“The National Guard don’t know the ground as I do,” Ross said.
“I’ll tell Jacklin to consult you. Now, for God’s sake, don’t start acting like a hero, Jeff. You’ll need another deputy. Sergeant Hank Hollis is due promotion. He’s a good man. Okay, with you?”
“Sure. I know Hank. He’s a good man.”
“Right. He’ll report to you tomorrow morning. Now go to bed. If this rain continues, and the forecasters say it will, tomorrow is going to be a very tough day.”
“In the meantime, this killer is loose.”
“But not for long, Jeff. Good-night,” and Jenner hung up.
Having watched Julian Lucan drive away, Ted Fleichman returned to his car. He took out the cassette that recorded from the bug in the Weston house and dropped it into his pocket. He lit a cigarette and stared into space, his mind active.
He knew Perry Weston was a rich man. Although Fleichman’s salary, working as a private investigator, was good, he was in the hole for ten thousand dollars. His wife was never out of a doctor’s hands. She was never out of a dentist’s hands. Well, okay, some women were like that. He loved his wife, who was five years older than himself, but the bills that kept coming in weighed on him. The last check he had on what he now owed came to $9,800, and he had had firm letters asking for payment.
He would have to find the money. He rubbed his jaw while he thought of Perry Weston. Ten thousand dollars would be peanuts to a man in his earning bracket.
This would have to be handled carefully, he told himself, but he could swing a deal. Weston was out of town. Maybe the wife could produce ten thousand dollars.
It was worth a careful try.
Sheila Weston had got over her crying jag. An experience! she told herself. Never again! No more strangers! She was young enough to be resilient. Today was Sunday, and she was alone. She decided she would go to the tennis club and have lunch. Julian Lucan was already fading into her past. A marvelous sexy lover! She suddenly smiled. She certainly had handled him beautifully. He had given her the sex thrill of her life, and it had cost her nothing. But never again. She would take a shower, dress for tennis and spend the rest of the day at the club.
As she walked into the lobby, heading for the stairs, the front doorbell rang.
Who could this be? she wondered, frowning, aware she was only wearing a wrap over her nakedness, then with an impatient shrug she went to the door and opened it.
She was confronted by a thickset man, wearing a dark lightweight suit, white shirt and a white linen cap with a long peak.
“Morning, Mrs Weston,” the man said with a wide smile. “Sorry to disturb you. I’m Ted Fleichman, Acme Investigations.” He produced a wallet and flashed a silver badge. “Security, madam.”
“I am not interested,” she snapped. “Thank you,” and began to shut the door.
Fleichman, still smiling, shoved his foot forward so the door wouldn’t close.
“You and me, Mrs Weston, need to talk. It’s to do with Julian Lucan, the man who spent the night with you.”
The shock of hearing this was so great Sheila felt her heart skip a beat and felt blood drain out of her face. She took two unsteady steps backwards, allowing Fleichman to move into the lobby. He closed the front door.
“Go away!” Sheila said, her voice a whisper. “You’ve no right to come in here! Go away!”
Fleichman’s smile broadened.
“Sure, no problem, Mrs Weston. I’ll go away if that’s what you want, but I could help you. I want to help you. It’s part of my job. You see, I’ve been hired to watch you. I have to turn in a report, but if you want me to go away that’s just what I’ll have to do.”
“Watch me? Who has hired you? My husband?” Sheila was now recovering. This tough looking man seemed friendly. Could Perry have done such a thing... to have her watched?
“No, madam,” Fleichman said. “Nothing to do with Mr Weston. Sorry, I can’t name my client. Can’t we sit down and talk about this?”
“No! Go away!”
“Okay, madam. Anything you say. I just wanted to help you, but if you want me to turn in my report that you spent the night with Lucky Lucan, you have only to say so.”
“No one will believe you!” Sheila cried desperately. “You’re just a spy. You have no proof. Now get out!”
“Proof?” Fleichman shook his head. “If you mean there’s no evidence, madam, I have to correct you. I have a recording of what happened last night, and what happened this morning. I have photographs of Lucan leaving here. You probably haven’t had time to look around to see if anything is missing. Lucan always gets paid, either in cash or a present.” He took from his pocket the plastic bag containing the gold George IV snuffbox and dangled it so Sheila could see it.
“I believe this is your property, madam. I persuaded Lucan to give it to me.”
Not believing what she was seeing, Sheila ran into the living room and to the table where Perry’s antique collection was displayed. She saw at once the snuffbox was missing.
Fleichman had moved into the living room and stood watching her.
“Give it to me! It belongs to my husband!” Sheila exclaimed.
Fleichman looked sad.
“I wish I could, madam, but it has Lucan’s fingerprints on it. His prints establish the fact that he stole it. The tape I have establishes the fact that he tried to extort five hundred dollars from you which you rightly refused to give him. The combination of his prints, the tape and the photographs will put him in the slammer for at least five years. It is my duty to hand the evidence over to the NYC police. They have been waiting to get their hands on him, but, up to now, he’s been too smart.”
Sheila felt her knees buckling. She sat down, staring at Fleichman, who also sat down, opposite her.
“You see what I mean, madam. It’s a problem,” he said.
Sheila shuddered.
Awful thoughts flashed through her mind. A police enquiry! She would be called as a witness. Her friends! The sniggers and the whispers! Her social life, which she loved, ruined. God! What a lunatic fool she had been.
“This is a shock to you, madam?” Fleichman said. “Should I get you a drink?”
He looked around, saw the liquor cabinet, got up and poured a generous shot of Cognac into a glass. He took the drink to her. “Come along, madam. Drink it.” With a shaking hand, Sheila took the glass and swallowed the brandy in one quick gulp. She shuddered and let Fleichman take the glass from her. He returned to his chair and sat down.
For several minutes, Sheila sat motionless. The Cognac began to knit her together. Her mind began to work.
“As I have said, madam,” Fleichman said, seeing she was recovering from the shock, his voice gentle, “there is a problem... for you and for me.” She looked up and stared at him.
“For you?”
“Yes, madam. I have as big a problem as you have.”
“I don’t understand. What is your problem?”
“Well, madam, unlike you, I have a financial problem. I am being paid to keep tabs on you. I’ve been keeping tabs on you for the past two months. I know you have been having fun with certain men. I know who they are. I know Mr Weston has been busy and perhaps neglectful. What is more natural for a young, attractive woman like you than to have sex from time to time with other men? It happens every day. I know you have been with two of your men friends at various motels, but this time you fell for a professional, and you invited him to your home. That, madam, was a fatal mistake.” Sheila stiffened.
“Who is employing you?”
“I can’t give you the name of my client, madam. That would be a breach of confidence. When I investigate a woman who is playing around, it’s my job to investigate in depth. I have learned you and Mr Weston have drifted apart. Divorce evidence wouldn’t worry you, but for the police and the press to know that you have been foolish enough to take on a professional...” He paused to stare at her as he saw her flinch. “Well, I don’t have to spell it out, do I?” Sheila’s hands closed into fists.