Tell It to the Birds Page 9

  Impatiently, Anson pointed to the headlines.

  Maniac Kills Youth: Girl Companion Assaulted.

  “A nut like that always strikes again,” Anson said. “We’re going to make use of him. He’s going to kill Barlowe and attack you! Even Maddox will have to accept a situation like that!”

  Meg stared at him as if she thought he had gone out of his mind.

  “What are you saying… attack me?”

  Anson finished his coffee and set down the cup.

  “It says here the police are warning all courting couples that this man might strike again. This means the police expect him to strike again! Can’t you see this is just the set-up we are looking for?” He threw the paper aside. “The girl has given the

  police a description of the man. She says he is short with a fat face and staring eyes. He was wearing a black top coat and a black slouch hat. When she was struggling with him, his hat fell off: he was as bald as an egg. What a description!

  This is the man who is going to murder Barlowe! You will give the police his description! They are waiting for him to kill and rape again! They’ll accept what you say without question! This is the foolproof way to get rid of your husband and get the money!”

  Meg remained motionless, her mind slowly grasping what he was saying.

  “Didn’t you say your wedding anniversary was coming up towards the end of the month?” Anson asked. “When is it exactly?”

  Bewildered, Meg said, “Next Friday… what has that to do with it?”

  “Four days’ time! It’s exactly right! It has everything to do with it! You must persuade Barlowe to take you out to dinner, then after dinner, you must persuade him to drive out to some lonely spot… Jason’s Glen would do fine. I’ll be there… waiting.”

  Meg’s eyes opened wide.

  “And then…?”

  Anson pointed to the paper.

  “That happens again.”

  Meg flinched.

  “You mean… you’ll shoot Phil?”

  “That’s what I mean… and attack you. Look, Meg, you can’t expect to pick up fifty thousand dollars for nothing. You’ll have to be found in such a state the police, and more important, Maddox, will have no doubt you were attacked by this maniac. You’ll give them a description of the man who attacked you… they won’t suspect you… they can’t suspect me… it’s the perfect set-up !”

  “But John…”

  “Don’t argue about it!” Anson said impatiently. “This is the foolproof way we can do it in the time we have left. I’m certain Maddox won’t be suspicious but if I tried some other way to get rid of Barlowe, Maddox would be suspicious. The trick with this set-up is the police expecting it to happen again!

  We have four days in which to work this out. Well…”

  “John!” Meg’s voice rose a note. “You must listen to me! I see it’s a good idea, but you haven’t thought enough about it.

  Suppose it rains? Phil wouldn’t go out to Jason’s Glen if it was pouring with rain.” v Anson, impressed, nodded.

  “You’re right. We must hope it doesn’t rain, but if it does, then I’ll have to do it here. Your story will be you heard someone prowling around the house: Barlowe went to see who it was: you heard a shot: then this maniac came in and attacked you. It’s better if we do it up at Jason’s Glen, but if we can’t, then we’ll do it here.”

  “But suppose this man is arrested before Friday night? Suppose we don’t know he has been arrested?” Meg said. “I’d look a fool giving the police a description of a man who is already in jail, wouldn’t I?”

  Anson stared at her for a long moment, then he nodded. “You’re using your head,” he said. “I missed out on that one, and it’s important. I have yet to work out the details. This is just the outline of the plan. We can get over that snag. You will be in such a state of shock after you’ve been attacked, you won’t be able to be questioned for two or three days. In the meantime I’ll have found out if this man has been arrested or not. Because you are the wife of one of my clients, I can send flowers to you. If this man has been arrested, I’ll send you carnations. If he is still at large, I’ll send you roses.

  You won’t say a word to the police until you get flowers from me.”

  “What happens if he is caught?”

  “We’ll think up a description of some other man. It often happens that after an attack like this some other maniac gets inspired and does the same thing, but if we can give a description of the original killer we’re in a much safer position.”

  There was something obviously worrying Meg and Anson, staring at her, sharply asked her what it was.

  “I don’t understand what you mean… I’ll, be in such a state of shock… what does that mean?”

