The Corpse Came Calling Read Online Free Page B

questions we’ve been asking your wife. She has yet to give us a satisfactory explanation.”
    Shayne drew in a deep breath. He held Phyllis away from him and looked into her eyes. “Give it to me, Phyl. The truth. I’ve got to know where I stand.”
    Her eyes were frightened but she held her voice steady. “I’ve told them the truth, Michael. I was sitting here at my desk—” She stopped speaking as another man entered the room. It was Will Gentry, chief of the Miami Detective Bureau and a long-time warm friend of Shayne’s.
    Gentry was a big, stolid man with a beefy face which concealed a keen intelligence. He glanced at the corpse casually, then at Shayne and the others. “I came up as soon as I got the report. What is this, Mike?”
    “You know as much about it as I do. I just got here myself. Phyllis was starting to tell me about it. Go ahead, angel.”
    “I was sitting here at my desk,” she began again, “when the door opened and this man stepped inside. He had his coat hugged about him and he looked—awful. Like a walking dead man, if you know what I mean. He—took one step and then fell to the floor.” She paused to shudder, then went on valiantly. “I unbuttoned his coat and vest and saw the blood. I knew—he was dead. So I called the police.”
    Shayne said, “That’s all we need right now.” He steered her back to a seat on the day bed, gave her shoulder a pat, and said, “Sit tight while I straighten things out.”
    As he turned back to the others, Painter was explaining to Will Gentry, “It simply doesn’t read the way she tells it. He has three wounds in his chest, and any one of them would be fatal. No man could walk around with those holes in him.”
    Shayne stepped forward angrily. “If Phyllis said he did, then, by God, he did.”
    Gentry shook his head soothingly at the redhead. “Keep out of it, Mike.” He asked Painter, “What’s your interest?”
    “The FBI wanted this man for questioning,” Painter told him. “I was on the verge of picking him up when he was killed here in Shayne’s office.”
    Shayne thrust his lean jaw out and started forward again, but Gentry interposed, “Let’s hear what the M.E. has to say about it. What’s your opinion, doc?” to the professional man who sat comfortably in his chair.
    “Each of the three wounds would probably be fatal. They are small-caliber, not more than a .32. If you want a snap opinion, I don’t believe any man could walk a hundred feet with those three holes in his chest.”
    “There you are,” Painter said. “And I’ve talked to the help here. Neither the clerk nor the elevator operator saw any sign of a wound when he came up.”
    Shayne jutted his lean jaw at the doctor. “I’m not an M.E., but I have had a speaking acquaintance with gunshot wounds. I’ve known guys carrying enough lead to sink a battleship who stayed on their feet for half an hour before keeling over.”
    The doctor nodded. “It will require a P.M. to pass definite judgment.” He explained to Gentry, “A lot of factors enter into it—the exact course of the bullets after they entered the body, what vital organs were touched or missed. There have been some remarkable cases of auto-anesthesia in which mortally wounded men have even remained unaware of their own wounds.” He shrugged. “On that score, I can only say this is one for the record if yon cadaver ambled into this hotel and up here under his own power.”
    Painter began, “You see, Gentry,” but Shayne cut him off savagely.
    “Even the doc admits it could be possible. What are you trying to prove, Painter?”
    Painter smoothed the thin line of silky mustache with his thumbnail. “I think you know a lot more about this man than you’re telling.”
    Shayne said, “How can I? I just walked in here.”
    “Where have you been during the last half hour?”
    Shayne hesitated. He turned to Gentry. “Do I need an alibi, Will?”
    Gentry said, “I don’t know, Mike. Haven’t you