'You run along, Anna,' he said. 'I've still a few things to clear up.
'Can't I help?'
'No ... I'm just killing time. This is nothing urgent. I just don't happen to be in a rush to get home.'
When Anna had gone, Anson scooped up all the papers on his desk and pushed them into a file. He then took from his desk drawer the time switch clock he had bought the previous day. He read the instructions again, then plugged the gadget in to the mains socket. To the lead from it, he plugged in a two-way adapter to his tape recorder and his desk lamp.
He then set the switch to operate in five minutes and he sat back, lit a cigarette and waited. After five minutes tiad crawled by his desk lamp suddenly came on and the tape recorder started up, playing back the tape he had made of his typing. He turned up the volume until he was satisfied the sound of the typing could be heard in the corridor. He waited another five minutes, then he watched the desk lamp go out and the recorder stop.
He then reset the time switch to come into operation at nine thirty. He set the turn offhand of the clock to eleven.
Satisfied the gadget worked, he locked up his office and rode down in the elevator to the ground floor.
He found Jud Jones reading the evening newspaper in his office.
'Jud ... I'll be working late tonight. Don't think I have a burglar in my office.'
Jones grinned and winked.
'That's okay, Mr. Anson. I won't disturb you.'
'This is work, Jud, so take that leer off your face,' Anson said grinning. 'I'm going out to supper, then I'll be back.'
'Okay, Mr. Anson, have you your key?'
'Yeah ... see you,' Anson nodded and went out into the street.
He had a light supper and then drove to his apartment. He cleaned and loaded Barlowe's gun. Putting the gun in his top coat pocket, he went down to his car.
The time was now eight o'clock. He drove back to his office. Parking his car some way from the entrance to the block, he entered the block. He walked to Jones's office.
'I'm back,' he said. 'I'll be working to around eleven.' Jones shook his head.
'You watch out, Mr. Anson ... the way you work, you could get an ulcer.'
'I'll watch it,' Anson said, and he went over to the elevator and rode up to his floor. He waited a few moments, then silently walked down the stairs and left the office block. He got in his car and drove fast to the Brent-Pru Town highway.
When he was in sight of the telephone call box, he pulled off the highway onto a lay-by, turned off the car's lights and lit a cigarette. He had a long wait ahead of him.
He relaxed in the driving seat, aware of the weight of the gun in his pocket, his mind probing the plan he had made. He could find no flaw in it.
At twenty minutes to ten, he left the car and walked to the call box. He sat on the dry earth behind the box out of sight of the passing motorist and waited. Again he had a long wait. The minutes crawled by and he was beginning to wonder if something had gone wrong when the telephone bell in the call box began to ring. He opened the door to the call box and picked up the receiver.
Barlowe was startled when Meg had suggested they should go to the Court road house to celebrate their wedding anniversary.
Meg had appeared while he was eating his breakfast. She had on her soiled green wrap and her hair was tousled. She leaned against the doorway, a cigarette between her full lips and Barlowe, looking at her, felt faint desire stir in him.
'We haven't been out for months,' Meg said. 'I'm sick of hanging around this dump. If you don't want to take me, say so, I'll go alone.'
Barlowe said, 'A place like that costs money ...'
'Well spend some money for a change,' Meg said. 'I want to get drunk tonight.' She stared at him. 'There are other things I want to do tonight as well.'
They looked at each other for a long moment, then she turned and went upstairs to her room.
Barlowe pushed aside his half eaten breakfast and leaned back in his chair. Meg would have been surprised and shocked if she knew what was going on in his sick mind. He was no longer interested in her. That moment when he had laid hands on the screaming, terrified girl had been the most exciting and sensational thing that had happened to him in his life.
The living and the dead, he thought and got to his feet. The man rolling out of the car, shot through the head, and the girl struggling and screaming. Meg was poor stuff to such an experience, but if she wanted to be taken out, he'd better take her out. He was now nervous that anyone should suspect that he had done this thing. He had put the gun, the white bathing cap and the cheek pads under the floorboards in his room. He wanted to have the chance of doing this act of violence many times ... he had no intention of being caught.
Tomorrow night, he intended to go out again on the prowl. He would try Jason's Glen this time. He might be lucky to find two young people up there alone.
It startled him when they had finished a good, but expensive dinner and had returned to the bar for another drink that Meg should say she wanted to go out to Jason's Glen.
'What for?' Barlowe asked, slightly fuddled by the drinks he had taken. 'I want to go to bed now.' He stared at her, frowning, 'I've had enough of this.'
'Well, I haven't,' Meg said. 'What's the matter with you? Don't you want to be romantic?'
'With you?' Barlowe grimaced. 'After all this time? What's come over you ... you're drunk!'
'All right, so I'm drunk,' she said. 'I'm sick of living like a nun. Even a drip like you is better than nothing the way I feel. Let's go!'
Barlowe shook his head.
'I'm not going, I'm going home.' He thought of tomorrow night; the anticipation of the excitement and the violence made him break out into a sweat. 'That place is for courting couples, not for people like you and me.'
She leaned close to him. He could smell the gin on her breath. 'You're coming with me. You'd better! If you don't, I'll go out there alone and find someone.'
'I'm not going!' Barlowe said and became aware that the negro bartender was listening and staring. He lowered his voice. 'I've had enough of this. I'm going home.'
'Then I'll take the car and you can walk home,' Meg said. 'I'm going! You do what you like.'
Barlowe hesitated. After all, he thought, it might be an idea to go out there. He hadn't been to Jason's Glen for months.
By going out there now, he would get an idea of how many cars were there ... the lay of the ground.
'All right ... have it your way,' he said, shrugging. 'Then well go.'
'I'll get my things,' Meg said, and leaving him, she went into the ladies' room.
She paused, aware that her heart was hammering and she was breathing unsteadily. For a long moment she stood undecided, then with an effort, she went to the telephone booth and shut herself in.
Anson, the telephone receiver hard against his ear, said, 'Yes?'
There was a pause, then he heard a woman's voice say, 'Go ahead please,' then Meg came on the line.
'Hello?' He recognized her voice. 'Hello?'
'We are leaving now.'
He realized how tense she was from the hysterical shrillness of her voice.
'It'll be all right,' he said and hung up.
He returned to his car and drove up the narrow dirt road that led to Jason's Glen. He was a little uneasy. There was a remote chance some other couple might be in the glen. He arrived at the top of the steep road and then drove into the glen. There was plenty of room for cars to be parked and he drove his car between two, overgrown shrubs and turned off the car's lights. He got out of the car and walked onto the open plateau that gave onto a wide and fine view of the lights of the town below.
Usually ,at this time of night, the plateau was crowded with cars, but this night it was deserted. Courting couples, neckers and smoochers were staying clear of such spots. The police warning that the sex killer might strike again had made an impression.
