Pay-Off in Blood by Brett Halliday Read Free Book Online Page A

don’t know you, do I? Doctor Cross?” She spat out the two words venomously. “What sort of doctor are you? An osteopath?”
    Dr. Cross studied her patiently and disapprovingly, and did not reply.
    “This gambling of your husband’s,” said Painter. “On the horses, you say? Did he bet at the tracks?”
    “Oh, no.” She turned her round, blue eyes on him in a manner to indicate that she thought him some sort of imbecile to ask such a question. “With his patients and all, he hardly ever had time to get out to the racetracks. It was a… a bookie, I guess you call them.”
    “Can you give us his name, Mrs. Ambrose?”
    “The bookie’s name?” She registered mild surprise. “You know them all, don’t you? You’re a policeman. I remember asking Doctor if it wasn’t illegal, and he said they couldn’t operate five minutes without police protection. So you must know lots more about that than I do.”
    “We’ll skip that,” said Painter brusquely. “Now then, Mrs. Ambrose, answer me this: Were you aware that your husband was being blackmailed?”
    Watching her face closely, Shayne could have sworn that her surprise was genuine. “Blackmailed?” she wailed. “Doctor? Whatever for?”
    “I hoped you could tell us that.”
    “But how could I? I simply don’t believe it! That’s something you made up because you’re a policeman in cahoots with the gamblers who murdered my husband. And so you start accusing my poor, dead, murdered husband of blackmail! Shame on you!” She turned to the doctor again, trembling violently now, and holding out both her shaking hands, palms upwards. “Now, couldn’t I?” she beseeched him. “You can see how overwrought my nerves are.”
    “In about three minutes,” Dr. Cross told her austerely, “your nerves will be perfectly all right again.”
    “Let’s not waste those three minutes, Mrs. Ambrose. Let’s go back to this afternoon. After the doctor’s nurse telephoned you that he would be detained. You say you had a premonition that it had something to do with his gambling debts?”
    “Yes… I… I thought about that.” The widow slumped sideways on the sofa. Her eyes were becoming slightly glazed.
    “What did you do?” demanded Painter urgently.
    “What could I do? I… waited for him to come home. I was so worried. Mercifully, I dropped off to sleep about nine-thirty when he still wasn’t here.”
    “And you didn’t see his car come in the driveway at ten? You didn’t hear the shot that killed him?”
    “I was taking a nap,” she murmured defensively, sighing and blinking her eyes shut and open rapidly.
    “One more thing, Mrs. Ambrose.” Peter Painter glanced at Dr. Cross and received a brief nod. He took the .32 automatic from his pocket and held it out in front of her face. “Have you ever seen this before?”
    “Is it Doctor’s?” she asked weakly.
    “I’m asking you.”
    She murmured, “It looks like Doctor’s,” and closed her eyes, slumping a little more to the side and cuddling down among the nest of puffy pillows.
    “You mean… he owned a pistol that looked like this?”
    Keeping her eyes closed, she answered drowsily, “Yes… he… had a permit for it.”
    “Where did he keep it, Mrs. Ambrose?”
    “Here, sometimes. In the office, I guess. Glove compartment…” Her voice trailed off and she settled down convulsively in a huddled pile on the sofa.
    Dr. Cross took two strides to stand in front of her and lift a limp wrist to feel her pulse. He glanced over his shoulder at the chief of detectives and said, “She’ll be out for eight hours, at least.”
    Painter nodded and stepped back, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. “I’ll send a man in to help you get her into the bedroom… and he’ll spend the night.”
    He swung on his heel and made for the front door, motioning Shayne and Rourke to follow him. Outside, he issued orders to a detective who was standing at the bottom of the steps, and then