The Corpse Came Calling Read Online Free PDF Page A

got one?”
    Shayne said, “I’ll take that matter up when you get ready to make a charge against me. In the meantime, why don’t you have the corpse carried out? I’m fastidious about dead men cluttering up my office.”
    “Wait a minute,” Painter said importantly. “Suppose you identify him for us first.”
    “Am I supposed to know him?”
    “Don’t you?” Painter shot at him.
    Shayne took time to look at Jim Lacy’s body again. He shook his head. “I’m afraid I can’t help you.”
    “That,” said Painter happily, “is what I expected you to say. Why lie about it?”
    Shayne turned to Gentry. “Is it my fault that all dead men look alike to me? What’s the angle?”
    Gentry said, “Remember, I just got here, too.” To his fellow detective chief he said, “Give it to us, Painter.”
    “Do you think it was just coincidence that he was killed here in Shayne’s office?” Painter parried.
    Gentry fended off Shayne’s angry rejoinder. “We haven’t any proof that he was killed here. Is that all you’ve got?”
    “No. I’ve got plenty more. If he didn’t know Shayne, why did he telephone that he was coming up shortly before he arrived?”
    Shayne’s lean face showed surprised interest. “Did he do that, for Christ’s sake?”
    “Your wife says he did.”
    Shayne rumpled his red hair and growled, “I never was any good at riddles.” He crossed to Phyllis’s side and sat down beside her. “You tell me, angel.”
    “There was a telephone call,” she admitted. “About half an hour before— he came. A man’s voice said it was Jim Lacy and he had to see you at once. He was cut off before I could ask any questions or—anything.”
    Shayne said, “Jim Lacy?” He furrowed his brow, tugged at the lobe of his ear, then brightened. “By God, is that Jim Lacy?” He jumped to his feet and strode forward to look down at the dead man.
    “As if you didn’t know it all the time,” Painter scoffed.
    Shayne swung on Gentry. In a weary tone, he said, “If you don’t stop that little twerp’s yapping I swear I’m going to muss up his pretty clothes.”
    Gentry’s stolid face remained unruffled. “Who’s Jim Lacy?” he rumbled.
    “I used to know a private op by that name. A long time ago. Ten years, I guess. We worked together for Countrywide in New York. Later I heard Jim had muscled into the racket on his own.”
    “Is that him on the floor?”
    Shayne said, “How do I know? After ten years. If it is, I give you my word, Will, today is the first time I’ve laid eyes on him since I quit Countrywide.”
    “It’s Lacy, all right,” Painter told them. “We found his private license and other papers to identify him. What I want to know, Shayne, and what the G-men are going to want to know, is why he wanted so desperately to see you this afternoon.”
    “It’s too damn bad,” Shayne said sourly, “that you can’t ask him.” He went back to sit by Phyllis.
    Painter said, “I’m asking you.”
    Shayne lit a cigarette and patted Phyllis’s hand. “Don’t pay any attention to our Petey, Phyl. Nobody else does.”
    Will Gentry sighed and elbowed Painter back. For years he had been acting as buffer between the redheaded private detective and his co-worker from the other side of the bay, and for years it had been a nerve-racking task. He addressed the officer in charge of the homicide detail.
    “Have you got everything you need here, lieutenant? Prints, pix, everything?”
    The lieutenant nodded. “We’ve got everything there is, chief.”
    “Okay. You boys can beat it. Send some men up for the body. And—doc, I want an autopsy right away. You know what I want—and how important it is.”
    The M.E. said cheerfully, “You’ll get it, Will,” and followed the detectives out.
    When only the two detective chiefs were left in the room with Shayne and his wife, Gentry said in a reasonable tone, “Let’s all have a drink and get down to cases.”
    Shayne said, “That’s the