Shoot to Kill (6 page)

Griggs said impatiently, “It’s okay by me.” He grinned at Rourke. “Probably just wants a lesson in how a real honest-to-God cop operates. So he can pass it on to his pal Brett Halliday next time he wants to write up one of his cases. That guy could use some lessons in police procedure all right. Ask Mark Ames to come in, Tim.”

“Sure.” Timothy Rourke was studying Shayne speculatively with very bright eyes. He nodded abruptly and said, “I’ll stick around and take a lesson, too, Sarge.” He went to the library door and called, “Ames.” Then came back and quietly seated himself at the other end of the long table from Shayne.

MARK AMES CAME IN AND SEATED HIMSELF QUIETLY in the chair nearest the door. The sergeant said, “This is pretty informal and probably won’t even require a sworn statement. We’ll see about that later. Mark Ames, Jimmy. The dead man’s brother. Just tell me what you know about this, Ames.”

“Not much. I was sitting there in the living room waiting for Alfred to bring me a drink when a car came up the drive fast and the floodlights came on outside. They’re rigged up that way, with an electric eye at the gate that automatically turns them on when a car turns in. There’s also an electric signal system all around the place on top of the wall. Wes wasn’t taking any chances on uninvited visitors slipping into the premises.”

“Just a minute. Let’s go back for a touch of background. You say you don’t live here?”

“God, no,” Ames shuddered. “I also said, if you recall, that I hated my brother’s guts, and you can put that in the record, too.”

“Yeh,” said Griggs unemotionally. “And you had come here tonight for the first time in months. Why?”

“To talk to Wesley.”

“What time was that?”

“After their dinner. About seven o’clock. I had an appointment with Wes and he knew I was coming, but he had that damned don’t disturb sign outside his study door and so I had to sit and cool my heels until he was ready to see me.”

“Is that your Cadillac outside?”

“Christ, no. I came in a taxi. I think it was a Yellow but I don’t know the driver’s name or number. You can probably get a record of the time if you want,” he added sarcastically.

“All right. Who was here when you arrived?”

“Helena was here. Ames’ wife. And Vic Conroy. They and Alfred, the houseboy, live here. I also met Mr. Sutter briefly. He was also waiting to have an interview with my dear brother, having flown down from New York for the privilege, and he was burned up with waiting. He’d also had a few drinks before dinner, I gathered, because he went up to his room soon after I got here saying he was going to rest until the great man would condescend to see him.”

“And so you waited in the living room?”

“I waited in the living room. Vic came in here to do some typing, and Helena was nervous and ill-at-ease. She apologized for her husband’s keeping me waiting, and Alfred came in soon after with a coffeepot ready to be taken up to Wes, and Helena took it up. She’s the only one in the household allowed in that room when Wes has his sign out. She stayed upstairs and I sat here alone.

“About seven-fifteen the floodlights came on indicating a visitor had arrived, and Vic came out of his room to go to the front door and check him in. It was evidently someone Wes expected, because Vic sent him on around the side of the house to go up the outside stairs to Wes’s study.

“That was standard operating procedure here,” he went on with a twisted grin. “Wes had a lot of weird characters visiting him at odd hours, and it was Vic’s job to know them and screen them, and send them around the back way if they were expected.

“Vic came back inside and talked for a few minutes, and then went upstairs to his own room. A few minutes later Wes’s visitor left and the floodlights went off outside. I thought surely Wes would open up his door then and call me to come in, but the son-of-a-bitch didn’t.

“Helena came down after a little, wearing a mink and a scarf over her head, and said she was bored to death sitting around this morgue and was going to drive over to the beach for a drink. She said I could tell Wes she’d probably be at the Penguin Club if he gave a damn.

“She was just going out to get in her T-Bird that was parked in front of Wes’s Cad when Vic came hurrying downstairs and said he was going in town, too. I remember she asked him if he had Wes’s permission to leave the house and he said to hell with that… that there weren’t any more visitors due tonight and he had some time off due him.

“They went out together and drove off in their own cars.” Mark Ames paused, looking at Griggs quizzically. “That brings me up to where I was when I started. Wait a minute. Except that Sutter came to the head of the stairs and yelled down to Alfred to bring him a bottle of Scotch and a glass, adding that he might as well get good and drunk if Ames was going to keep him waiting all night. He was good and sore and I got the impression he was shouting outside Wes’s door expecting him to hear him and come out to apologize, but he didn’t know my dear brother very well. He went back to his room, and I told Alfred he might as well bring me some bourbon at the same time, and
that
was when the car drove up outside and the lights came on.

