Anson looked around, then he selected a clump of shrubs that offered concealment. He pushed his way into them and sat down on the sandy, dry ground. He took out the gun and slid back the safety catch. While he waited, he thought with satisfaction that the time switch clock in the office was creating a fool-proof alibi for him. Light would now be showing through the frosted panel of his office door and when Jud Jones passed on his patrol, he would hear the busy clack of the typewriter from the tape recorder.
It would take Barlowe and Meg some thirty minutes to get from the roadhouse to the glen. Anson didn't expect them to arrive before ten thirty.
As he waited for them to arrive, he fingered the gun, his mind preparing himself for the moment when his finger would take up the slack of the trigger, when the gun would go off and when Barlowe would slump forward, a dead man.
Anson was again surprised by his own calmness and his feeling of complete indifference. He was now experiencing the same feeling that had come to him when he had shot the patrol officer. The death of the big, red- faced cop had meant nothing to him as the death of Barlowe would mean nothing to him when it happened.
A little after ten thirty, he heard the distant sound of an approaching car.
His fingers tightened on the butt of the gun. He half stood up, crouching in the shrubs as he listened. Then he saw the approaching lights of the car.
He watched the shabby Lincoln pull up within twenty feet or so from where he was concealed. Before the head lights went out, he saw the outlined heads of Meg and Barlowe.
In the silent stillness, he heard Barlowe say, 'Well, here we are. There's no one here... .'
Anson moved silently out of his hiding place and started across the open space towards the car.
'Well, here we are,' Barlowe repeated, his pale brown eyes roving around. He noted there were no cars except his own.
A sudden, cold murderous thought dropped into his mind. Why not get rid of Meg? They were alone together. He could do what he liked with her in this loneliness. Then reason made him hesitate. Careful, he told himself, You can't do a thing like that... they'd know you had killed her and they would then know you had done the other thing.
By now Anson had reached the car. He saw the driver's window was down. He could see Barlowe clearly in the moonlight.
Meg said, her voice unsteady, 'Don't you want to make love to me?' Then suddenly, her nerve cracked, and she put her hands to her face. She screamed; 'No! Don't do it, John...don't do it!'
As Barlowe turned towards her in startled surprise, Anson lifted the gun and gently squeezed the trigger.
Meg was still screaming hysterically as the gun went off. Barlowe slumped forward; blood sprayed over the windshield.
Anson dropped the gun into his pocket, then he walked around the car and opened the off-side door. Meg threw up her hands to ward him off.
She was screaming hysterically as he dragged her out of the car.
Part Two
Chapter 8
Steve Harmas walked into the office, put his hat on the peg behind the door, then lowered his long frame into his desk chair.
He and his wife, Helen, had been to a party the previous night which had turned out to be a marathon drinking spree and Hannas was now suffering from a hangover.
He rubbed his forehead, grimaced, then looked with glazed eyes at the mail neatly laid out on his blotter.
There didn't seem to be anything that needed his immediate attention and he relaxed back and closed his eyes. He thought enviously of his wife still asleep.
The sudden sound of the intercom buzzer made him wince. He flicked down a key, said, 'Harmas. Yeah?'
'I want you.'
There was no mistaking Maddox's voice.
'I'm on my way,' Hannas said, flicked up the key, pushed himself out of his chair and started the long tramp down the corridor to Maddox's office.
Patty greeted him with a bright smile that made Harmas wince.
'You're looking like a man with a hangover,' she said. 'Do you feel that way?'
'Yeah.' Harmas held his head. 'What's he want?'
'I don't know. I took the newspaper into him about five minutes ago. There was an explosion, then I heard him yelling for you.'
'I have an idea that this isn't going to be my favourite day,' Harmas said entering Maddox's office.
Maddox was smoking furiously. Although it was only a quarter after nine a.m., from the state of his desk and floor, he might have been working throughout the night.
'Look at this,' he said and tossed the newspaper at Harmas.
Harmas sank into a chair and.read the banner headlines.
Maniac Strikes Again: Carbon Copy Murder and Assault.
He glanced at Maddox who was watching him, then he began to read the small type under the headline. Suddenly, he stiffened.
'Philip Barlowe? He's a client of ours, isn't he? Isn't he the one...?'
'He was our client!' Maddox said, a snarl in his voice. 'He was insured for fifty thousand dollars ... now he's dead!'
'Shot through the back of his head ... his wife raped!' Harmas looked shocked. 'It's time they caught this nut. She sounds in a bad way.'
'I can read,' Maddox said, 'Steve, I don't like this. There's a smell to it. This guy took out a life coverage ten days ago ... now he's dead. I don't like it.'
'I guess she doesn't like it either,' Hannas said a little impatiently. 'It's one of those things.' He looked sharply at Maddox. 'You don't think he was killed for the insurance money?'
'I don't know, but when a two bit salesman insures his life for fifty thousand dollars and then he dies before the ink's scarcely dry on the policy, I don't like it.'
'It says here she was raped and is suffering from a dislocated jaw. She gets the money, doesn't she? Don't tell me....'
'For fifty thousand dollars I'd be raped and have my jaw dislocated,' Maddox said grimly. 'I'm a head start on you. You haven't seen the dossier the Tracing Agency turned me on this woman ... I have. It's some story. A woman life that could do anything.'
'Where's the dossier? Let me see it, then I can look and act as clever as you,' Harmas said.
'Never mind about the dossier. We've got to move fast. I want you to go to Brent right away. See leutenant Jenson. Tell him I don't like the set-up and that I want you to work with him. He'll be glad to have you. I want you