  Anson picked up the newspaper and tossed it to her.

  “The girl was chased through a wood, knocked down, beaten up and then raped. She was in a hell of a state! Read it…

  see for yourself! That’s what has got to happen to you! This won’t be play acting, Meg! Maddox will want the doctor’s report. He has got to be convinced. It’s up to you… you either are ready to take it or you don’t do it.”

  Meg walked over to the window. She lifted aside the blind and looked out into the dark night. A feeling of cold, sick fear was growing inside her. She thought of Hogan. / want that money by the end of the month or you and me are through! The thought of never seeing Hogan again, never feeling his hard, muscular arms around her, never hearing him cursing as he made love to her was something Meg couldn’t contemplate.

  She dropped the blind, turned and forced a smile.

  “Of course, John… anything you say… anything you want me to do… I’ll do it.”

  Anson relaxed back on the pillow.

  “Fine,” he said. “I’ll come out here next Thursday. I’ll have everything fixed by then. Friday, we’ll do it. Are you sure you can get your husband to take you out on Friday?”

  “He’ll take me out,” Meg said. “You don’t have to worry about that.”

  Anson held out his hand.

  “Come here. In five days we’ll be worth fifty thousand dollars! Imagine! Fifty thousand dollars.”

  Reluctantly, Meg crossed the room and let him pull her down beside him on the bed.

  Jud Jones, the fat, sprawling night guard of Anson’s office block, waddled out of his tiny office as Anson came from the elevator.

  “Evening, Mr. Anson,” Jones said cheerfully. “You intend to work late tonight?”

  “I guess so,” Anson said pausing, “but don’t bother about me. I’m just going out for a bite to eat, but I’ll be back. I’ll be through by eleven. Don’t think it’s a burglar if you see my light on.”

  Jones’s fat face split into a leering grin.

  “I know your habits by now, Mr. Anson. I won’t disturb you… you sure must be busy.”

  Anson had made it his business to keep friendly with Jones. There had been times when Anson had taken a girl up to his office because he had been so short of money he couldn’t afford a hotel. Jones had turned a blind eye when there was a light on in Anson’s office after midnight. At Christmas, Anson had somehow found the money to tip Jones liberally.

  Jones knew all about Anson’s girls and envied him his sexual prowess.

  “Busy? I guess I am,” Anson said. “Jud…” He took out his wallet and selected a five dollar bill. “I hate that shirt you’re wearing… buy yourself another.” His grin told Jones he was fooling, but he wasn’t fooling about the five dollar bill.

  “Sure will, Mr. Anson, and thanks.”

  Jones’s thick fingers closed over the bill.

  “You won on something good, Mr. Anson?”

  “Got onto a fifty to one beauty,” Anson lied, then nodding, he went out into the street. The time was half past eight. He walked over to Luigi’s restaurant. While he ate the set dinner, he went over in his mind the plan he had concocted. He was satisfied that it would work. Meg would be in the clear. Now he had to be s
ure that he himself would also be in the clear.

  His meal finished, Anson returned to his office.

  He knew Jones’s routine. At ten o’clock, Jones began his patrol of the building. He rode up in the elevator to each floor, made his patrol along the corridors and then returned to his cubby-hole of an office at eleven thirty. At one fifteen he made a second patrol.

  Anson sat at his desk. He switched on his tape recorder, put on a new reel of tape and placed the microphone close to his typewriter. He fed paper into the typewriter then pressed down the start and record buttons on the recorder. He began to type meaningless words for the next hour, recording the busy clicking sounds of the typewriter keys.

  A few minutes past ten o’clock, he heard the whine of the elevator and he listened to Jones’ heavy tread going past his office door. Ansom kept on typing. When he heard the elevator whine again, taking Jones to the next floor, he switched off the recorder, put the reel of tape into one of his desk drawers, turned off the light and after locking up his office, he went down to the street.

