Free The Body Came Back by Brett Halliday

much concerned about the Ford. He had… foolishly, he now realized… stated that it had been loaned to him by the owner… someone, apparently named George Duclos. Perhaps that was the name Al Donlin was using in Miami. Or it might be some friend of Al’s who had loaned him the car for the evening.
    No matter how it worked out, he was very definitely losing control of the Ford… with a corpse locked up in the trunk.
    Barkus had walked around in front of the Pontiac with Seymour and was helping him pull the crumpled fender away from the wheel so the car could be driven without damaging the tire. He was alone with Ernie for a moment, and was tempted to grab the police revolver from the man’s holster, slam him across the head with it and try his luck at making a get-away.
    But even if he succeeded, that wouldn’t change anything in the long run. They knew who he was. It was on the record that he had been driving the Ford when they took possession of it. The instant the body was discovered in the trunk, he would be held responsible.
    Better go along submissively, he decided, and simply hope for some sort of break. He slumped his shoulders and said in a defeated voice, “Okay, Ernie. Whatever you say. If you end up getting your ass kicked off the Force for this… don’t blame me.”
    “I’ll take my chances on that.” Ernie led him toward the Ford, wheezing happily, and shoved him roughly inside under the steering wheel. He slammed the door shut and leaned both elbows on it and told Shayne with a sadistic grin that showed yellow front teeth:
    “You know what I’m plumb hopin’, Mister? That you’ll try to make a run for it while I go around to get in on t’other side of you. I’d plain love to gut-shoot hell out of you… long as it was in the line of duty.”
    He hooked both thumbs in his pistol belt and strolled around the back of the car, humming a little tune happily. Shayne sat stiffly behind the wheel and waited for him to get in. The Pontiac moved out of the way behind him, turned into the one-way westbound street and moved away.
    Shayne started the motor and backed away from the curb, then followed the Pontiac toward the police station. The police car moved into line behind him and remained less than a hundred feet in the rear.
    Shayne didn’t look at Ernie and didn’t speak until he put the Ford into a space in the parking lot at headquarters. The police car moved in beside him as he turned off the ignition and lights, and Barkus leaned out to inform Ernie happily:
    “You know what, Buddy-boy? I reckon we done hit the jackpot this here time. Just come over my radio that Ford you’re ridin’ in is a stolen car.”

 
8.
     
    Shayne’s belly muscles constricted when he heard the report. This just wasn’t his night, by God. How the hell could he have guessed that Al Donlin had stolen the car he parked at the Encanto Hotel? If he’d known it couldn’t be traced to the dead man it would have been far better to have left it in the hotel parking lot and used his own car for transporting the body.
    But it was much too late for that sort of second-guessing. The car was right here at police headquarters and all anyone had to do was to decide to check inside the trunk. He shuddered and got out from under the wheel, waited docilely for Ernie to come around and lead him triumphantly inside the station.
    He’d have to play it very slow and cool. The most important thing was to get that Ford away from headquarters as fast as possible. And then get himself away. He’d already told one foolish lie about its having been loaned to him by the owner. He’d have to change that fast, and he began racking his brain for a plausible story that would explain his possession of a stolen car on the streets of Miami after midnight.
    After a bit of low-voiced conversation on the other side of the car, Ernie and Barkus parted and the heavier cop strode into the police station by a side door and Ernie came around to him with