Mike Shayne Mystery Magazine Annual, No. 3, 1973

Jean wasn’t trying to deceive him any longer. If she returned home after he did, she obviously didn’t care if he knew it.

His anger increased as he thought about this new factor, and when her car finally passed the spot where he was hidden and swung to the curb at the corner, Leo was in a state of high rage.

He heard her laugh. It seemed merry and bright and the man said something to her that made her laugh again. Leo crouched down and waited until she made the turn at the corner and headed back to pass his hiding place once more.

He left the lights off, waited until she was gone a few moments and then pulled out into the street and looked for the man. He spotted him walking slowly down Third Street, which was one of those streets which are paved, have sidewalks, but few houses and many vacant lots. The spot was absolutely ideal and the time was most favorable.

He drove on by the man who didn’t seem worried or in a hurry. Leo stopped two blocks away, turned the corner, parked, waited and brooded and grew angrier and angrier.

The man was approaching and he was whistling softly as if he didn’t have a care in the world. Suddenly Leo stepped out to confront him and, as he did so, his rage grew overpowering. He would tantalize the man, he’d tell him why he was doing this, but not until he had him firmly held and the man was slowly dying.

The man came to an abrupt stop as Leo charged toward him. But then he did a strange thing. He seemed to brace himself and suddenly he reached under his coat. Leo was moving too fast to stop, to even think.

It suddenly flashed across his mind that the man had drawn a gun. A gun! What business did a man like him have in carrying a weapon?

Leo kept on going. The gun levelled.

Leo screamed his rage. He saw the gun flash, he felt the shock of the bullet as it hit, but the pain was almost non-existent because he died practically on the instant as the heavy slug ripped through his chest and then his heart.

To an excited and somewhat frightened householder who dared to approach the scene, the man with the gun still in his hand, also produced a gold badge.

“I’m Detective Sergeant Ted Barnes,” he said. “I live a block away. Call police headquarters and tell them I was just compelled to shoot a man. I’ll wait here.”

“Is he — in need of an ambulance, Sergeant?”

“Not this one,” Sergeant Barnes said. “He must have been crazy, coming at me that way.”

Sergeant Barnes told the simple story to his captain a little while later.

“I’d been working on that Jean Damion blackmail thing. Mrs. Damion and I went out again on word she got from the blackmailer, but just like the other times, he didn’t show.”

The captain looked down at the dead man, now decently covered with a blanket. “Maybe this is the blackmailer. Somehow, he found out you were a cop—”

“Could be. Nothing on him in the way of identification and, believe me, Captain, there was murder in his eyes.”

“Well, we’ll have an explanation as soon as we find out who he is. No progress at all with the Damion blackmailer?”

“None. I’m beginning to think it’s all a hoax. Not by Mrs. Dam-ion. She’s just about one of the finest women I’ve ever met.”

“Beautiful too,” the Captain said. “Some of the other boys in the office think you’re mighty lucky.”

Sergeant Barnes walked toward the police car.

“I’ll stop at my home and tell my wife everything’s okay,” he said. “Then I’ll go down and make a report. I wish I could put into it the reason why this confounded idiot attacked me.”

“It all washes out eventually,” the captain said. “You run along. Oh yes, you might phone Mrs. Damion and tell her we’re going to put a new man on her case. You’ll be too busy working up this one, I’m afraid.”

“I’d appreciate the change, Captain. Sitting around cheap motels and drive-ins gets monotonous after awhile. Even with a beautiful and interesting woman.”

“I hope Mrs. Damion won’t be disappointed at the news.” The captain kidded him a bit.

Mrs. Damion wasn’t disappointed. There might be some questions later on when they found out it was her husband Ted had killed, but she was sure she could cope with any investigation. For tonight, she was content.

She went to bed and slept very well indeed.

Ten Long Years by Richard Hill Wilkinson

“You will tell me where the money is. Now. Or—” He saw the cane in the big man’s hand...

* * *

Sidney Schliff’s hobby was studying the stock market. It fascinated him. Over a period of two years, by making careful investments, buying and selling at the right time, he made a little more than two million dollars. On paper, that is.

It was fun, and exciting.