Murder Is My Business by Brett Halliday Read Free Book Online Page A

lucky accident that might have prevented his election.”
    “I don’t think he’s that dangerous,” Shayne argued good-naturedly. “You’re in the habit of looking for bogymen around every corner.”
    “That’s the trouble with you here in America.” Lance Bayliss stopped in mid-stride to level a trembling forefinger at Shayne. “You underestimate the danger. You sit back and say blandly, ‘It can’t happen here.’ It can! It happened in Germany. You don’t realize the forces moving us toward Fascism in the United States, with men like Jeff Towne eager to lead the movement.”
    Shayne said, “Perhaps,” remaining unperturbed.
    “There’s no perhaps about it. Men like Towne have to be stopped before they get started. He was stopped until you stepped in with your talk of an autopsy to muddy the issue. You used to stand for something, Shayne. Have you changed so much in ten years?”
    “I draw bigger fees than I did ten years ago.”
    “Is a fat fee more important to you than the welfare of your country?” Lance’s voice trembled with wrath.
    Shayne made a derisive gesture. “I can’t believe the fate of one small city election is so important.” He paused a moment and then added, “What would you have me do?”
    “Drop the whole investigation. Get out of El Paso, and let the voters defeat Towne.”
    Shayne said, “A lot of different people are eager to have me drop the investigation. I’m beginning to wonder what all of them are afraid of.”
    “I’m telling you what I’m afraid of,” Lance assured him angrily. He took time out to choke back his anger, went on in a more reasonable tone: “You’ve got to realize this is something big, and there are people determined to block you. You’ll drop it like a hot brick if you’re smart.”
    “And if I’m not?” Shayne’s voice was hard.
    “I won’t be responsible for what happens.” Lance Bayliss shrugged his thin shoulders. “Think it over. A fat fee from Towne won’t do you much good in your coffin.”
    “That might be construed as a threat,” Shayne mused.
    “Construe it any damned way you want,” muttered Lance apathetically. He went toward the closed bathroom door, asking, “This your bathroom?”
    Shayne said, “Yes. Help yourself.” He emptied his glass of cognac while Lance tried the door.
    “It’s locked.” Lance whirled about suspiciously. “There’s someone in there! By God—”
    “It’s a connecting bathroom,” Shayne lied calmly. “Guy in the next room must be using it. Christ, fellow,” he went on good-naturedly, “you need to quiet down and relax. This is the U.S. Remember? We don’t have SS squads concealed in every hotel room.”
    “I am jumpy,” Lance conceded with a bitter twist of his lips. “I’m sorry you’re determined to be stubbornabout going to bat for Towne. I guess there isn’t much more to say.”
    “I guess there isn’t.” Shayne stayed in his chair. “If you feel like settling down to chew over other things, I’ll see if I can get a fresh bottle sent up.”
    Lance said, “Thanks. No.” He was edging toward the door. “Think over what I’ve told you. I’ll be around and—”
    The bathroom door swung open, and Carmela Towne was outlined in the doorway. She cried out, “Lance!”
    He turned his head very deliberately to look at her. His gaze was impersonal and searching. He drew in his breath, and the small sound was loud in the stillness of the hotel room. He looked back at Shayne and said acidly, “I’m sorry I interrupted your drinking party. I’ll get out and let you finish it.” He went swiftly to the door and jerked it open.
    Carmela swayed forward and cried out, “Lance,” again.
    He stepped out, and the slamming of the door echoed his name.
    Carmela turned numbly toward Shayne. “Did you see his eyes when he looked at me? He hates me, Michael.”
    Shayne said evenly, “Ten years have taught him to hate a lot of things, Carmela.”
    “I heard everything he