  Fay Lawley sat alone in the bar of the Cha-Cha Club nursing a whisky and soda. She was disgruntled. She had been sitting alone now for the past hour and no man had as yet approached her. She wasn’t pleased when she saw Beryl Horsey, wearing a mink stole and diamond ear-rings come in, look around, spot her and with a wave of her hand come over.

  Beryl was Joe Duncan’s girl friend and she had known Fay longer than Fay cared to remember.

  “Hello there… all alone?” Beryl asked.

  “Waiting for someone,” Fay said shortly. “How’s tricks? Have one with me?”

  “Can’t stop. I’m expecting Joe.” Beryl looked at Fay, screwing up, her large violet coloured eyes. “Don’t see you around with Johnny Anson any more. You two fallen out or something?”

  Fay grimaced. “Who wants to go around with a cheap punk like him?” she said shrugging. “Can’t even afford these days to buy a girl a drink.”

  Beryl lifted her painted eyebrows.

  “Hey! Hey! Who’s been kidding you? He’s come into money, darling. He paid Joe all his debts… a thousand and something. He’s in the money.” She smiled. “Maybe he’s found someone else. I’ve got to fly.”

  She flicked painted nails along her mink stole, smiled and was gone.

  Fay sat sipping her drink, a sudden vicious expression on her over-painted, coarse face.

  A thousand dollars! Where could Anson have raised that land of money? He never did have any money!

  Fay finished her drink and stood up.

  He’d had his fun with her. Now, if he had money, she was suddenly determined to have some of it. If he thought he could brush her off that easy, he had another think coming.

  She left the bar and started down the street towards the nearest taxi rank.

  A fat, elderly man moved into her path.

  “Hello, baby,” he said and closed one eyelid. “I’m looking for a naughty girl. Have I found one?”

  Fay hesitated, then she flashed on her hard, brilliant smile. There was time to fix that rat Anson: a bird in the hand, she thought as she said, “Hello sweetheart. You and I must have the same ideas.”

  Sailor Hogan woke with a start. The telephone bell was ringing. Cursing, he half sat up on his big double bed. By his side was a redheaded, over developed teenager whom Hogan had picked up at the afternoon dance at the Blue Slipper club. She too had come awake and was staring owlishly at Hogan as he snatched up the receiver.

  “Yeah? Who is it?”

  “Jerry… it’s Meg.”

  His battle-scarred face showed angry impatience.

  “You woke me up… what’s the fire about?” he snarled.

  “He’s going to fix it,” Meg said breathlessly. “I must see you, Jerry.”

  Hogan suddenly became fully awake.

  “He’s really got it fixed?” he asked, sitting bolt upright. “For when?”

  “This is Friday. He’ll be here with the final plan on Thursday night. I must see you before then.”

  “You’ll see me,” Hogan said. “I’ll be along tomorrow,” and he hung up.

  The redhead said peevishly, “Who’s she? Who are you seeing?”

  Hogan flopped back on his pillow. Although he had plenty of stamina, he was surprised to find that this teenager had exhausted him.

  “That was my mother,” he said. “What’s eating you? A guy has to see his mother once in a while, doesn’t he?” He reached out and grabbed her.

  “I didn’t know you had a mother,” she said, her fingers digging into the thick muscles of his back.

  “That’s a nice thing to say,” Hogan said, grinning. “How do you think I got here without a mother?”

  The girl suddenly cried out and her long nailed fingers began to scar Hogan’s back.

  Patty Shaw came into Maddox’s office. She paused in the doorway when she saw Maddox was glaring at a policy he was holding in his hands.

  “If you’re busy, I’ll come back,” she said.

  Maddox dropped the policy on his desk, made a grimace of disgust, then reached for a cigarette.

  “What is it?”

  “Here’s the Barlowe report from the Tracing Agency,” Patty said. “Do you want to look at it now?”

  “Barlowe?” Maddox frowned, then his face cleared. “Yeah… the gardener. Sure I want to look at it now. You looked at it?”

  “It’ll interest you,” Patty said and laid the file on his desk. “Not the husband… he’s just the run of the mill, but the wife… oh, la! la!”

  Maddox picked up the file.

  “What does that mean… oh, la! la! ?”

