“Is your car radio operating, Sheriff?”
“Yes, but...”
“I’ve got to report to Jenner,” Hollis said. “Davis will show you the mess in here,” and he dashed out into the rain and scrambled into Ross’s car. In minutes, he was talking to Jenner, telling him of the situation at the farm. Jenner listened in stunned silence.
“This escapee has gone off in Mason’s car, wearing Mason’s hat and slicker, and he’s taken Mason’s gun,” Hollis concluded.
“This punk must be out of his skull!” Jenner exploded. “This makes five murders he’s committed in one night. Okay, I’ll handle it — I’ll get an ambulance and the MO up to you fastest,” and he hung up.
Returning to the bungalow, Hollis found Ross on one knee beside Tom Mason.
“Better not touch him,” Hollis said. “An ambulance is on its way. He looks real bad.”
“He’s dead,” Ross said in a cold, flat voice. “He just had time to recognize me, then he went.”
Chapter 3
Sheila Weston sipped her dry martini while she regarded the handsome man sitting opposite her at a table overlooking the tennis courts.
“You play a fine game of tennis, Mrs Weston,” the man said and smiled. “Way out of my class. I hope, if it won’t bore you, we could play again soon.” Sheila was in almost a professional class at tennis, and this man who had suggested they might play had offered no opposition. That didn’t matter. She liked to win, and especially against a man.
This man, tall with curly dark hair, a handsome suntanned face, had introduced himself as Julian Lucan. Sheila had regarded him and decided he could be an exciting bed partner. After Perry had gone upstairs to pack and she was driving to the tennis club, she had decided she now wanted a change of bed partners. Joey and George were beginning to bore her.
This handsome man could enliven her sex life while Perry was away, she told herself. Seeing the way he was looking at her, she knew there would be no problem.
However, he was a stranger to her. She hadn’t seen him at the club before, and she decided to probe a little.
“You don’t come here often?”
“First time,” Lucan said. “Nice here, isn’t it? I drove out on the off chance of getting a game. Most days, I’m bottled up in the City.”
She probed further. “What do you do in the City?”
“I’m a photographer’s model. The season’s approaching for men’s wear, and I’m kept pretty busy.”
She nodded. That seemed satisfactory. “Are you doing anything over the weekend?”
He gave her a wide, handsome smile.
“Not if you have something more interesting to suggest, Mrs Weston.”
She believed in the direct approach. She had done this before and it always paid off — the well built men on the beach, the good looking men at the club bar, she’d let them take her somewhere, generally to a motel, but this time, she decided, she would make the arrangement.
“Well, I’m all alone this weekend. My husband is away on business.” She smiled. “Or so he tells me. Would you like to spend tonight and tomorrow at my place?”
His smile widened. “Nothing I would like better.”
She opened her bag, took out her card case, slid out a card and pushed it across the table. “That’s the address. Come at eight o’clock. My help will have gone by then. We’ll have a cold supper.”
He picked up the card, studied it, then slipped it into his shirt pocket.
“I’ll be there, Mrs Weston. I look forward to it.”
“You may call me Sheila, Julian,” she said. “I have a lunch date. See you tonight,” and giving him a flashing smile, she got to her feet, waved to him and walked to the club house.
Lucan finished his drink, then ordered another. Mrs Perry Weston, the wife of the successful scriptwriter. Lucan made it his business to know about successful men. Weston must be worth a sack of loot, he thought. Well, his friends called him ‘Lucky Lucan'. He seemed to be living up to his name.
Neither Sheila nor Lucan had noticed a thickset man, sitting under a sun umbrella, nursing a glass of beer. He was one of those nondescript men you pass in the street and not notice. His name was Ted Fleichman, one of the Acme Investigation’s best private detectives.
For the past week, he had been instructed to keep tabs on Sheila Weston. A daily, detailed report of her activities was to be sent to a Miss Grace Adams of the Rad-Hart Movie Corporation.
Fleichman had watched Sheila give Lucan her card, then he had watched her make her way to the open air restaurant. He nodded to himself, then, getting to his feet, he went in search of a telephone. He called Acme Investigations’s office and spoke briefly to Dorrie Roper who was in charge of assignments.
“Dorrie, I want Fred Small. Is he around?”
“When isn’t he? He’s lolling around in the lounge, gaping at the girlie mags. What do you want him for?”
“I need a second on the Weston job. Tell him to hustle down to the Long Island Tennis Club pronto. I’ll meet him on the terrace.” He hung up and returned to his seat under the sun umbrella.
Julian Lucan was eating a sandwich, relaxing in the sun. He seemed set for a while. From where he sat, Fleichman could see Sheila talking with three other women as they sat at a lunch table. He nodded. She was settled, too, for a while.
He finished his beer and waved to a waiter for a refill.
Half an hour later, Fred Small, a man in his late fifties, wearing a pale blue light-weight suit, yet another of the Acme men who could pass in a crowd without being noticed, joined Fleichman.
“What’s cooking, Ted?” he asked as he sat beside Fleichman.
“The party across the way in the tennis outfit,” Fleichman said, without looking in Lucan’s direction.
Small took a quick, casual glance, then he smiled.
“Oh, him. Lucky Lucan. Man! There’s a smooth operator! I had a little trouble with him in Manhattan. Usually, he works the Big City.”
“What’s his thing, Fred?”
“With those looks, he takes the older women for a ride. All very smooth. He screws them, and then puts on the pressure, gets them either to pay up or give him a big present. He does well.”
“Well, he seems to be having a go at Mrs Weston.” Fleichman grimaced.
“Or maybe, she’s having a go at him. Keep tabs on him, Fred. I’ll watch her.”
“You know something, Ted? You and I would be on the bread line if women behaved themselves. Nasty thought, isn’t it?”
“Don’t leave the men out. It’s the way of modern behavior. We’ll never be on the bread line so long as we can watch and wait.” Seeing Julian Lucan get to his feet and move over to the waiter to settle his check, Small grabbed up Fleichman’s beer, drained it and patted Fleichman on his massive shoulder.
“Get yourself another, Ted. You’ve got it soft,” and he walked casually after Lucan.
Lunch finished, Sheila parted with her three women friends, then went to a call booth. She spoke to Liza, her colored help-cum-cook.
“I want to give Mrs Bensinger supper at home, Liza.” she said. “Something nice. I leave it to you. Then get off. Have a nice weekend,” and she hung up.
She then went to the changing rooms, put on a bikini and went to sit by the swimming pool. Fleichman sat under another sun umbrella in view of the pool and waited. His job consisted of waiting, but the money was good and he was a patient man.
As Sheila lay in the sun, her eyes closed behind her big sun goggles, she thought about Julian Lucan. Some man she thought, and felt the urge of sex surge through her. Way out of Joey’s and George’s class. This man could be the lover of all lovers! Those grey, sexy eyes, his muscles and his confidence!