“I started for the front door just as Alfred was coming in from his pantry with the tray, and it was flung open violently and a young man burst in flourishing a revolver and shouting, ‘Where is he? I’m going to kill him.’

“I tried to stop him, but I didn’t try very hard. I didn’t like the looks of that gun and I was hardly prepared to give my own life to save Wes. Anyhow, he shoved me aside and ran toward the stairs, and Alfred got in his way and he knocked him aside and the tray crashed on the floor. Then he went up the stairs two at a time, and Alfred picked himself up and went after him, and then the door burst open again and these two men came in. I was just getting up from the floor and all I could do was point up the stairs, and they ran past me and a moment later I heard a shot.”

Mark Ames paused and shrugged. “I pulled myself together and went upstairs hoping for the best. Sutter was running down the hall and Alfred was outside the door, and Shayne and Rourke and the young man were inside, and I heard them say Wesley was dead, and I remember my first thought was that a lot of fairly decent people were going to sleep more soundly tonight after hearing the midnight newscast.”

Griggs nodded absently. “Is that all, Mr. Ames?”

“Your cops came a moment later. That’s all.”

“Very well. But stick around until I get through and give you permission to leave.”

“I intend to stay at least until Helena gets back. This will be quite a shock to her.”

Griggs said, “Send that lawyer in, please,” and he lifted his eyebrows at Shayne, “You make any startling deductions from all that?”

Shayne shook his red head. “Nothing startling or otherwise. Brother Mark doesn’t make any effort to hide his aversion for the dead man.”

“It’s pretty much an open secret around town. In fact there are rumors that, well… that Mr. and Mrs. Ames weren’t entirely lovey-dovey at home and that Mark wasn’t averse to filling in while Wesley was tomcatting around elsewhere,” offered Rourke.

“You mean he was having an affair with his brother’s wife?”

“Just rumors. Helena Ames is a young and lovely woman and Wesley wasn’t exactly the ever-loving husband type.”

Mr. Sutter came in weaving a trifle and with a half-smoked cigar clenched between his teeth. He said aggressively, “I have no information of the slightest consequence to aid you in this matter, Sergeant. I understand that this man is a newspaper reporter.” He jerked his head toward Rourke. “And I find it quite unusual for him to be present at an inquiry of this sort. Highly irregular. My firm will not be pleased if we receive newspaper notoriety in connection with this disgraceful affair.”

Sergeant Griggs nodded impassively. “Sit down, Mr. Sutter. State your name, occupation and home address for the record.”

He sat down and said icily, “Alonzo J. Sutter. I am an attorney with my office and residence in New York City.”

“Is Wesley Ames one of your clients?”

“Certainly not,” snapped Sutter, giving the impression that the very suggestion was odious. “I flew to Miami today to have a conference with him on a legal matter concerning one of our valued clients.”

“Do you mind giving me his name and stating the nature of the legal matter?”

“I certainly do. That is privileged information and completely immaterial.”

“What time did you reach Miami?”

“About five o’clock. I took a taxi direct from the airport with every expectation of conferring with Mr. Ames immediately and I had hoped to return to New York by a later flight tonight. Instead I was greeted on my arrival by the man’s secretary, a Mr. Conroy, I believe, who explained that his employer might not be available to me for several hours and suggested that I remain in the house as a guest until such time as Mr. Ames should deign to give me an interview.”

“And that made you sore?” suggested Griggs.

“I was naturally indignant, and I protested, but to no avail. I was assigned a guest-room across the hall from Conroy’s quarters, and there I cooled my heels until Ames was shot to death.”

“Did you have any discussion with him during dinner?”

“He didn’t come to dinner. Confound it, the man made no appearance whatsoever. I was served dinner with Mrs. Ames and the secretary, and given to understand that Ames never joined them at the evening meal. That he didn’t arise until lour or five in the afternoon and secluded himself in his study with only coffee until he went out later in the evening to spend the rest of the night in night-clubs gathering gossip items for his notorious newspaper column. Soon after dinner I went up to my room and tried to nap with the understanding that Conroy would call me the moment Ames was available.”