  “You’ll see,” Patty said, and swished her way out of the room.

  Maddox lit another cigarette, pushed back his chair and began to read the neatly typed dossier.

  CHAPTER 7

  On Thursday morning, Anson called in at an electrical store in Lambsville and bought a time switch clock. He asked the salesman to show him how it worked.

  “This is designed,” the salesman explained, “to turn on any piece of electrical equipment at any required time. It also turns the equipment off at any required time. For example, if you want a radio programme that comes on at ten o’clock, you set the hand of the clock to ten and the radio will automatically come on at this time.”

  Anson said he wanted the clock to boil water for his morning coffee.

  “It’s the perfect thing,” the salesman said, “I use one myself.”

  At lunch time, Anson went to the Marlborough restaurant. As he entered the bar, he ran into Jeff Frisbee, a reporter on the Pru Town Gazette.

  “Hi, John,” Frisbee said. “Have one with me?”

  Anson said he would have a Scotch. While they were waiting for the drinks to be set up, Anson asked Frisbee if he was lunching.

  “I haven’t the time,” Frisbee said. “I have two murders in my hair and the old man expects me to write something about them every day. I’m running myself ragged trying to find something to write about.”

  “The Chief of Police doesn’t seem to be getting anywhere,” Anson said, saluting Frisbee with his glass before drinking.

  “This maniac… still no trace of him?”

  “No, but the Chief is a wily bird. He may not be giving any secrets away. He told me that he/is convinced the heistman who killed Patrol Officer Sanquist was an out-of-towner, but he’s convinced this maniac is a local man.”

  “What makes him think that?” Anson asked.

  “He figures no one but a local man would know Glyn Hill. It’s way off the beaten track. No passing motorist would ever find it.”

  “A man as bald as an egg shouldn’t be so hard to find.”

  “That’s a fact, but the Chief isn’t a hundred per cent sure the girl was right when she said the guy was bald. She was in a hell of a panic. Could be he had white hair or very fair hair and he looked bald to her in the moonlight.”

  “Well, I guess it isn’t too tough to check eve
ry blond or white headed man in the district and find out what he was doing at the time of the lolling,” Anson said.

  Frisbee, whose hair was as black as a raven’s wing, looked at Anson’s blond hair and grinned.

  “Just what were you doing at the time?”

  Anson forced a laugh.

  “In the sack with my local homework,” he said and winked. “Anyway, according to the girl, this guy was in his fifties and fat… that’s something you aren’t,” Frisbee said. “I guess she was lucky to come out of it alive.”

  When Frisbee had left, Anson went into the restaurant. So far then, he told himself, the maniac hadn’t been found, but there were still lots of hours to get through before he killed Barlowe, and during those hours the maniac could be arrested. After lunch, Anson continued his routine calls. Around seven thirty, he drove out to the Barlowe house, and put his car in the garage. He rang the front door bell and the door was immediately opened by Meg.

  He followed her into the sitting-room. In the light of the shaded lamp, he saw she looked pale and there were dark smudges under her eyes. She looked as if she had been sleeping badly.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, taking her in his arms. “You look tired. What’s the matter?” She pushed him away.

  “Wrong? You ask what’s the matter?” She faced him angrily. “This thing is on my mind! I can’t sleep. How would you like to sleep in the same house with someone you are planning to murder? You ask what’s wrong? Are you that insensitive?” Anson lifted his shoulders.

  “You made your mind up to go ahead,” he said. “You should have no regrets.”

  She sat on the settee, her clenched fists resting on her knees. “I can’t believe it is going to happen tomorrow night!”

  “It depends on you,” Anson said, sitting beside her. “Can you get him out to Jason’s Glen? The forecast is good… it won’t rain. If you can get him out there, then it’s fixed.” Meg moved uneasily.

  “Yes… I’ll get him out there,” she said. “We are going to have dinner at the Court roadhouse. After, I’ll make him take me to Jason’s Glen.”

  “I was out there last night,” Anson said. “There’s a telephone call box on the highway about half a mile from the glen.