Read Marked for Murder for Free Online

His gaze brooded down on the small headline on the second page: Crusading Reporter Near Death. The paragraph below was a wire service item datelined Miami, Florida.
    Lucy sighed and cradled the receiver. “Not a chance this week. They’re booked solidly.”
    “Try the railroad.” Shayne’s voice was flat and even, warding off further questions and stifling her sympathy.
    Lucy bit her lip and swallowed the words she was going to say. She looked up another number, dialed it, while Shayne stood flat-footed before her, waiting, reading the words of the short item over and over, though he already knew them by heart.
    Lucy talked a little longer over the telephone this time, but when she hung up she said, “Nothing for at least two weeks unless there happens to be a last-minute cancellation. Do you want me to—?”
    “When does the next train leave?”
    “There’s one in twenty minutes, but you can’t possibly get a reservation. I even asked about the day coach. They doubt whether there’ll be a seat.”
    Shayne said, “I’ll take my chance on that. Twenty minutes? I won’t have time to pack anything.”
    Lucy stood up, her tall slim body very straight, her eyes soberly studying the detective. She said severely, “You’re not going to dash off to Miami like that. You can’t do it. Mrs. Caruthers is waiting in your office. She had a nine o’clock appointment. And you’re to see Mr. Heinz today about that theft. And there’s the Erskine case—” Her voice trailed off when she realized that he wasn’t listening to her, that he was looking through her as though he didn’t know she was there. He had walled himself off from everything in the world except the newspaper in his hand.
    Shayne shifted the folded paper to his left hand and worried his left ear lobe between right thumb and forefinger. “You take care of things here, Lucy,” he said absently. “What time does that train reach Miami?”
    “Six-thirty tomorrow evening. But I can’t take care of things. You know you’ve—”
    “Take a wire,” Shayne snapped. Chief of police Will Gentry, Miami, Florida. Arriving six-thirty tomorrow evening. Have all dope on Rourke ready. Mike Shayne. “Got that?”
    “All dope on Rourke?” Lucy looked up from her notebook questioningly.
    He spelled the name for her and added in a strangely gentle voice, “You remember Timothy Rourke. The reporter who flew that stuff here on the Margo Macon case.”
    “Of course I remember. Is he—?”
    Shayne nodded. “Shot last night. He isn’t expected to live.” He looked down at the newspaper as if for confirmation.
    “Oh—I’m sorry. But do you have to dash off like this? Can’t the Miami police—?”
    The door opened unceremoniously and a telegraph boy entered. He said, “Telegram for Michael Shayne.”
    Shayne took the message and tore it open. He read: Crime popping Miami Beach. Three murders. Can you take over. Urgent. Tim Rourke.
    Shayne uttered a sharp oath and crushed the message in his hand. He said to Lucy, “It’s a message from Tim—evidently sent before he was shot in his apartment on Miami Beach. I’ve just about got time to get a taxi to the depot. Get that wire off to Gentry right away.”
    As he turned toward the door Lucy caught his arm and said earnestly, “Promise me you’ll be careful. You frighten me—looking like that.”
    “If that telegram had been delivered to me when it should have, I’d be halfway to Miami by now,” Shayne grated. Then looking into Lucy’s upturned face he said gently, “Don’t worry about me. Do the best you can with things here.” He kissed her lips and said, “Good-by”
    She followed him into the hall, calling, “When will you be back, Michael?”
    “When Tim Rourke’s murderer is in jail,” he flung over his shoulder, and long-legged it to the elevator.
     
    The afternoon was fading imperceptibly into the long tropical twilight period when Shayne stepped from the train in Miami. His clothes were