“College? Six months.” She frowned. “Then young Matson is a fixation with you. You are convinced that he lives only to harm you.”
Vivian rubbed her chin reflectively. “At the moment, that appears to be the case.” She laughed. “Caroline, you are a lousy shrink.”
Caroline’s ample mouth dropped open. “What do you mean?”
“For forty years, young lady, I was an industrial psychologist. One of the first things you do when seeing a patient is to gain their confidence, talk about their daily life, their home, anything. You just barge right in an accuse me of being nutty as a fruit cake.”
“I did not. I merely—” Tears appeared in her eyes. She looked down at the floor for an instant. “I’m so afraid—”
“Afraid of what?” Vivian asked gently. “Talking to people?”
The girl nodded. “I freeze in front of people.”
“You must train yourself to relax,” Vivian said. “Make friends with your patient before you start probing. Talk about baseball, football, anything that the patient finds interesting—”
The telephone rang, Vivian walked over to the table and picked up the receiver.
Grimes was on the other end.
“Ma’am, I hate to tell you this, but your tape was wiped off by accident. Now, I told the lab to take good care of it, but—”
“Sergeant!” Anger flashed in her face. “The lab isn’t under Matson’s jurisdiction, is it?”
There was a pause. “I’m afraid so.”
“I guess I am an old fool. What do I do now?”
“Well, now,” Grimes said earnestly, “you just be careful and if you have any more trouble, you just let me know—”
“Sergeant?”
“Yes.”
“Horse droppings!” She hung up.
She went back to her chair and sat down. Then, with a wry smile, looked at the welfare worker. “Caroline, where do you come from?”
“A little town in Ohio,” Caroline said eagerly. “Remford. It’s just a tiny town and—”
Vivian settled back and half listened to the wonders of a small town in Ohio.
The next three days went by with no messages of hate from young Matson, either on dark corners or the telephone. She hadn’t really expected him to use the phone any more, thanks to the tape recorder which she kept connected just in case. Perhaps he had tired of his little game.
Then, one Saturday night at dusk she was walking home from the bus stop and as she paused on a corner, a familiar voice oozed out of a dark store front. “If it ain’t the ole lady with the tape recorder.” An icy chill went up her spine. The street ahead was deserted, with no help anywhere. She must make a run for it! But it was too late. He grabbed her and pulled her into the dark store entrance.
His ratty face wore a horrible expression of lust. “You made me spend the night in jail, ole lady.” He grabbed her purse and emptied the contents on the sidewalk. “One buck!” He put the dollar into his pocket. “Know what I’m gonna do, ole lady? I’m gonna strip you and let you walk home naked.”
She was both angry and frightened. Somewhere back in her memory, there was a nephew, a marine who had shown her a few dirty tricks that could be used in self defense. One of the tricks emerged in her mind.
He put his hand inside her coat, grabbed her blouse and started to pull when she lifted her skirt slightly and brought her sharp knee up hard into his groin.
With a cry of anguish, he crumpled to the ground. She picked up her purse and whatever else she could find, and hurried home. After resting a moment, she called Grimes.
“Ma’am,” Grimes said, “we could pick him up but... well, you know the problem.”
“His father has you people in the palm of his hand. That’s the problem.” She slammed the receiver down and made herself a double martini.
Twenty minutes later, the telephone rang again arid Grimes’ voice hit her ear.
“Ma’am, I just talked to Mr. Matson and he says his son never left the house tonight.”
Somehow, she had expected that from the Matsons. “One really can’t fight City Hall, can one, Sergeant?” She slammed down the receiver.
Completely frustrated, angry, she made up a martini and sat down next to George’s tank. “What are we going to do, George?”
The telephone rang. She picked up the receiver. “Hello,” she said in a tired voice.
“Kill!” and then there was a click.
She hung up. She suddenly felt frightened.
Vivian stayed in her apartment all the next day and read. As darkness approached, she stood at the window and watched the shadows close in on the buildings along the street. An ocean fog was gently rolling in, swirling about the dull street lights and people were becoming indistinct figures.
Young Matson was out there somewhere waiting for her.
She had half of a tuna sandwich for supper, fed George a silver-fish, then slipped into a pair of slacks and a sweater. Her face tense, she slid a small briefcase out of a closet. She put on her polyester coat and floppy hat.
Then she opened the briefcase. “Let’s get him, George.”
She carefully deposited the quivering George inside the briefcase and stepped out into the night.