“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 sure 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?”