’t told him the truth. He recalled with a tinge of anger her reaction when he had tried to return the pearls to her. She had been very happy to get her IOU back until she learned he hadn’t hocked the necklace to pay off her debt What was it she had cried out just before her husband and Painter interrupted? He went over the scene in his mind. “Oh, God! You’ve ruined everything. Now I’ll never—”
    How had he ruined everything? His anger mounted. Damn it, he had saved her ten grand at the very least. He had brought back a priceless heirloom, and saved her from having to reveal at some future date that the original necklace had been switched for a cheap duplicate. He had been rather proud of the way he had handled the affair up until that moment.
    Sergeant Whatley and his partner came sauntering out the front gate and got into their sedan and drove away. That meant they were through taking fingerprints and checking the physical aspects of the girl’s room