Free Date with a Dead Man by Brett Halliday

very much. I’m afraid we’d better give it to the police.”
    “What do you think has happened to him, Michael?”
    He said harshly, “I think he’s dead.”
    He went into the inner office, circled his desk and opened the second drawer of a filing cabinet and took out a bottle of cognac. It was Three-Star John Exshaw, privately imported from France by a local dealer, which Tim Rourke had introduced to him recently, and his gaze dwelt pleasurably on the label as he carried it to the water cooler and fitted two paper cups together, filled the inner one almost to the brim and ran a cup of cold water to accompany it.
    Carrying the cups to his desk he ranged them in front of him, sat down and took a deliberate sip of cognac, savoring the taste happily before letting it slide down his throat and chasing it with a sip of water. Then he lifted his phone and dialed Chief Will Gentry’s private number at police headquarters.
    Gentry’s gruff voice answered and he said, “Mike Shayne, Will.”
    “Mike! What’s with you and a man named Jasper Groat?”
    Shayne hesitated a moment. “I’d like to find him.”
    “Why?”
    “Mrs. Groat asked me to last night when she became worried about his not returning home.”
    “Didn’t return from where?”
    “Mrs. Groat didn’t know where he was headed when he left a little before eight,” Shayne said truthfully. “But I’ve been doing some digging and I can make a guess.”
    “Make it,” said Will Gentry.
    “I don’t know that I’m ready to, Will. What’s your interest?”
    “We’ve got his body,” Gentry said. “At least… a body with identification indicating it’s Jasper Groat. His wife is on her way to the morgue right now to make a definite identification.”
    Shayne’s mouth was dry. He took two long swallows of cognac to rectify that.
    “Where and when was he found, Will?”
    “In the water just a while ago. Just offshore from Coral Gables. Knocked on the head and dead at least twelve hours. Now it’s your turn.”
    “One more question, Will. Anywhere near where Bayside Drive dead-ends at the Bay?”
    “Hold it.” Shayne drank more cognac and listened to a mumble of voices at the other end of the wire. Then Gentry said, “Less than a quarter of a mile. That mean anything?”
    Shayne said, “Probably. The Hawley estate is on Bayside Drive near the water. I have information that Groat was supposed to call on a member of the Hawley family at eight last night… but never showed up. You might try checking taxis for information on that. He didn’t own a car.”
    “Hawley?” Gentry’s voice was ruminative. “The rich ones? With a son who died on a life raft with Groat?”
    Shayne said, “You’re getting the picture. They all deny that Groat was there last night. Look, Will.” Shayne’s voice became urgent. “Were there any papers on Groat? Anything like a diary, for instance?”
    “Nothing like that. Just a wallet with identification. Enough cash in it to rule out robbery. What else can you give me, Mike?”
    “Nothing else right now. I mean it, Will,” Shayne went on hastily when he heard an angry snort from the other end. “This changes things and I’ve got to move fast. Follow up on the Hawley end, and I’ll be in touch.” He replaced the telephone before Gentry could protest further, and sat very still for a moment, scowling across the office.
    One down and one to go. With Groat out of the way, that left Cunningham as the only living person who could testify to the exact date of Albert Hawley’s death. Cunningham and Groat’s diary.
    He lifted the pair of nested paper cups and drank off the rest of John Exshaw’s excellent cognac, turned his head slowly to look at Lucy Hamilton as she appeared in the doorway.
    “I listened in on Will,” she said breathlessly. “Isn’t it terrible about Jasper? Poor Mrs. Groat.” She stopped and swallowed hard. “No matter how long I work for you,” she said angrily, “I can’t get used to