Mike Shayne Mystery Magazine, Vol. 41, No. 4, October 1977

Lieutenant Elfmont was in the first of the three cars following Allegretti. Behind him was Shayne, and behind Shayne were Patterson and Wilson. Elfmont followed the Continental for about a mile until he caught sight of the New York license plate. He swore aloud, braked to a screeching halt. The other cars drew up alongside.

“Fooled, dammit! Wrong car. That bastard must have turned off on one of those damned side roads.”

Shayne suddenly thought of what Tim Rourke had told him, that Dom Colletti was the only person he knew among the top men in the Organization who owned a boat.

Shayne called across. “Tommy, get a make on Dom Colletti’s address. That’s where Allegretti went.”

Elfmont picked up the phone and contacted headquarters in Miami Beach. He asked for an address on Dominick Colletti. The answer came back seconds later, and Elfmont relayed it to the rest of the group.

They soon found the home and moved in swiftly. When they arrived there they saw that the boat was already out on the water some two hundred yards.

Shayne yelled, “Call for a ’copter, Tommy, and the Coast Guard!”

Minutes later a police helicopter was in the sky over the area, and then the Coast Guard cutter appeared.

At Elfmont’s signal, the cutter moved into the docking area and the four men, Elfmont, Shayne, Patterson and Wilson, boarded it. The pursuit began, with the helicopter hovering over the boat occupied by Allegretto. Shayne looked through a powerful pair of binoculars, spotted Becky Elfmont and Ann Waterman near the rail with Allegretto behind them.

Elfmont used a bullhorn. “Pull into shore, Allegretti. You haven’t got a chance.”

“You want your wife and this broad alive?” Allegretti shouted back, “Then move away and call off that bird above.”

“No way, Allegretti. You’ve had it. Move into shore!”

For answer, Allegretti held a screaming Becky over the rail of the boat. “There’s sharks in the waters. Move back or she goes in!”

Shayne instructed the officer in command of the cutter to move closer. As the cutter closed, Shayne doffed his coat and shoes and moved up to the bow. So did Elfmont.

Allegretti dropped Becky into the water, then shoved Ann Waterman into the ocean after her. Sharks showed almost immediately. Two Coast Guard sharpshooters with high-powered rifles began shooting at the sharks. Shayne and Elfmont dove into the water and swam toward the two women, who were foundering helplessly, screaming for aid.

The sailors’ gunfire kept the sharks at bay. Two sharks were hit and blood appeared on the surface. The other sharks, maddened by the smell, moved toward the wounded fish as Shayne and Elfmont reached Becky and Ann Waterman.

Aboard the cutter, Sergeant Patterson grabbed a rifle from a sailor and took dead aim at Allegretti, who was still at the rail, firing at the two women. He was screaming invectives and shooting blindly.

Sergeant Patterson squeezed the trigger. His first shot spun the hood backward. He reeled but remained upright. The next shot split his throat and the blood gushed from him as if from a suddenly opened faucet under high pressure. He was dead before he hit the deck of the boat.

Shayne and Tom Elfmont had the women and swam with them toward the cutter, where they were lifted aboard. Becky and Ann were suffering from shock and fright. Ann was hysterical. It was decided to remove them to a hospital for observation.

The commanding officer of the cutter ordered Allegretti’s body removed from the yacht. He said. “I’ll call the police department here, and have them send out the coroner. They’re very touchy in this county about having their authority usurped. You understand, sir?”

Tom Elfmont nodded. “Of course, Lieutenant. You do what you think best.”

The ambulance arrived and took Becky and Ann to a hospital in Fort Lauderdale.

V

Shayne said, “I’d like to go over that yacht and see what turns up. Tommy, officially your in charge — so with your permission?”

“I’ll go along,” Elfmont replied. To Patterson he said, “You and Wilson wait here for the local police and the coroner, and see if you can’t smooth things over without too much fuss.”

“Sure, Tommy. You and Shayne go ahead.”

Shayne went through every drawer on the yacht, every nook and cranny. He was looking for some clue to the diamonds. He was certain in his mind that Allegretti had had something to do with the robbery, if, in fact, he wasn’t one of the actual robbers and the man who had pulled the trigger that resulted in the salesman’s murder.

Neither Shayne nor Elfmont found anything of importance except for a dozen thin sheets of paper, the type that jewelers use in which to wrap gems.

Shayne indicated them, said, “What do you think of it, Tommy?”

“Could be, but as evidence they mean nothing. Besides, who do we charge?”

“It’s Colletti’s yacht,” Shayne said.