Read Online Michael Shayne's Long Chance by Brett Halliday - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Brett Halliday
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out. If you’re looking for a killer, there you are.” He gestured toward Shayne, his black eyes triumphant.
The inspector lifted grayish brows at Shayne. Cold blue eyes surveyed him with ironic detachment. “Nice of you to hang around for the pinch,” he commented quietly.
“I’ve got him dead to rights,” Denton blustered. “Name’s Shayne. Been in trouble here before. A two-bit private op who got run out of town years ago and just got up the guts to sneak back. Thought he could pull a fast one and get out before we heard about him being here.”
The inspector said, “Shayne?” He studied the redhead an instant longer, lifted one shoulder slightly and turned away. “Fair enough, Denton. You’ll get credit if it’s coming to you. What have you got on him?”
Denton went into details with great gusto. When he finished relating the incriminating evidence against Shayne the captain whirled on Madame Legrand and demanded, “This is the man you saw sneak out of here and leap across the balcony, isn’t it? Look at him? Isn’t he the one?”
“I cannot say, Monsieur. I cannot say yes and I cannot say no. It was not light, you understand.” She spread out her hands in a gesture of futility.
Parks came across from the hotel balcony and entered the room. He drew Denton aside and conferred excitedly for a moment. The captain nodded and chewed happily on his cigar, turned to the inspector and said, “My man has some more important dope. Mind if I ask Shayne a couple of questions?”
“Go ahead,” the inspector answered.
Denton pivoted until his blunt jaw was within six inches of Shayne’s gaunt face. He asked, “Where have you been all evening?”
Shayne said, “For the inspector’s benefit, I’ll tell you. A couple of your tough boys jumped me a little after dark—after you’d told them I wasn’t welcome in your precinct. They bounced me around and jugged me on a false d.-and-d. While I was in jail, this girl was deprived of my protection—and murdered.”
“That’s just too damned bad,” purred Denton. “Do you happen to know what time you were released?”
“Not exactly. About ten-forty-five.”
“It happens to have been ten-thirty-six. Parks just called headquarters and confirmed it.” Denton darted a glance at the detective inspector to be sure he was listening. “How long has the girl been dead?” he asked the medical examiner.
The doctor was getting up from beside the body. “Not more than an hour and a half. Not less than forty minutes.” He looked at his watch. “Say between ten and ten-fifty.”
Denton swung on Shayne again. “All right—you turned up here ringing Miss Macon’s bell at eleven-fifteen, mighty anxious for a witness to see you discover the body. Where were you during those forty-five minutes between the time you were released and eleven-fifteen?”
Shayne said calmly, “I needed a drink. And I had to clean up a little after my going-over before I kept a date with a girl.”
Denton’s black mustache quivered. “The clerk at your hotel says you haven’t been back to your room this evening. Where’d you go to clean up?”
Shayne said irritably, “I don’t know the name of every joint where I go for a drink and a crack at the lavatory. What the hell? The clerk’s testimony clears me. If I haven’t been back to my room how could I have jumped the railings and murdered the girl?”
“Suppose you tell us.” Denton stepped aside and motioned to Parks. “Here, Sergeant—let Shayne have a look at your stuff and explain how that got in his room.”
The sergeant knelt on the floor and solemnly unwrapped a newspaper from a bloodstained bath towel and wash cloth. When they were spread Out, Denton asked the inspector, “From the looks of things around here wouldn’t you say the murderer might have got some of the girl’s blood on him? He’d be in a hurry to wash it off. And that’s just what Shayne did. There’s the evidence. In his own bathroom
The inspector lifted grayish brows at Shayne. Cold blue eyes surveyed him with ironic detachment. “Nice of you to hang around for the pinch,” he commented quietly.
“I’ve got him dead to rights,” Denton blustered. “Name’s Shayne. Been in trouble here before. A two-bit private op who got run out of town years ago and just got up the guts to sneak back. Thought he could pull a fast one and get out before we heard about him being here.”
The inspector said, “Shayne?” He studied the redhead an instant longer, lifted one shoulder slightly and turned away. “Fair enough, Denton. You’ll get credit if it’s coming to you. What have you got on him?”
Denton went into details with great gusto. When he finished relating the incriminating evidence against Shayne the captain whirled on Madame Legrand and demanded, “This is the man you saw sneak out of here and leap across the balcony, isn’t it? Look at him? Isn’t he the one?”
“I cannot say, Monsieur. I cannot say yes and I cannot say no. It was not light, you understand.” She spread out her hands in a gesture of futility.
Parks came across from the hotel balcony and entered the room. He drew Denton aside and conferred excitedly for a moment. The captain nodded and chewed happily on his cigar, turned to the inspector and said, “My man has some more important dope. Mind if I ask Shayne a couple of questions?”
“Go ahead,” the inspector answered.
Denton pivoted until his blunt jaw was within six inches of Shayne’s gaunt face. He asked, “Where have you been all evening?”
Shayne said, “For the inspector’s benefit, I’ll tell you. A couple of your tough boys jumped me a little after dark—after you’d told them I wasn’t welcome in your precinct. They bounced me around and jugged me on a false d.-and-d. While I was in jail, this girl was deprived of my protection—and murdered.”
“That’s just too damned bad,” purred Denton. “Do you happen to know what time you were released?”
“Not exactly. About ten-forty-five.”
“It happens to have been ten-thirty-six. Parks just called headquarters and confirmed it.” Denton darted a glance at the detective inspector to be sure he was listening. “How long has the girl been dead?” he asked the medical examiner.
The doctor was getting up from beside the body. “Not more than an hour and a half. Not less than forty minutes.” He looked at his watch. “Say between ten and ten-fifty.”
Denton swung on Shayne again. “All right—you turned up here ringing Miss Macon’s bell at eleven-fifteen, mighty anxious for a witness to see you discover the body. Where were you during those forty-five minutes between the time you were released and eleven-fifteen?”
Shayne said calmly, “I needed a drink. And I had to clean up a little after my going-over before I kept a date with a girl.”
Denton’s black mustache quivered. “The clerk at your hotel says you haven’t been back to your room this evening. Where’d you go to clean up?”
Shayne said irritably, “I don’t know the name of every joint where I go for a drink and a crack at the lavatory. What the hell? The clerk’s testimony clears me. If I haven’t been back to my room how could I have jumped the railings and murdered the girl?”
“Suppose you tell us.” Denton stepped aside and motioned to Parks. “Here, Sergeant—let Shayne have a look at your stuff and explain how that got in his room.”
The sergeant knelt on the floor and solemnly unwrapped a newspaper from a bloodstained bath towel and wash cloth. When they were spread Out, Denton asked the inspector, “From the looks of things around here wouldn’t you say the murderer might have got some of the girl’s blood on him? He’d be in a hurry to wash it off. And that’s just what Shayne did. There’s the evidence. In his own bathroom
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