Mike Shayne Mystery Magazine, Vol. 29, No. 4, September 1971

It was almost one o’clock in the morning when Sam Champagne punched the door chimes at the fancy brick and stone mansion at 7000 Apple Drive and found that Doctor James Franklin Benz had not yet retired. In spite of air conditioning, Doctor James Franklin Benz had been reading.

What was so odd about that? Not a thing was odd about a man reading at one o’clock in the morning, Sam conceded. He often could be found reading at one o’clock in the morning. Especially when he was nervous, or upset, or had had a particularly trying day.

“But,” said Sam, “it has come to my attention that you changed bathing suits some time during your pool party this — yesterday afternoon. You were wearing red trunks early in the afternoon and later you were wearing yellow trunks.”

“S-so?” said a shaken Doctor James Franklin Benz.

“So I’d like to see the red trunks,” said Sam. “I want to see if there are blood spots on them.”

“Young man, you are forcing me to ask you to leave this house!”

“Doctor, you’re forcing me to get damned nasty about all of this. I want to see those trunks!”

Doctor James Franklin Benz refused to produce the trunks, whereupon Detective Sam Champagne went upstairs without a search warrant, and found the trunks inside a dirty clothes hamper. There were blood spots on the trunks.

“Your former wife’s blood, doctor?” asked Sam. He felt very triumphant for a rookie detective. “You entered the house, seeking headache medication for a guest. You found your ex alone in the game room. You struck her once, perhaps twice, making her nose bleed. She went down, was unconscious. You took the top of her bathing suit, strangled her. Afterward you stripped off the bottom, anything to make it look as if it had been a sex crime. But why did you kill her, doctor?”

Doctor James Franklin Benz sagged. “S-she... she taunted me.”

“With a pending marriage?”

“She would have had babies, one after another. That’s the way Mexicans are.”

“Doctor,” said Sam Champagne, shaking his head, “I feel sorry for you, and not only because you killed Tina Polk. But you goofed, friend. You should have destroyed these trunks. You were clicking when you killed, you put a couple of curves in our road. Then you drop a bloodied swim suit in a clothes hamper. Stupid.”

“I’m used to having people pick up after me.”

“Yeah? Well, I think those days are finished, doctor.”

Beauty in His Brain by Dana Burnet

Department of Lost Stories

He stood before me, the creature who had chosen to take away my loved one’s mate. Now at last it was my turn...

A previously published story is not necessarily a permanently preserved story, available to anyone. Too often, in fact, it is just the opposite. So transitory is magazine publication alone — usually thirty days on sale — that far too many outstanding tales are overlooked and forgotten before they have their deserved chance at fame and recognition. Her, in this new de-department, you will read some of the most unusual stories ever written. “Beauty in His Brain,” by Dana Burnet, is no exception. Mr. Burnet’s stories have always been noted for their unusual and starkly dramatic climaxes. This one is ranked among his best. When you are fortunate enough to see a story called “Department of Lost Stories,” remember that it is a work which in the judgment of a discriminating editorial board is too outstanding to be forgotten. The present short story is no exception. Read it. You’ll not forget it for a while!

THE EDITORS

* * *

It was after dark of a chill winter evening. Lawyer Gail Morton was alone in his office, which was lighted only by his desk lamp and the faint reddish glow of a coal fire in an old-fashioned grate.