“Did you sleep?”

“Not really. I was naturally quite irritated by the cavalier manner in which I was being treated, and anxious to get the conference over with. After about an hour I came out of my room to the head of the stairs, noting that the confounded Do Not Disturb sign still hung outside Ames’ study, and I called down for the houseboy to bring a bottle of Scotch to my room.”

“Loudly enough for Ames to hear you inside his closed study?”

“He should have heard me if he wasn’t deaf. I intended him to be reminded of my presence and my purpose in his house, but he calmly disregarded that and I went back to my room and shut the door again.

“It was a short time later… perhaps five or six minutes… when I heard a commotion downstairs and people running about, and I came out of my room to see this private detective and the houseboy outside his door. Then there was a shot from inside, and this man broke the door down with his shoulder. Thus my trip becomes a complete waste of time, and I am informed by the airport that there are no further New York flights available until tomorrow morning. I would like to call a taxi now and go to a hotel in the hope of getting a few hours rest. I certainly don’t wish to spend the night under this roof.”

Griggs nodded. “In just a few minutes… after I clear the rest of this up. Why don’t you relax and have another drink?” He turned his head toward Powers who appeared in the doorway, and the young patrolman reported, “Your men say they’re through upstairs, Sergeant. And there’s an ambulance and stretcher here.”

Griggs got up and followed Sutter out, and they heard him conferring briefly in the living room with his technicians, and there were heavy footsteps up and down the stairs, sounds of the outer doors opening and closing, car doors slamming and motors starting.

Griggs returned in a few minutes followed by the houseman who held himself stiffly and self-consciously in the presence of the police. He sat primly erect in the straight chair with knees together and brown hands folded tightly in his lap, and answered Griggs’ questions in excellent English.

His name was Alfredo Sanchez, he said, he had been born in New York and held his present position for five years. He was thirty-four years old, unmarried, and claimed he had no police record at all. The household consisted of himself and a colored housekeeper-cook who slept out, Mr. and Mrs. Ames and Mr. Conroy.

He confirmed Wesley Ames’ habit of staying out practically all night and generally sleeping until late in the afternoon, and that the columnist seldom took a meal at home. Today he had arisen about four-thirty, Alfred said, and gone directly to his study after he had bathed and dressed, and hung the sign on his door which was supposed to exclude everyone except Mrs. Ames. The cook had prepared a pot of coffee about five, and Mrs. Ames had taken it in to him with a cup and saucer. So far as Alfred knew, no one else had entered the study from the hallway until Ralph Larson had forced his way up the stairs and bolted the door. It was normally never locked on the inside, Alfred explained, because the Do Not Disturb sign was sufficient to insure privacy.

Other visitors who came in the evening were always checked at the front door by Conroy and sent around to the outside entrance where Ames admitted them himself, and he believed there had been at least one such visitor tonight, but he did not know his identity nor whether there had been others or not.

He briefly confirmed the time of Sutter’s arrival from the airport, serving dinner to the three of them, Mark Ames’ arrival after dinner, and Sutter’s retirement to his room some time around seven o’clock.

He had cleared the table and helped cook with the dishes, he said, and she had gone out the back way about seven-thirty as was her custom. He knew that Mrs. Ames and Mr. Conroy had left the house together a little before eight o’clock, though neither had spoken to him or mentioned their plans for the evening.

He had been in his pantry when Sutter called down for a bottle from the top of the stairs, and Mark Ames was alone in the living room still waiting to see his brother when he asked Alfred to also bring him a bottle of bourbon.

He was just emerging from the pantry with the silver tray containing two bottles and four glasses, two of them containing ice cubes, when the front door was flung open and Ralph Larson ran inside brandishing a revolver. He had brushed Mark Ames aside, and Alfred got in front of him as he made for the stairs. He had knocked Alfred and the tray down and run up the stairs, and Alfred followed as fast as he could, but too late to prevent him from entering the study and slamming the door in Alfred’s face. Shayne had arrived at that moment, and the rest of it was known to them.

Sergeant Griggs thanked him when he finished his concise recital, and asked him to send Ralph Larson in.

Patrolman Powers escorted the young reporter to the door. Ralph Larson stalked in defiantly and glared at Griggs. “Why can’t we get this over with?” he demanded witheringly. “I told you I killed him. Isn’t that enough?”