Lucan stared into the bleak, cold eyes and flinched.
‘Yes, sir. There will be no problem. I assure you.’
In silence, Jamison drove Lucan back to the Star Motel.
‘The day after tomorrow at eleven o’clock,’ he said.
‘Yes, sir.’
Lucan got out of the car and walked quickly to his cabin to telephone Kling.
As Jamison drove up the sandy road that led to the Golf Club, he thought of his meeting with Lucan.
He had expected Lucan would have upped the price, and he wasn’t disappointed. In fact, if Lucan had agreed to the original offer of two hundred thousand, Jamison was going to drop him. A man who couldn’t strike a bargain was of no use to him.
Well, he thought, the first step forward. Everything now depended on what this professional killer had to suggest. If he didn’t come up with a convincing foolproof method of getting rid of Shannon, Jamison assured himself, he could still duck out. Then he thought of Tarnia. She had granted him a month. Time was pressing. He had to be free of Shannon within the month.
As he pulled into a parking slot outside the clubhouse, Jay Wilbur came over.
‘Hi, fellow!’ Wilbur exclaimed. ‘Just the right kind of day for a great game of golf.’
Jay Wilbur was the Chairman of the National & Californian Insurance Corporation. A short, rotund man of Jamison’s age, and, although not in Jamison’s wealth bracket, he was wealthy enough. He came to Paradise City in the season, mainly to play golf. He and Jamison had known each other for some years and they got along well together. Both men played to +4, and always had an even struggle on the course.
‘Hi, Jay!’ Jamison said, getting out of his car. ‘How goes?’
‘Can’t grumble.’ Wilbur grinned. ‘And you: making more money?’
‘Can’t grumble either. Suppose we have a quick hamburger and get on the course before the rabble?’
Wilbur was eyeing the rented Mercedes.
‘Hey! What’s this? Where’s your super-duper Rolls?’
‘My man is doing something to it,’ Jamison said curtly, and led the way into the clubhouse.
The bar was deserted. All the members were out on the three courses that surrounded the clubhouse.
As the two men munched their way through a hamburger and drank beer, they talked business. Both of them played the stock-market and they exchanged information.
‘We’re heading for a hell of a recession, Sherry,’ Wilbur said. ‘It’s bound to come with these new idiots spending and spending on armaments.’
‘I guess you’re right,’ Jamison said. His mind was only half concentrating on what Wilbur was saying. He told himself he would telephone Tarnia sometime in the afternoon and see if she could have dinner with him.
The two men went into the locker-room to change into golfing clothes.
‘You’ll be at the concert tonight, Sherry?’ Wilbur asked as he struggled to put on his shoes.
‘Concert?’ Jamison paused, zipping up his golf jacket.
Then he remembered Smyth had told him Shannon was playing her goddamn cello somewhere. ‘I guess not. Music doesn’t interest me. I have a desk-load to work through tonight.’
‘Meg and I are going. You know, Sherry, you have a wonderful wife. She is as good as most professionals. We love to hear her play.’
‘How’s Meg?’ Jamison asked abruptly.
He was jealous of Wilbur’s three sons.
‘She’s fine.’
‘And the boys?’
Wilbur shrugged.
‘Gary will be all right. He’s coming into the business next year. He’s great, but the other two…’ He blew out his cheeks. ‘Meg tells me to be patient. After all they are only fifteen and sixteen. They do as little school-work as possible, and chase after girls. Charlie is now playing the guitar and looks like a goddamn hippy.’
Jamison picked up his bag of clubs. He thought, when I have a son, there’ll be nothing like that. I’ll mould my son in my own image. No guitar nor long hair, no chasing girls. I’ll make him worthy to take my place when the time comes!
‘You’re lucky to have three boys. I wish to Christ I had even one!’ he said with such savage, heart-felt feeling that Wilbur, startled, looked sharply at him.
‘There’s time, Sherry,’ he said. He knew about the three miscarriages. ‘Kids will turn up.’
Jamison grunted and walked out of the locker-room and to the first tee.
Wilbur shook his head as he followed him. A real tragedy, he thought. His wife and he had often discussed the Jamisons’ predicament. They were fond of Shannon. Meg had wondered if she shouldn’t suggest to Shannon that they adopt a child, but Wilbur wouldn’t hear of it.
‘You don’t make suggestions like that to the Jamisons,’ he said firmly. ‘This is not our business, Meg.’
The two men didn’t play talkative golf. They preferred to concentrate on the game. Jamison found his concentration this afternoon was lacking. He kept thinking of Lucan, and then of Tarnia. He scarcely realized that he was four down at the 9th.
Wilbur said, ‘Not on your game this afternoon, Sherry.’
‘It comes and it goes,’ Jamison snapped and, with suppressed fury, he sliced his next shot into the rough.
Wilbur, seeing how tense Jamison was, didn’t say anything. He kept quiet. On the 18th hole Jamison four-putted, and then savagely kicked his ball into a sand bunker.
‘Sorry to have given you such a rotten game, Jay,’ he said, making an effort. ‘Just not in the mood.’
‘Well, as you say, it comes and it goes,’ Wilbur said, placing his putter in his golf-bag. As he began to move off the green with Jamison, he said, ‘Just a second, Sherry. You and I have been good, close friends for sometime. It strikes me you have a big problem on your mind.’ Seeing Jamison tense, he went on quickly. ‘Anything I can do to help? Meg always says two minds on a problem are better than one.’
Jamison stared across at the golf house, his face expressionless. He wondered how Wilbur would react if he told him he was planning to have Shannon murdered and had already taken a decisive step towards this end. How shocked this fat, kindly man would be! He shook his head.
‘A business mess, Jay. Nothing you can do about it. I’ll fix it. Thanks all the same.’
‘Well, let’s go and have a Scotch.’
‘Sorry, Jay. I’ve got this desk-load. I must get back.’
The two men began walking to the clubhouse.
‘Will you be free tomorrow, Sherry? I’ve only one more week here although I’ll be leaving Meg to stay on.’
‘Sorry. No, I’m right up to my eyes. When will you be back?’
‘Oh, hell! I was hoping we’d play for at least another five days. I don’t know when I’ll be back. How long will you be staying?’
‘To the end of the month.’
‘Will you be back in September?’
‘Could be. I’ll let you know.’
By this time the two men were in the locker-room. Jamison hurriedly changed.
‘I must get moving.’ He shook hands with Wilbur. ‘I’ll be in touch.’
As he hurried away, Wilbur stared after him, a worried frown on his face. He couldn’t remember ever seeing Jamison in such a tense mood.
At exactly 13.00, Smyth, carrying a tray, containing shrimp and diced lobster salad, paused outside the door of Shannon’s practice room. He listened to the strains of her cello and nodded sad approval. What a tone! he thought. She makes that instrument sing! He tapped and entered, putting the tray on the small table.
‘Lunch is served, madam. Perhaps a glass of Chablis or champagne.’
Shannon put down the cello and came to the table.
‘No, nothing to drink, Smyth. This looks marvellous. I have a lot of work still to do this afternoon before I feel I can give a good performance.’