Tell It to the Birds Page 3

  They sat down at the table and she poured two stiff drinks.

  “So you have an idea for me?” she said, beginning to eat quickly and ravenously. “I’m terribly excited; I do want a good idea.”

  Anson sipped his drink, then making an effort, he too began to eat.

  “It’s something we can talk about,” he said, paused, then went on, “Mrs. Barlowe… it interests me… have you been married long?”

  She glanced up.

  “A year… the end of the month will be our first anniversary. Why do you ask?”

  “I guess I get interested in people’s backgrounds. I was in Framley’s store this afternoon, Your husband seemed to be very busy.”

  “He’s always busy. He’s the original busy bee.”

  Was there a note of contempt in her voice? Anson wondered, suddenly alert.

  “Meeting so many people as I do, I’m often surprised at the odd, unexpected married couples I run into. Seeing your husband, I should never have imagined you would have married him.” He paused and looked at her, wondering if he had gone too far. Her reply sent a hot rush of blood up his spine.

  “Goodness knows why I did marry the poor fish,” she said. “I guess I should have my head examined.”

  She continued to eat, not looking at him and he stared at her. Then aware of his concentrated stare, she looked up.

  “You’re not eating… is there anything wrong?” He put down his knife and fork.

  “I haven’t been too well over the week-end. I’m sorry. It’s just I’m off my food.”

  “But not your drinking, I hope?”

  “No.”

  “Why not go over to the fire? You don’t have to watch me eat. Go on… I won’t be long.”

  He carried his drink to the settee. He sat down and stared into the flickering flames.

  Goodness knows why I did marry the poor fish.

  This could be the green light he was hoping for.

  “Have I shocked you?” she asked suddenly. “You asked me, so I told you. Phil is a poor fish. All he thinks about is his garden. He has only one ambition: to set himself up as a florist with a greenhouse and to sell flowers. He will never do that because he will never make enough money to find the necessary capital. He would need at least three thousand dollars to start a business of his own.”

  “I should have thought he would have needed more than that,” Anson said.

  Meg grimaced.

  “You don’t know my darling Phil. He thinks small. All he wants is a greenhouse and an acre of land.”

  “Just why did you marry him?” Anson asked, staring into the fire.

  There was a long pause. He could hear her cutting the meat on her plate.

  “Why? Ask me another! I thought he had money. I thought I was escaping from the things girls like me want to escape from. Okay… I made a mistake. Now I’d like to be a widow.”

  Anson leaned forward. He felt the need of the flickering flames. His body had suddenly turned cold.

  He heard her push back her chair, then she came and sat near him.

  “You’re interested in me, aren’t you?” she said. “Why?”

  “Why?” Anson gripped his glass so tightly his knuckles turned white. “Because I think you are the most exciting woman I have ever met.”

  She laughed.

  “I haven’t had anything said to me like that since I was stupid enough to get married.”

  “Well, there it is. I’m saying it.”

  “Come to that if we are going to hand out compliments, I think you’re pretty nice yourself.”

  Anson drew on a long, slow breath.

  “The moment I set eyes on you I thought you were wonderful,” he said. “I’ve had you on my mind every hour since we first met.”

  “These things happen, don’t they?” She reached for a cigarette, lit it and blew the smoke towards the fire.

  “Two people meet: there is a sudden chemical explosion and bingo… !” She turned her head slowly and looked directly at him, her cobalt blue eyes inviting. “Don’t let’s waste time, John. Time is always running out on me. You want to love me, don’t you?”

  Anson set down his glass.

  “Yes,” he said huskily.

  She flicked her cigarette into the fire.

  “Then love me,” she said.

  A log dropped onto the red hot bed of ashes and flared up, lighting the room for a brief moment. Meg moved away from Anson and getting down on her knees, she put more logs on the fire and stirred the fire into a blaze.

  “Like a drink?” she asked, looking over her shoulder at him.

  “No… come back here,” Anson said.

