The Corpse Came Calling Read Online Free

Lacy thought maybe you could arrange to get rid of him.”
    “Bump him off?” Shayne’s gaunt face was expressionless but his eyes were hard and bright. “That’s why you came to me?”
    “Well—Mr. Lacy said that you could do it without getting into any trouble. That you had the authority to arrest him, and if he resisted arrest, well—” She spread out her hands, looking at him hopefully.
    “Sure,” Shayne muttered. “It could be fixed all right, but no matter what Lacy told you about me, I’m not a torpedo for hire. On the other hand there are plenty of trigger boys in town who’d take care of him for a hundred bucks. Hell, I might even put you in touch with a gunsel—”
    “But he won’t leave my apartment,” Helen said with a catch in her voice. “He stays there—locked in—all the time. Lacy said that you, being a detective, could get to him without any trouble, and then—and then—”
    She stopped, moistened her lips. Her eyes glittered strangely
    “And then rub him out while I’m taking him to jail on the pretext that he tried to escape,” Shayne supplied for her evenly. “It has been done. You mean it, don’t you? Just like that?” He snapped his bony fingers. “The job you came here to see me about is having your husband murdered—in a nice quiet way so there won’t be any stink raised.”
    Helen shuddered and averted her eyes from his searching gaze. “You make it sound so horrible. It wouldn’t be murder. Not really. No more than an official hanging is murder. He’s got it coming. It’s the only way to prevent him from wrecking two lives.”
    “Women,” said Shayne angrily, “have the damnedest way of rationalizing the ugliest facts into something quite sweet and lovely. He’s your legal husband and you’re offering money to have him killed. Those are the facts. Why don’t you face them squarely?”
    “All right,” Helen cried. “That is what I mean. Stop torturing me. Will you do it, or are you going to sit up here and pretend to be shocked? Everyone in Miami knows you’ve done worse. They say you’ve never touched a case that you didn’t frame somebody—sit back and pull the strings and watch men die—at a profit to you.”
    Shayne’s lips came away from his teeth. “That,” he told her, “is an important point. At a profit. I always make death pay me dividends. The first question I ask about any case is what’s in it for me.”
    “You needn’t worry about that.” Helen fumbled in her large leather handbag. She withdrew a roll of bills. “I’ve only a few hundred right now,” she faltered. “Take it as a sort of retainer. I can get more from Charles later. I’ll pay you a thousand dollars after we’re married.”
    Shayne shook his head. He said, “Put your money away. I don’t want a retainer from you. At least, not yet.” He got up and went to the window, stood with his back to her, looking out.
    The sun was low in the west and the haze of early twilight was cloaking the whitewashed houses and swaying palms. There was a clean smell of flowers and the salt tang of the sea in the air. Michael Shayne breathed it deeply into his lungs, gazing toward Biscayne Bay with brows deeply furrowed. This was one of the times he wished he had chosen another profession.
    He turned back after a time and found Helen’s eyes pathetically intent upon him. He said, “Leave me your address and I’ll do some checking up. I’m not promising a thing, but I’ll see what I can work out.”
    She gave him the address of an apartment on the Beach. He wrote it down, then took her by the arm and led her to the door, saying, “I’d rather you weren’t seen leaving here. Go down that hall to the stairs and out the side exit.”
    She faced him in the doorway, put both her hands on his arm while her eyes searched him. “You won’t let me down,” she said simply, “I know you won’t.” She lifted herself on tiptoe and swiftly pressed her lips against his mouth, then