card.’
I reached out and picked up the card.
There it was:
‘Some machine,’ I said, trying to keep my voice steady. ‘Well, thanks. This is just what I’m looking for.’
Half an hour later, in a hired car, I was driving fast along the coast road to Santa Barba.
I told myself not to be too optimistic. Although I had narrowed down the field, although I was pretty sure Rima must be living somewhere in the locality of Santa Barba, I had still to find her and my time was running out.
I arrived in Santa Barba around five thirty. I asked a traffic cop where I could find the Pacific and Union Bank and he directed me.
I cruised past the bank which was closed. It was a branch bank and small. I parked the car and walked back to take a close look at it.
Exactly opposite was a small hotel.
I took my bag from the car and went over to the hotel.
It was one of those down-at-the-heel places that cater mainly for travelling salesmen.
The fat woman behind the reception desk handed me a pen to sign in and gave me a dismal smile of welcome.
I asked her if she had a room overlooking the street. She said she had, although she recommended the back rooms as they were less noisy.
I said I didn’t mind the noise, so she gave me a key and told me how to reach the room. She said dinner would be served at seven o’clock.
I carried my bag up the stairs, found the room, unlocked the door and entered.
It was clean, plain and far from comfortable, but I didn’t care. I crossed to the window and looked out. Exactly opposite was the bank.
I pulled up a chair and sat down by the window and studied the grill guarding the entrance.
When did Rima visit the bank?
I knew I dare not try the same trick I had worked on the Los Angeles branch to get a look at her record card. I knew if she got the slightest hint that I was on her trail, she would slip away, and I would have to start the hunt all over again.
Maybe if I sat at this window and watched, I might see her, and then I could follow her and find out where she lived.
I realised this would take time. I was due back at my desk the day after tomorrow. I couldn’t stay away longer than another day. Maybe I would have some luck and spot her. It was something I decided to do, although I didn’t have much hope that tomorrow she would come to the bank.
I had to be careful to keep off the streets. It would be fatal to my plans if she saw me before I saw her.
So I decided to take no chances and remain in the hotel and keep out of sight.
I unpacked, took a shower, changed, then went down to the lobby. The place was deserted. I spent some minutes checking the telephone directory and a street directory on the off chance that Rima would be listed in either one or the other, but she wasn’t.
Then I went up to my room and stretched out on the bed. There was nothing now I could do until the bank opened the following morning.
The hours crawled by.
Later, I went down to the restaurant and had a cheerless dinner, badly cooked and indifferently served.
After dinner I went up to my room and went to bed.
At breakfast the following morning, I told the fat woman I had a lot of paper work to do and I planned to work in my bedroom.
She said I wouldn’t be disturbed.
I returned to my room, pulled up a chair and sat down at the window.
The bank opened at nine o’clock. It was obvious that it wasn’t a busy branch. For the first two hours only five people entered. After that it got a little busier, but not much. I sat there and watched.
I didn’t give up hope until the bank doors were shut, then I became so depressed I could have cut my throat.
I had to leave the next morning, and I knew my chance of finding Rima before the second payment came due was now washed out.
I spent the rest of the evening, trying to think of any other way of finding her except this hit and miss chance of watching the bank, but I just couldn’t think of any other way.
It would be hopeless to walk the streets in the hope of seeing her. Besides, it would be dangerous. She could easily see me before I saw her, and then she would vanish.
Then I had a sudden idea. How would it be, I asked myself, if I employed a detective agency to find her for me?
For a few moments I was so excited by this idea I nearly rushed downstairs to consult the classified directory to find out the name and address of an agency, but then I realised I didn’t dare do it.
The detective agency would remember me. They would tell the police that I had hired them to look for her, and the police would start hunting for me.
This thing was between Rima and myself. No one could help me. I had to handle it myself.
It was then, as I lay on the bed, that I realised, that even when I did find her, I still had to think of a way of killing her in complete safety.
I didn’t flinch from the thought of killing her. It was Sarita’s and my future against Rima’s worthless and degenerate life. But it would have to be done so that it could never be traced back to me.
Had she confided in anyone that she was blackmailing me? Again that was something I had to find out. The whole thing now took on a nightmarish atmosphere: one difficulty led to another that led to another.
First, I had to find her.
Then I would have to be guided by circumstances as to how best to kill her.
Then I had to be quite, quite sure the murder couldn’t be traced to me.
The following morning I took the plane to Holland City and walked into my office soon after eleven o’clock.
Jack was talking on the telephone. When he saw me, he said, ‘I’ll call you back. Yeah. In ten minutes.
Something has come up…’ and he dropped the receiver onto its cradle.
He looked at me and I saw at once that something bad had happened. He was pale; there were shadows under his eyes as if he hadn’t had any sleep, and an expression on his usually cheerful face that sent a chill crawling up my spine.
‘Have you been home yet, Jeff?’
‘No. I’m just off a plane.’
I put down my suitcase and dropped my raincoat on a chair.
‘I’ve been trying to get you,’ Jack said, his voice husky and unsteady. ‘Where the hell have you been?’
‘What’s up?’
He hesitated, then got slowly to his feet.
‘It’s Sarita…’
I felt my heart miss a beat, then it began to thump violently.
‘What is it?’
‘It’s bad, Jeff. There’s been an accident… I tried everywhere I could think of to find you…’
I was cold and shaking now.
‘She’s not dead?’
‘No, but she’s pretty badly hurt. Some drunken driver hit her car. I’m afraid she is really badly hurt, Jeff.’
I stood there, staring at him, feeling empty and cold and very lonely.
