pair of cuffs on Shayne,” the chief directed pleasantly.
Shayne thrust his hands deep in his pockets and took a backward step. “Dammit, Will,” he raged, “you’re making the biggest mistake of your life.”
“I don’t think so. You can either talk now or sit in a cell until you decide to give me what you’ve got.” The trenches deepened in Shayne’s cheeks, and his voice was hoarse with anger and disbelief.
“This is a fool move. Let me work out my own angles and I’ll solve both murders for you.”
“Give me what you’ve got and I’ll attend to solving the murders. I can’t take this sort of thing from you any longer, Mike,” he continued in a pleading tone. “I’ve let you have your head too often in the past, and look at the publicity it’s got me. People read the papers and get the idea that we don’t need a police department in Miami, that you’re a one-man homicide bureau.”
“Maybe they’d be right at that,” Shayne said angrily. “Give me a little time on this. Just a few hours.”
“I’ve done that too often,” Gentry told him stolidly. “We sit around and twiddle our thumbs while you withhold vital information until you can work out some sort of deal to collect a whopping fee for solving a case we’d have tied in knots if you didn’t hold out. This time it’s going to be different. If you won’t give, at least I’ll know you’re put away where you can’t make a deal. Go ahead and put the cuffs on him, Morgan.”
Shayne was shaking with rage. He backed away another step, taking his hands from his pockets and clenching them into fists.
“Before God,” he grated, “I’ll break the jaw of the first man—”
“Dennis—Martin,” Gentry ordered gruffly, “help Morgan arrest this tough shamus.”
Shayne was thinking fast and fighting against his overpowering anger as the three officers moved toward him. “Better hold it a minute, boys. I’ve got to figure this thing out.”
The trio paused, glancing at Gentry for orders, uneasily aware of the redhead’s long friendship with the chief.
“You’ll have lots of time to figure it out in jail,” said Gentry. “This time I mean it, Mike.”
“Call Mrs. Jackson first,” Shayne demanded. “Get her permission for me to give it to you. That’s all I ask, Will, that you don’t force me to betray the confidence of a client.”
“We’ve already tried to call her. Right after I tried to call Rourke. No one answered at the Jackson house. What the hell does that add up to? Nobody home at four o’clock in the morning?”
“I can’t help that,” Shayne pointed out. “I don’t go around tucking my clients in bed. Wait until you get hold of her. If she agrees—”
“I’m not waiting any longer. Either give it to me now or stick out your wrists for the cuffs. Or take them the hard way,” he added uncompromisingly.
Shayne relaxed his white-knuckled fists. He realized that he couldn’t keep quiet any longer. Locked up, he couldn’t do Rourke or Betty Jackson or anybody else any good. His one chance to accomplish anything was to buy a few hours of freedom with some sort of story that would satisfy Will Gentry. To even hint at the few facts he knew about in the case would be damning to Rourke and to Betty Jackson.
“All right, Will,” he said, forcing a choke into his voice. “You’ve got me in a corner. If you’re sure you want it this way—”
“I’m sure,” Gentry interrupted.
Shayne took a deep breath and began tonelessly, “Bert Jackson came to me this afternoon to hire me to get divorce evidence against his wife. I threw him out because I don’t like that sort of business.”
“And?”
Shayne spread out his big hands. “That’s all. I refused the job and tossed him out on his ear.”
“Maybe so. But you still haven’t told me why Tim suspected Jackson and his proposition had something to do with the elevator operator’s murder and the ransacking of your office. And where does Tim
Shayne thrust his hands deep in his pockets and took a backward step. “Dammit, Will,” he raged, “you’re making the biggest mistake of your life.”
“I don’t think so. You can either talk now or sit in a cell until you decide to give me what you’ve got.” The trenches deepened in Shayne’s cheeks, and his voice was hoarse with anger and disbelief.
“This is a fool move. Let me work out my own angles and I’ll solve both murders for you.”
“Give me what you’ve got and I’ll attend to solving the murders. I can’t take this sort of thing from you any longer, Mike,” he continued in a pleading tone. “I’ve let you have your head too often in the past, and look at the publicity it’s got me. People read the papers and get the idea that we don’t need a police department in Miami, that you’re a one-man homicide bureau.”
“Maybe they’d be right at that,” Shayne said angrily. “Give me a little time on this. Just a few hours.”
“I’ve done that too often,” Gentry told him stolidly. “We sit around and twiddle our thumbs while you withhold vital information until you can work out some sort of deal to collect a whopping fee for solving a case we’d have tied in knots if you didn’t hold out. This time it’s going to be different. If you won’t give, at least I’ll know you’re put away where you can’t make a deal. Go ahead and put the cuffs on him, Morgan.”
Shayne was shaking with rage. He backed away another step, taking his hands from his pockets and clenching them into fists.
“Before God,” he grated, “I’ll break the jaw of the first man—”
“Dennis—Martin,” Gentry ordered gruffly, “help Morgan arrest this tough shamus.”
Shayne was thinking fast and fighting against his overpowering anger as the three officers moved toward him. “Better hold it a minute, boys. I’ve got to figure this thing out.”
The trio paused, glancing at Gentry for orders, uneasily aware of the redhead’s long friendship with the chief.
“You’ll have lots of time to figure it out in jail,” said Gentry. “This time I mean it, Mike.”
“Call Mrs. Jackson first,” Shayne demanded. “Get her permission for me to give it to you. That’s all I ask, Will, that you don’t force me to betray the confidence of a client.”
“We’ve already tried to call her. Right after I tried to call Rourke. No one answered at the Jackson house. What the hell does that add up to? Nobody home at four o’clock in the morning?”
“I can’t help that,” Shayne pointed out. “I don’t go around tucking my clients in bed. Wait until you get hold of her. If she agrees—”
“I’m not waiting any longer. Either give it to me now or stick out your wrists for the cuffs. Or take them the hard way,” he added uncompromisingly.
Shayne relaxed his white-knuckled fists. He realized that he couldn’t keep quiet any longer. Locked up, he couldn’t do Rourke or Betty Jackson or anybody else any good. His one chance to accomplish anything was to buy a few hours of freedom with some sort of story that would satisfy Will Gentry. To even hint at the few facts he knew about in the case would be damning to Rourke and to Betty Jackson.
“All right, Will,” he said, forcing a choke into his voice. “You’ve got me in a corner. If you’re sure you want it this way—”
“I’m sure,” Gentry interrupted.
Shayne took a deep breath and began tonelessly, “Bert Jackson came to me this afternoon to hire me to get divorce evidence against his wife. I threw him out because I don’t like that sort of business.”
“And?”
Shayne spread out his big hands. “That’s all. I refused the job and tossed him out on his ear.”
“Maybe so. But you still haven’t told me why Tim suspected Jackson and his proposition had something to do with the elevator operator’s murder and the ransacking of your office. And where does Tim
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