  She didn’t move. Poker in hand, she continued to stir the fire, making lively shadows on the ceiling.

  “Look at the time,” she said. “It’s after nine. Can you stay the night?”

  “Yes.”

  She lit a cigarette, then squatting before the fire, the light from the flickering logs on her face, she went on, “Tell me about this idea of yours… this idea for a story.”

  Anson stared up at the moving shadows on the ceiling. He was relaxed and happy. Their love making had been violent, exciting and satisfying. The ghosts of every girl he had made love with slid through his mind: that’s all they were now: faded, dull ghosts.

  “John… tell me about your idea,” Meg said.

  “Yes, all right, I will have a drink.”

  She made two drinks, gave him a glass and then sat on the floor again before the fire. “Tell me…”

  “I don’t know anything about story telling, but I think this more or less is how it goes,” Anson said, staring at the ceiling. “An insurance salesman needs money badly. One day he calls on a woman who has made an inquiry about a fire coverage. He falls in love with her and she with him. She is unhappily married. He persuades the husband to take out a life policy. Between the two - the salesman and the wife - they concoct a plan to get rid of the husband. Because the salesman knows how to handle the set-up, they get away with it. It is in the working out of the details that the story is interesting,” He took a long; drink and set down his glass. “Like the idea?”

  She reached for the poker and again stirred the fire into a blaze.

  “It’s not very original is it?” she said doubtfully. “When we first met you said it was very difficult to swindle an insurance company and yet you say these two get away with it.”

  “It’s not only difficult, but dangerous, but the insurance salesman knows how to handle it. If he wasn’t in the racket himself, it would be more than dangerous.”

  “And isn’t it contrived?” She put down the poker and turned to look at him. “I mean the reader would have to accept the fact that the husband would be willing to take out an insurance policy. But why should he? What I mean is, suppose it was Phil that was the husband. I know for certain he would never insure his life. He is against taking out an insurance policy.”

  “That depends of course on how the story is set up,” Anson said. “But okay, just for the sake of discussing this, suppose the man was your husband, you were the unhappily married woman and I was the salesman.”

  There was a short silence, then without looking at him, Meg said, “Well… all right… let’s just suppose…”

  “I am certain that I could sell your husband an insurance policy,” Anson said. “It’s the way I’d approach him that would hook him… I’m sure I could do it.”

  “How would you approach him?”

  “Knowing he needs capital,” Anson said, “I wouldn’t try to sell him a policy as a life insurance. I’d sell him the policy as security to get a loan from the bank. Banks accept life policies as securities for a loan, and as he is so keen to set up on his own, I would have him half sold already.” Meg shifted to a more comfortable position. “You’re clever,” she said. “I hadn’t ¦ thought of that.”

  “That’s only the start of it,” Anson said. “I know I wouldn’t be able to sell him anything larger than a
five thousand dollar coverage. That’s not much good, is it? It’s all right for him: he could raise a three thousand dollar loan on that coverage, but if he died suddenly, it wouldn’t be much use to you, would it?”

  She shook her head, staring into the fire.

  “It wouldn’t be much use to me either, but fifty thousand dollars would be… wouldn’t it?” She looked at him. “Yes, but…”

  “The trick in this is I could insure him for fifty thousand and he would imagine he was insured only for five thousand.”

  Again there was a long pause, then Meg said, “It’s beginning to be interesting. Just suppose Phil did take out an insurance coverage for fifty thousand dollars… then what happens?”

  Here was the danger spot of the plan, Anson thought. He would now have to move very carefully. Maybe he was rushing this too fast.

  “Don’t let’s keep this story on such a personal basis,” he| said. “I was using your husband because it makes it more believable. Let’s now imagine, shall we, we have a man - any man - insured for fifty thousand dollars although he doesn’t know it… his wife and an insurance salesman who are in love with each other… okay?”

  “Yes… of course.”

