Mike Shayne Mystery Magazine, Vol. 8, No. 6, May 1961

He went to a phone and was put through to the Havana police. He identified himself, stated his business, requested information about Bill Grant at the address he found in the wallet, and told where he could be reached upon return call. Then he collected all of the evidence including the attache case full of money, the typewritten note, Blinney’s pistol, and Blinney, and repaired to the station house where he was joined by Assistant District Attorney John Rogers, young, intelligent, ambitious, and Harvard-trained.

“I have only a sketchy outline of the events,” he said to Lieutenant Burr.

“There’s your man,” said Burr, pointing to Blinney.

“You’re the teller?” said Rogers.

“Yes, sir,” said Blinney. “Oscar Blinney.”

“As long as you’re here, John,” said Burr, “you may as well ask the questions for the official statement.”

Under the gentle prod of the Assistant District Attorney, Blinney told his story and signed the transcript in his neat hand.

“We’re going over to two thirty-three East Thirty-third Street where this Bill Grant seems to have had a furnished room,” said Burr. “Would you like to come with us, Mr. Blinney?”

“If I won’t be in the way,” said Blinney.

“You won’t be in the way.”

They went in a small silent group: Burr, Rogers, Blinney, the two detectives, and a uniformed policeman. The key found on Grant opened the downstairs door and the door of 1A. The uniformed policeman was stationed outside the door, and the two detectives, under the brisk direction of Lieutenant Burr, did an effective search of the room.

They accumulated the following articles: a large suitcase, a passport, a pair of glasses, payroll sheets from the First National Mercantile Bank, two airplane tickets for a flight to London, a neatly pressed blue suit, a white shirt, a blue tie, a pair of blue socks, a pair of black shoes, a scissors, a razor, and an air-pressure can of foam-up shaving cream.

Before any examination was made, one of the detectives, a fingerprint expert, dusted for prints. “Nothing,” he announced. “Not on the bottles, not on the glasses, nowhere. This guy was sure shaping up to take a powder.”

“Natch,” said Lieutenant Burr.

He opened the suitcase. It contained one set of underwear, a pair of slacks, a sport shirt, a sport jacket, and an unsealed envelope marked at its corner MOUNT VERNON SAVINGS BANK. He opened the envelope. It contained eighty one-hundred-dollar bills. He replaced the bills into the envelope, returned everything into the suitcase, and closed it.

He took up the passport, studied it, picked up the glasses, tried them on, then turned over passport and glasses to Assistant District Attorney John Rogers. Rogers examined, smiled, nodded. Then Burr handed him the two plane tickets.

“Get it?” he said.

“Of course,” said Rogers. “He comes back here, shaves, puts on the glasses, dumps everything into-the suitcase, cleans up the rest of any fingerprints, puts on these clothes, and he’s off to London as William Granville.”

Burr was holding the shoes, inspecting them. “And when he gets there,” he said, “not only is he clean-shaven, and a guy with glasses, but he’s two inches shorter.” He looked about. “No phone here,” he said to one of the detectives. “Take those plane tickets, go out to a phone, and check them.”

He handed some sheets to Blinney. “Do you recognize these?”

Blinney studied them briefly and returned them. “Yes, sir,” he said.

“What are they, please?”

“Payroll sheets.”

“Whose?” Lieutenant Burr asked.

“Mine.”

“What are they doing here, Mr. Blinney?”

Blinney shrugged. “I haven’t the faintest idea, sir.”

“Did you ever take them out of the bank?”

“Oh, yes, sir. I’ve frequently taken my sheets out of the bank.”

“What for?”

“Purposes of study, sir. To know what to expect the next week. To expedite matters. To be able to work more quickly. It’s not an unusual practice, sir. Actually, these sheets have no value once they’ve outlived their purpose.”

Burr handed him the sheets again. “Did you ever take these sheets out of the bank, Mr. Blinney?”

Blinney studied them more carefully. “They’re old sheets, sir, as you can see from the date, about a month old. Yes, I’d say I did take these sheets out. Of course I’m not quite certain which sheets I’d take for study, but I’d say yes, I believe I took these sheets.”

“And where would you take such sheets for study, Mr. Blinney?”

“Home, of course.” Blinney returned the sheets.

“And where’s home?”

“Mount Vernon. I gave my full address when I gave my statement. Don’t you remember, Lieutenant?”

“Yes, yes, I remember,” said the lieutenant, grumpily.

There was a knock and the detective with the plane tickets entered. “Verified,” he said. “William Granville had reservations for a flight at three o’clock.” He looked at his watch. “He’d have taken off in twenty minutes.”

“Okay,” said Lieutenant Burr. “Let’s us take off right now. Bring all this stuff.”

And at the precinct house he was handed a typewritten sheet by a shirt-sleeved detective. “From the Havana police,” said the shirt-sleeved detective.