Free Murder Is My Business by Brett Halliday Page A

well written, and extremely inflammatory. The average reader would nod knowingly and mentally mark a ballot for Honest John Carter in the coming election. Shayne saw now why Jefferson Towne had been so worried about theresult of the autopsy. From his point of view it would have been far, far better to let the incident go as merely another traffic accident. But was that the only reason for Towne’s uneasiness? What about Josiah Riley?
    Well, what about him? Shayne asked himself angrily. He didn’t know. You couldn’t tell about a man like that. If he was telling the truth, it appeared that Towne had a far stronger reason for avoiding an autopsy than the mere fear of losing a few votes.
    Shayne closed his eyes and rubbed his chin reflectively. Nothing fell into a pattern yet. There were far too many bizarre elements that didn’t fit in at all. Lance Bayliss and Marquita Morales and the proprietor of the secondhand clothing shop. Neil Cochrane and Carmela Towne and Mrs. Morales. Some of them hated Towne, and some were indifferent to him, and one of them loved him — and because of her love, hoped he wouldn’t be elected. And there was Manny Holden with a hundred grand riding on Carter to win.
    Shayne shook his head dispiritedly and poured himself another very small drink. There weren’t enough pieces that fitted together even to begin to build a theory. Why in hell would Jefferson Towne murder a soldier? One who had been out of the States for years and returned to be met by a mysterious stranger in El Paso who persuaded himto enlist in the army under an alias. What had a boy like Jimmie Delray to offer a spy ring — or a counter-spy ring?
    That spy stuff might have been all in his imagination, of course. Shayne had realized that possibility from the beginning. But why else would anyone induce him to enlist in the army under an assumed name? What could it profit anyone?
    Jimmie Delray had written to his mother on Tuesday that he was going in to the city to meet the man who was responsible for his being in the army under a false name. A few hours later he was lying dead in the street where Towne’s car would run over him. And Josiah Riley claimed he had seen Towne murder the soldier a short time earlier a few miles away.
    Shayne laid the paper aside and stopped thinking about it. He stripped and went into the bathroom, shaved and showered, put on fresh underwear and the same suit he had taken off.
    Dusk was gathering, not more than an hour and a half after Josiah Riley had left the room, when his telephone rang. Chief of Police Dyer was on the other end of the wire. He said, “Thought you might like to be down here when we bring Jeff Towne in.”
    Shayne asked, “Are you bringing him in?”
    “Haven’t you seen the Free Press Extra that just hit the streets?”
    Shayne admitted he hadn’t.
    Dyer said, “You’d better take a look at it,” and hung up.
    Shayne put his hat on and went down to the lobby. A barefooted Mexican lad was passing out Extra editions of the Free Press as fast as people could grab them. Shayne glanced over the shoulder of an excited reader and saw a picture of Josiah Riley smeared over the front page. The caption read: Murder Witness.
    Shayne didn’t bother to buy a paper. He pushed hisway through the lobby and out onto the street. A copy of the Free Press Extra was lying on Dyer’s desk when Shayne walked in. The chief of police looked up with a sour grunt and indicated it “Have you read that stuff?”
    Shayne shook his head and sat down. “I can guess what’s in it. Are you arresting Towne?”
    “What else can I do?” sputtered Dyer. “Wait a minute!” He looked at the redhead suspiciously. “How do you know what’s in the paper if you haven’t read it?”
    Shayne said, “Riley tried to sell me his story this afternoon before he took it to Cochrane.”
    “And you wouldn’t buy it,” Dyer scoffed.
    Shayne shook his head placidly. “Why should I? It may be the