  “These two are in love and they need money. If the husband dies, the wife will get fifty thousand dollars, which she will share with her lover, but it isn’t going to be that easy because the husband shows no signs of dying. So these two begin to think about how to get rid of him. The wife mustn’t have anything to do with the… the getting rid of the husband.

  That would be completely fatal. His death must appear to be an accident without the wife being involved in any way.”

  “You’ve really thought about this, haven’t you, John?” she said, looking at him, her cobalt eyes intent. “Go on… so what happens?”

  “Suppose the husband is keen on gardening. Suppose he has a miniature pond,” Anson said, his voice a little husky. “One Saturday afternoon, the wife goes down to the shops, leaving her husband working in the garden. He falls off a ladder and hits his head on the side of the pond… his face goes into the water and when the wife returns, she finds him drowned. Of course, what really happened is the insurance salesman has knocked the husband over the head and drowned him in the pond.”

  Neither of them looked at each other. Anson felt rather than saw Meg suppress a shudder. She said, “But what about this man you were talking about… Maddox? The man in charge of the Claims department?”

  Anson took another drink. He had nothing to worry about now, he told himself. She was ready to co-operate with him.

  She had abruptly brought the story back into real life by mentioning Maddox. She was ready to be rid of her husband.

  He was sure of that if he could convince her he could do it with safety and with profit.

  “Yes: there’s Maddox. We mustn’t underestimate him. He’s dangerous, but he does think in a groove. Man and wife: man insures his life for fifty thousand dollars and suddenly dies. How about the wife? That’s the way his mind works. It is essential to our plan that you have a cast-iron alibi. He must be absolutely convinced that you couldn’t have had anything to do with your husband’s death. Once he is convinced of that, he’ll let the claim go through. I can convince him.”

  She picked up the poker and stirred the fire.

  “So if I went into Pru Town while you… you handled Phil, it would be all right?” she asked as calmly and as casually as if they were discussing a movie they had seen.

  “That’s the way I see it,” Anson said. He finished the whisky and sat up. “Do you like the idea?”

  She turned slowly and stared at him.

  “Oh, yes, John, I like it. If only you knew how this drab life with him is crushing me! Fifty thousand dollars! I can’t believe it… all that money and my freedom!”

  Anson felt a chill of uneasiness run through him. This was too easy, he thought. She has either been planning to murder Barlowe for months or she doesn’t realize what she is getting into. It’s too easy.

  “The money would come to you,” he said, looking intently at her. “I would have to trust you to share it with me. I need the money badly, Meg.”

  She got to her feet.

  “Let’s go upstairs.”

  The expression in her eyes wiped out his uneasiness.

  Somewhere downstairs a clock chimed five. Through the open window, the first grey light of the dawn made light enough for Anson to look around the shabby bedroom.

  He grimaced at its poverty, and then looked at Meg, lying by his side. The grey light softened her features. She looked younger and even more beautiful.

  “Meg…”

  She stirred, murmured something and her hand touched his naked chest.

  “Asleep?”

  She opened her eyes and looked blankly at him, then she smiled

  “Not really… dozing…”

  “Me too.” He slid his arm around her, pulling her to him. “I’ve been thinking; you really want to go ahead with this thing? It’s not just: something you’re imagining is going to happen in one of your stories?”

  “I want to go ahead with it. I can’t go on living this way. I must have money…”

  “That’s the way I feel, but it won’t be easy. There is a lot to think about. We’ve only just started; we’re only on the fringe of this thing.”

  She was now fully awake and she sat up. “I’ll get some coffee. Let’s talk. We may not get the chance again… not to have a real talk.”

  She was right of course. After this, he knew he would have to be very careful about seeing her again. If Maddox ever found out they were lovers, the plan forming in his mind would be cooked.

  He waited for her, listening to her moving around downstairs. She came back eventually with coffee and set the tray on a table by the bed.

