Free Murder Is My Business by Brett Halliday Page B

truth.”
    “All the more reason why Towne should want it suppressed.”
    Shayne reminded him, “I told you I wasn’t working for Towne.”
    “What are you after, Shayne?”
    “I’m trying to solve a murder and earn an honest dollar in the process.” Shayne leaned back and yawned widely. He was still yawning when the door was pushed open and Jefferson Towne strode in followed by Captain Gerlach of the homicide squad.
    Towne’s rugged face was purplish and he was fuming as he entered. “Damned outrage. Where’s Joe Riley? I’ll choke his story down his throat.”
    “He had an idea you’d feel that way and he asked for police protection after giving his story to the Free Press,” Dyer told him.
    Towne leaned forward and slammed his fist downon the chief’s desk. “The whole thing is a tissue of lies. What do you mean by sending men out to arrest me?”
    “Can you prove it’s a lie?”
    “Of course I can prove it. Riley hates my guts. I fired him off my mine once for high-grading.” Towne turned to glare at Michael Shayne. “What are you sitting there grinning about? Why aren’t you out doing something? By God, this is all your fault! Without that damned autopsy, Riley’d never have thought up his outrageous story.”
    “Probably not,” Shayne admitted.
    “Here’s Riley’s signed statement,” Dyer put in hurriedly. “I’ll read it to you so you’ll know where you stand.” He lifted a typewritten sheet of paper and cleared his throat, then read aloud:
My name is Josiah Riley and I’m 78 and a citizen of El Paso.
    I went fishing for carp in the river last Tuesday afternoon and started walking home about two hours before sundown. I was a few hundred yards from the river, walking along a little path through the brush, when I heard loud voices from a clearing in front of me.
    It sounded like two men quarreling and I didn’t want to get mixed up in it, so I started to go around through the brush and I saw a big swell automobile standing there with two men beside it.
    One of the men was wearing a soldier’s uniform and I didn’t know him, but have since recognizedhim as Private James Brown from a picture shown to me by Mr. Cochrane of the Free Press. The other man was Mr. Jefferson Towne, whom I have known for many years.
    I was a couple hundred feet away and they did not either one see me in the brush, but while I looked I saw Mr. Towne hit the soldier in the face and knock him down and then lean over and start choking the life out of him. I was scared of getting caught there because I know Mr. Towne’s awful temper when he gets mad, so I walked on fast and didn’t look back any more.
    Pretty soon I heard a car coming fast and I ducked down and watched Mr. Towne drive past on his way to town. He was alone in the front seat and I couldn’t see in the back, so I didn’t know he was carrying the dead soldier in the back with him so he could put him in the street later and run over him to make it look like an accident.
    I didn’t see a newspaper until today so I didn’t know anything about Private James Brown being murdered, and I didn’t think any more about it until I read the Free Press.
    I called up Mr. Neil Cochrane of the Free Press because I knew they weren’t afraid to print the truth about even an important man like Mr. Towne, and he took me down to the police station where I made this statement, which is the truth, so help me God.
    Signed, Josiah Riley.
    Dyer looked up from his reading and asked Shayne, “Is that the same story he told you this afternoon?”
    “Substantially.” Shayne nodded. “With a few minor embellishments by Neil Cochrane, I imagine.”
    Towne turned on him slowly, his face working spasmodically. “What’s that? Riley came to you with this story?”
    “That’s right,” said Shayne easily. “He figured I’d pay him to suppress it — or hit you for the money. He only wanted three thousand,” he ended gently.
    “But you sent him to the Free Press