“Guess not. We’re ready with another extra as soon as Stallings and Painter make the kidnap note public.”
“Meet me at the Miami Beach police station as fast as you can make it,” Shayne suggested casually.
“What’s up?”
“Fireworks,” Shayne told him succinctly. “I’m about to give myself up.”
“What the hell? Are you kidding?”
“I’ll meet you there in fifteen minutes.” Shayne hung up before Rourke could ask any more questions and strolled out of the booth. He killed ten minutes drinking two beers.
Timothy Rourke was just jumping out of his car in front of the Beach headquarters when Shayne rolled up in his rented car. The lean-faced reporter hurried to meet him, panting.
“Is this a gag, Mike?”
“Not at all. As a reputable citizen my conscience forces me to appear voluntarily.” Shayne grinned and got out. He took Rourke’s arm and led him into the outer office, where he leaned on the counter and asked the desk sergeant, “Painter in?”
“Yeh, but he’s busy right now. Mr. Stallings is in his office.”