Mike Shayne Mystery Magazine, Vol. 41, No. 4, October 1977

Kreuger stared at both Patterson and Wilson. Then, “I was told you suspect Mr. Dominick Colletti of participation in this robbery. Is that correct?”

“Inspector, I don’t know if you were apprised of the fact that the salesman who was robbed was killed. We are thus also investigating a capital offense.”

“On what basis are you intending to annoy Mr. Colletti, a responsible citizen of this community, with your investigation?”

“Peter Allegretti. My information is that he was in the employ of Mr. Colletti.”

Elfmont was fuming. He said, “Inspector, my wife went through a harrowing experience and is in a hospital. I am very anxious to see her. I have two daughters who are only three and two years old. So, if you wish a formal statement I would appreciate it if you would call in your stenographer and get it over with. Otherwise, I am going to walk right out of here.”

Shayne said, “Everything that transpired was in the line of police business. The killing of Allegretti was demanded under the circumstances, if you haven’t been told that already. Sergeant Patterson and Detective Wilson are prudent, responsible police officers. They saved the lives of two women by their actions.”

“Well,” Inspector Kreuger said, drumming his fingers on the desk, “unfortunately, I find that the stenographer assigned to this department is in court with the district attorney. Suppose we put this off until tomorrow morning, at nine o’clock?”

“That will be fine, Inspector,” Elfmont said. “Thank you.”

“Mr. Shayne,” Kreuger said, “before you intrude yourself on Mr. Colletti or anyone else in this community, I want you to see me first. Do we understand that?”

“We sure do, Inspector,” Shayne said acidly. “You may count on it.”

In the street, Patterson asked Shayne what he thought of it.

“That big Dutchman is on the take, too. But I’ll give him a few things to think about before I’m finished with him.”

Elfmont said, “I’m going to the hospital. I’ll be in touch with you later.” He extended his hand to Patterson. “Thanks, Dave. That was good shooting. That bastard intended to kill both women.”

Shayne said, “I’ll go along to the hospital, Tommy. I want to talk to Miss Waterman.”

VI

When Shayne came into the room where Ann Waterman lay on a narrow hospital bed he saw that she was pale. Her eyes were closed and there was a curious twisted look of suffering around her mouth. A twinge of regret for what he had caused her shot through him.

He touched her cheek lightly with a foreginger. “Ann...”

She opened her eyes slowly, turned her head, recognized Shayne. Tears welled from her eyes.

“He — was going to kill me,” she said and shuddered.

“Nothing to worry about anymore, Ann. He’s dead. He’ll never bother you again.”

“He has friends. So many of them. They always came to the table. I’m sure they were Mafia.”

Shayne saw that, while Allegretto might be dead, his ghost was peculiarly alive. The redhead pulled up a chair and sat next to the bed, picked up her hand and patted it. He was surprised at how small it was — a child’s hand, soft and well tended, the nails long enough to be fashionable, rounded and with little half moons at the bases.

She was thoroughly frightened and, when she spoke, her lips trembled. All her vivacity was dissipated by fear.

Shayne pressed her hand gently. “Ann, there’s nothing to worry about, believe me. There’s a policeman outside your door at this moment — there will be one around the clock. You will be fully protected at all times.”

“I’m scared,” she murmured. “That man was a devil. He could walk through walls.”

Shayne smiled reassuringly, said, “Ann, if he’s going to walk through walls now, he’ll have to get a lot of parts for his body. He’s in the morgue, completely disassembled.”

“Yes, but his friends...” She shivered again. “They’re like him — all of them.”

Shayne felt this was the moment to make his pitch. “We want to get those friends, Ann, once and for all. Then you won’t have anything to worry about.”

“I hope not,” she said, her voice low.

“We need your help.”

“Oh, no!” she cried. “You don’t know what you’re saying. Mr. Shayne, please, don’t ask me — don’t make me. If I tell you anything at all, one of those men, one of his friends will get into this room somehow and kill me. Please, don’t. I don’t want to die yet.”

“Ann, listen to me. Look at me. Why do you think that policeman is out there?”

Ann shook her head. “No,” she muttered. “They are planning to kill me, aren’t they?”

Shayne tried to soothe her with gentle words and assurances of safety. “You’ll be protected even after you leave the hospital. Ann, please listen — if we don’t put these men away where they can’t harm you, you’ll always live with fear, no matter where you are or where you go.”

“But if I send word to Mr. Colletti that I won’t ever say anything, then maybe they won’t bother me.”

“You said it, Ann — maybe. That’s not how these hoods think or operate. As long as you’re alive, you represent a threat to their safety.”