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

As Gloria talked, the whole thing began to fall into shape for Stock-well. He already knew the answer, but he asked the question anyway.

“And where will I be all this time?”

“You’ll be dead, Stockwell!”

Stockwell had almost forgotten Stanley Teal was in the room. Now as he looked at the hard colorless eyes and the shark smile, he knew Gloria had picked well. Stanley Teal would kill for her.

Gloria rose from the chair. “Tell him how it will be, lover. I’m going to mix myself a martini. Join me?”

“Later, baby. After it’s over.”

Brad Stockwell saw Stanley Teal’s eyes follow Gloria hungrily as she went into the kitchen. If his hands had been free, he’d have jumped Teal then. He wanted to put a fist through that shark smile. He tried to twist his wrists to loosen the cloth, but it was no use. It would take time to work those bonds loose. And the Luger in Teal’s hand said time was running out.

Hoarsely, he said, “Yes, tell me, Stanley. Tell me how you’re going to commit the perfect murder.”

“Not murder, Stockwell. An accident, remember. You get a cramp and drown. With witnesses. That’s the beauty of it. But you go tonight. Can’t take any chances of your getting loose.”

“I hope I don’t embarrass you by washing up too early.”

Teal chuckled deep in his throat. “No way, Stockwell. Here’s how it happens. We give you a shot to knock you out. We put a bathing suit on you, like the one I’m wearing. Then along about one or two, when everything’s quiet, I take you out in my rubber life raft. Way out, about half a mile. Then I drown you.

“You’ll be just conscious enough to get water in your lungs. I untie your hands. You’ll notice I used a silk cloth so as not to leave marks. I use another piece of cloth to tie your feel to a hundred-pound weight, but this cloth has been chemically treated to decompose in about seventy-two hours. Get the picture?”

Brad Stockwell got the picture all too clearly. He would not wash up early. And when he did, his body would be so bloated and disfigured that no one would doubt he wasn’t the same man they’d seen on the beach with Gloria.

Now Brad felt the anger swelling inside him like a living thing. But it was too late for anger, too late for anything. Teal had tucked the barrel of the Luger into his trunks and was taking something out of the table drawer. A small case the size of a jewelry case. He opened it and removed a hypodermic syringe.

“You said there would be witnesses,” Brad Stockwell said, his brain spinning. Damned if he was going to let them just wrap him up and throw him away like so much garbage! But all he could do was stall, try to figure a way out. “Do you really think you can fake a drowning?”

“Stanley’s an expert swimmer, darling,” Gloria said, as she returned from the kitchen with the familiar martini. “He’ll make it look good.”

“Better than good,” Teal added. He carefully filled the hypo from a plastic ampoule. “I’ve got a tank with fifty pounds of air. I’ll sink it about a hundred yards off shore tonight. Tomorrow, I’ll simply swim around until I find it. Then I’ll go into my drowning act.”

“And no one will see him come up,” Gloria said, easing into the armchair. She popped an olive between her mocking lips and gnawed on the pit. “He’ll swim under water for about a mile. We’ve got a suitcase hidden there with clothes and money. Later, after it’s dark, he’ll walk into Carmel and catch a bus for the airport. Simple, isn’t it, darling?”

Yes, very simple, Stockwell thought bitterly. For the first time he began to think they could get away with it.

Stanley Teal had finished filling the hypo. He tested it, squirting a drop into the air, his shark smile stretching.

“Now, Stockwell. A little something to give you a good night’s sleep.”

This is it, Stockwell thought. He could put up a struggle, but Teal would hold him down while Gloria gave him the shot. No good. His eyes swept the room, saw Gloria’s face, her eyes glowing with excitement, the martini trembling in her hand. Then he spotted it... the .22 on the table next to her. One chance!

He threw back his head and forced the laughter, great choking gushes of laughter.

“Something funny, Stockwell?” Teal said, the smile souring.

“Yes. Something’s funny!” Brad Stockwell gasped. “You, you poor son! You’re funny!”

The white teeth clicked together. “You got a big mouth for a dead man, Stockwell.”

Brad Stockwell choked out more laughter. “That’s just it, Stanley. You shove that needle in me and you’ll be as dead as me. Tell him, Gloria. Tell him about the money you’ll get when you’re a widow.”

“I know about the money—” Teal began.

“Let’s see, there’s the hundred thousand in insurance. And the business. Well, she should be able to get at least half a million for that. Which leaves her a moderately wealthy widow, Stanley. But where does it leave you?”

“You don’t get the picture, Stock-well. We’re crazy about each other.”

Brad Stockwell laughed again and felt his jaw rattled by the back of Teal’s left hand. Good, he thought. Getting to you, Stanley.