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

said. About Father and all. Do you believe them, Michael? Can they be true?”
    Shayne said, “I don’t know.” He sighed. “I’m not even sure that Lance believes them.”
    Carmela came toward him slowly. Her features werehaggard and tightly drawn. Her dark eyes glittered insistently. “What do you mean by that?”
    “I’m not sure.” Shayne moved restively in his chair. “I’m only sure that Lance is trying to balk a complete investigation into the death of the soldier. Other people are trying to do the same thing for different reasons.” He got up and jerked his head curtly toward the chair. “Sit down and relax. I’ll order up that bottle and we’ll pour ourselves a drink.”

CHAPTER SEVEN
    Early in the afternoon Shayne strolled down to police headquarters and went up a corridor toward Chief Dyer’s private office. He was nearing the door when it opened and Dyer came out. He was accompanied by Neil Cochrane of the Free Press and a long-legged young man with tousled hair and a solemn face and round, wondering eyes behind a pair of thick-lensed glasses.
    Dyer was puffing explosively on his inevitable cigarette in its long holder. When he saw Shayne, he told the two men, “Here he is now, if you want to ask him those questions. You can use my office if you like. You know Cochrane, don’t you, Shayne? And this is Jasper Dodge, on the morning paper.”
    Shayne said, yes, he knew Cochrane. He shook hands with the solemn-faced young reporter, who mumbled that he was happy to meet Mr. Shayne. Dyer started to go on by, but Shayne blocked him for a moment. “What’s this all about, Chief?”
    “I just gave the boys a statement on the autopsy. They want to ask you a few questions. They want to know on what information you based your request for an autopsy, and who retained you on the case.”
    Shayne grinned and said, “The hell they do.”
    “And other pertinent questions,” Neil Cochrane shot at him incisively, thrusting his bushy head forward. “My readers will want to know—”
    Shayne said, “To hell with your readers, Cochrane. I’m not ready to make a statement yet.” He linked his arm in Chief Dyer’s. “I’ve a couple of things I wanted to talk over with you.”
    “Busy right now.” Dyer started down the hall. “Boys have pulled in a couple of suspects on an angle we’ve been working on for some time.”
    “I’ll tag along,” Shayne said agreeably.
    “Yeah. And we’ll tag along too, Shayne,” Cochrane grated disagreeably. “My paper wants to know who put up the bribe money that caused Doc Thompson to falsify an autopsy.”
    Shayne didn’t pay any attention to the little man’s yapping. He went down the hallway with Dyer, and the two reporters trailed behind.
    “What sort of an angle?” Shayne asked the chief idly.
    “Boys from Fort Bliss have been turning up in Juarez more or less regularly with civilian clothes for an evening’s what-have-you,” Dyer told him. “We’ve been cooperating with the army authorities—” He broke off to stop and open a door into one of the detention rooms just off the booking desk.
    Shayne went in with him. There were two uniformed policemen standing in the bare room, and two other occupants were seated.
    One of them was a young Mexican girl. She didn’t look over sixteen. She had sultry eyes and a sullen, heavily rouged mouth. She wore a thin white blousethat showed a pink brassiere beneath, and a very short skirt that came well above her knees as she sprawled on a bench. Her rayon stockings were twisted, and one of them had a run all the way down the inside of her calf.
    Her companion was a tall, dapper man. He sat bolt upright beside the Mexican floosie, with his hands folded in his lap. He had fierce eyes and a beaked nose, and a square, aggressive jaw.
    “Here they are, Chief,” one of the patrolmen said. “The guy won’t do no talkin’, but the girl says—”
    She opened her mouth and spewed out a torrent of Mexican vilification