“Unless she cooperates in what way?”
“By testifying that Toby hired her to see what she could get on Senator Hitchcock. It wouldn’t hurt her reputation too much. There are ways she could put it. After she’d gone out with him a few times, she realized she was doing the wrong thing, and now she wants to defect. This would be very damn good for National. You can see that. That’s why I don’t think I’m swindling anybody when I set the price at eight thousand.”
“Don’t forget I’ve only been here half an hour,” Shayne said. “National who?”
“National Aviation!” Bixler said, surprised. “They’re the unsuccessful bidders. I didn’t know you hadn’t been briefed. That’s where the eight thousand I’m charging you is going to come from. And that’s why-”
Shayne cut him short. “I haven’t been hired by any aviation company. I’ve been hired by Trina Hitchcock to do one thing-break up a potential blackmail setup that’s aimed at her father. As soon as I take care of that, I intend to get a good night’s sleep and catch a plane back to Miami.”
He took out the newspaper-wrapped parcel containing two thousand dollars and tossed it into Bixler’s lap. “Forty fifty-dollar bills. Maybe you could get more from somebody else, but that’s what I’m paying.”
“Now, Mike-”
“If you don’t want it, I’ll see if I can handle it without any names. I think I have enough to keep Hitchcock out of bed with the woman for at least the next few days.”
Bixler sighed. “I don’t suppose I blame you. The smaller the payoff, the bigger your fee. But under protest, under protest, because it really is worth a hell of a lot more.”
He put the package away. “The real name of Mr. Y-”
Shayne took out an envelope to write it down, but Bixler was so horrified that Shayne agreed to abide by local custom and commit the names and dates to memory.
“One word more, Mike,” Bixler said, after testing Shayne to be sure he had everything, “I can see why you don’t want to get mixed up in the contract investigation. I just want to say that I have it on good authority that a contingent of pretty rough boys from Texas are in town.” He began ticking off points on his fingers again. “Manners Aerosystems, which won the contract, is a Texas company. If Toby put Maggie Smith on Hitchcock, and I think we can take that as proven, then Toby and Manners and these Texas gunmen, if that isn’t too strong a word, aren’t going to stand around with their hands in their pants pockets while you break it up. Do you follow me? That’s why I personally have been watching my rear, and I advise you to do the same.”
“Thanks,” Shayne said.
“That’s all right. If anything happened, I’d hate to think I hadn’t warned you. I won’t get up, and we’d better not shake hands. I certainly am glad I met you. I probably won’t see you again this trip, but if you ever need anything done in Washington, I’m in the book.”
With any luck, Shayne thought, that wouldn’t ever be necessary. He nodded casually to the little man and walked away.
CHAPTER 3
5:45 P.M.
He spent a hot half-hour and several dollars’ worth of dimes in a phone booth trying to track down Maggie Smith. She could always be found at her theatre in the evening, he was told, but he wanted to be asleep by then. No one knew her plans for dinner, but she had said she might drop in at a cocktail party at the Swedish Embassy on Sheridan Circle. Shayne rubbed his chin. Could he get into an embassy cocktail party without an invitation? Probably, and even if they didn’t let him in, he could park nearby and wait for Maggie Smith to emerge.
Enlisting another taxi driver, he found Sheridan Circle. A fleet of parked limousines helped him identify the embassy. Two taxis were discharging passengers as Shayne arrived, after parking his Ford. After a moment’s hesitation, he walked up to one of the women, put out his hand and said cordially, “Hello! Nice to see you again.”
She gave him a brilliant smile. “How extremely nice to see you.”
Shayne went on, “I just got back this afternoon. Everything looks about the same.”
“Oh, Washington never changes,” she said. “It only gets more so. You remember my husband?”
“Very well!” Shayne said heartily, and after another handshake they all entered the embassy together.
Shayne’s new friends gave their names to a servant in livery in the entrance hall. Another servant checked them off on a typed list. Shayne was clearly a member of the party. The servant looked at him, but didn’t ask for his credentials.
Inside, the noise level was already high. A waiter with a large tray accosted Shayne and gave him a tiny glass of colorless liquid, which proved to have the kick of the best moonshine whiskey, with a pleasanter aftertaste. He began looking around for a redheaded woman wearing too much jewelry and perfume, with the kind of coarse vitality that would attract a fifty-eight-year-old senator and horrify his daughter. He couldn’t see anyone who even came close. There was a large buffet. Having eaten nothing all day but two hero sandwiches, Shayne loaded a plate, picked up another glass of the potent liquor and kept moving. Still he saw no one who would fit Trina Hitchcock’s description of her rival.
Ten minutes later he arrived back at the buffet and refilled his plate.
“You must have a marvelous digestion,” a woman beside him said approvingly.
“Only average,” Shayne said, his mouth full. “Can I get you anything to eat?”
She was the handsomest woman he had seen so far, with dark hair and carefully made-up dark eyes. She was wearing a black cocktail dress with an extremely low neckline. A great deal of skin was showing, and it was very nice skin, Shayne thought, the color and consistency of thick cream. She was holding a highball.
“Can you get me anything to eat?” she repeated, shaking her glass. “There are too many calories in this. You can’t be a Washingtonian. Nobody works up that kind of appetite in an office, and that’s where all Washington males spend their time, without exception. I’m Adelle Redpath,” she explained. “My husband’s the Senator. I hate it when an attractive new man appears at a party and I don’t know who he is. Now let me guess. You’re not a politician, that’s clear. You’re not in the diplomatic service.”
“Thank God,” Shayne said. “I’m supposed to be meeting somebody, Mrs. Redpath, and if I can get through here-”
“You’ll make yourself some enemies if you try,” she said. “Face the fact, you’re caught. I’m still guessing.” She put one finger appraisingly to her lips. “If you were a mystery guest on a TV show, considering your height, those shoulders, those lean flanks, and let me see-the sun wrinkles at the corners of your eyes, I’d guess you’re a private detective from Miami.”
“This quiz is fixed.”
“It is indeed. I was just talking to a congressman from your part of the world, Mr. Shayne. He told me your name and I’ve been stalking you ever since.”
“Why?”
“This time you guess. No, that’s not fair. From the way you’re wolfing the smorgasbord, you probably haven’t been in town long enough for a real meal. I don’t want you to think I’m a mind reader, although as a matter of fact I’ve been complimented on my mind-reading ability, but you’re looking for somebody named Maggie Smith, aren’t you?” Shayne had just taken a bite of an open sandwich, some kind of oily fish on a triangle of bread spread with pate, and it stuck in his throat. He managed to get it down without choking.
Mrs. Redpath laughed. From a short distance, she probably looked lighthearted and carefree, but he was close enough to get other vibrations. The laughter was only on the surface.