  She had on a pale green nylon nightdress that was completely transparent, but now Anson could look at her without feeling the desperate urge to possess her, for their love making had been long and satisfying.

  She poured a cup of coffee and gave it to him. “If we do it… you’re sure it will work?” she asked, sitting on the edge of the bed while she poured herself a cup.

  Her attitude not only made him uneasy, but it irritated him. She couldn’t be so utterly cold-blooded as she sounded, he thought. She just didn’t realize what they were planning.

  “No, I’m not sure,” he said, determined to make her realize the danger of this thing. “It will take time. I’ll have to plan every move. But first I want to be absolutely certain you’re really willing… you really want to do this thing.” She made an impatient movement. “Of course I do.”

  “Do you realize what we are planning to do?” Anson paused, then went on, speaking slowly and deliberately, “We are going to commit a murder! Do you realize that?”

  He was watching her. Her expression hardened, but she didn’t flinch.

  ’"You heard me, Meg? We are going to commit murder!”

  “I know.” She looked at him, her mouth set in a determined line. “Does it frighten you?”

  He drew in a deep breath.

  “Yes… it frightens me. Doesn’t it frighten you?”

  Again she made an impatient movement.

  “I can’t even feel sorry for him. I’ve had to live with him for nearly a year. I’ve thought for months now how happy I could be if he were dead…”

  “You could have divorced him,” Anson said, staring at her.

  “Where would that get me? At least I have a roof and food -no other woman but a mug like me would look at him…and now I won’t have him near me. You don’t imagine he sleeps in this bed, do you? I lock him out. I’ve locked him out ever since our first horrible night together. You don’t know… he’s vile… he’s…” She stopped grimaced. “I’m not talking about it. Some men have these kinks… he has… I’ll be glad when he’s dead!”

  Anson relaxed. Now he could understand her indifference. At last, he had found someone he could work
with. This woman wouldn’t let him down.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t know it was as bad as that. Well, all right… we’ll use him, but you must think about it. If I make a mistake, you’ll be involved. Don’t kid yourself the jury will be kind to you. A woman who helps to murder her husband for gain gets a pretty rugged time.”

  “Why should you make a mistake?” Anson smiled mirthlessly.

  “Murder is a funny thing. You can plan carefully and you can be awfully smart, but you can still make a mistake and you have only to make one mistake.”

  “Is that what you are going to do?” She put down her cup and lit a cigarette. “I don’t think so, John. I have faith in you. I think you’re clever enough not to make a mistake.”

  “Have you any money?” he asked abruptly. “I want three thousand dollars if I’m going to work this the way it has to be worked.”

  “Three thousand dollars?” She stared at him. “I haven’t even twenty dollars to call my own.”

  He had expected that. He had thought it would be too good to be true if she had the money he needed.- “All right…forget it… I’ll get it somehow.”

  “But why do you want three thousand dollars?” she asked curiously, staring at him.

  Anson felt an impulse to be dramatic. He flicked aside the sheet so she could see the horrible bruise that discoloured the skin of his stomach.

  Meg caught her breath.

  “What happened? That must be terribly painful… John! What happened?”

  He flicked the sheet over himself. Her concern made the encounter with Hogan now trifling.

  Staring up at the ceiling he told her about Hogan and he told her about Bernstein.

  “I’m in trouble,” he concluded. “I must have money. For months now I have been hunting for a way out. Now I have found you. The two of us will escape together at the cost of a man’s life.”

  “You owe this bookmaker a thousand… why do you need three thousand?” Meg asked.

  “I need two thousand to cover the first premium on a fifty thousand dollar life policy,” Anson told her. “Until the first premium is paid, we can’t even think about how we can get rid of your husband. So… somehow… I have to raise three thousand dollars.” He leaned back against the pillows, looking out of the dirt grimed window at the rising sun. “I’ll have to steal it.” He looked at her and grinned. “One thing leads to another, doesn’t it? When you get involved in murder, you go the whole way or you don’t go at all.”