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

“Sure. Everybody in that part of town knew who old John was. He’d lived there longer than anybody could remember.”

“Were you a friend of his?” That was from Chief Gentry.

“Friend? I don’t think that man had a friend in the world. He was a mean one, and folks knew it.”

“Did he have any special enemies?” Shayne said. “I mean was there somebody who maybe hated him so much they might want to see him dead.”

Smulka gave a cynical chuckle. “From what folks say that could be anybody ever did business with him. Mean and tricky, they called him.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“You mean can I say who might have killed him? Put that way, no. No — I can’t.”

“What about robbery? Did you see any signs the killer had been searching the place?” Gentry spoke again.

“In that rat’s nest?” The man was openly incredulous. “How would anybody tell?”

“He’s got a point there, Will,” Shayne said. “You ever hear that the old man had money hid there, Mr. Smulka?”

“No more than you hear it about any rich old goat lives like that,” Smulka said. “Me, I always figured anybody smart enough to steal all that money would be smart enough to put it in a bank.”

“Steal all what money?” Shayne said.

Smulka gave him a startled look. “How would I know, mister? Just what people said. They say one way or other he cheated everybody around the neighborhood. Just talk like you hear when people shoot their mouths off. Look, chief, can I go now? I got things to do.”

“You can go,” Gentry said.

Back in Chief Gentry’s office, Mike Shayne helped himself to a Havana cigar, a glass of good brandy and a comfortable chair.

“Not much to learn from that,” Gentry said.

“I don’t know,” Shayne said. “Maybe it’s just a hunch but that character seemed to know an awful lot about the old man for just a casual passer-by.”

“I wouldn’t figure that,” Gentry said. “You know how those old neighborhoods are. Gossip, gossip, gossip. People been there so long they know all about each other’s dreams even. Nothing to do but flap their mouths.”

“Somebody had more to do than that last night.”

“You don’t even know that for sure,” Gentry said. “The killer could have been a stranger. You know how those young punks from downtown prowl around looking for a place to break in and steal what they can.”

“I don’t think so, Will. That sort aren’t killers usually. Besides, why that particular house?”

“I know,” Gentry said. “You think it was a neighbor after the miser’s gold. Was there a lot of money in that house, Mike?”

“I don’t really know any more than you do. The dead man’s granddaughter seems to think so. At least she’s sure enough to hire me to find it.”

“I’ll pass the word to the boys to let you come and go as you like around there,” Gentry said. “Of course if you find the killer while you’re after the money I want to know.”

“Sure you’ll know. You know me, Will.”

“That’s just it. I do. I don’t want you holding out evidence again to suit yourself.”

“Your boys got any suspects yet?”

“Not exactly, Mike. This is a puzzler just because it looks like everybody in a country mile had some sort of motive. If there were witnesses they’d be hostile in court. We don’t even know for sure what killed him. He’d been stabbed twice through the back into the lungs. He was also beat up real bad, and shot.”

“Shot with what?”

“We don’t know. Ballistics says a soft lead slug apparently ricocheted off something and ended up in old John’s liver. In the process the slug was battered so they can’t tell even the caliber.”

“Could it have been from a rifle?” Mike Shayne was thinking of Corporal Smith’s gun.

“It could have been from anything. They think the bullet broke up on something hard and only part of it entered the body. The boys at the house are looking for the rest of it.”

“I see.”

“We’re looking for a young punk down the street who was seen near the house. If anybody has a reason to hate the old man, I guess he’d be it.”

“What happened to him?”

“From what we hear old Wingren hired him to fix a leaky roof on the house. The kid was newly married and out of work and needed money. The old man wanted a cheap job. Never got a permit for it or anything. The boy fell off the roof and broke both legs. One of them hasn’t ever healed right. The old man never gave him a cent in compensation, not even the wages he was owed for the work he did. Just laughed and told him to sue if he thought it would do him any good.”

“A real fine man, old John,” Shayne said. “From the sound of that it’s a good thing I never dealt with him myself. If I had you might have me on your suspect list. What’s the kid’s name?”

“Calvin Harris. We can’t find him. If you do, let us know.”

“I don’t know,” Shayne said. “After what you told me I might not want to.”

V

Mike Shayne went back to his own office after he left Chief Gentry’s. Anna Wingren was waiting for him there with Lucy Hamilton.

Anna proved to be a pleasant faced, almost pretty young woman with brown eyes and soft brown hair.