Tell It to the Birds

by James Hadley Chase

  I’ll be waiting there. I want you to call me and let me know for

  certain if you are coming. If something goes wrong, and he insists on returning home, I must know.”

  He took from his wallet a scrap of paper which he gave to her. “That’s the number of the call box. I’ll be waiting from ten o’clock onwards.”

  She nodded, putting the paper in her bag.

  “When you get to the glen,” Anson went on, “stay in the car, but keep the windows down.”

  Meg shuddered.

  “I understand.”

  “When I’ve got rid of him,” Anson said, staring into the fire, “I’ll have to work on you.” He reached out and put his hand over hers. At his touch she closed her eyes. “You’re going to get hurt, Meg. We daren’t take any chances. You’ll have to be brave about this… you understand? You mustn’t blame me. What I do to you will convince Maddox and the police you are in the clear. The doctor must be convinced that this isn’t a faked attack.”

  She felt a chill creep up her spine, but thinking of Sailor Hogan, she nodded.

  “It’s all right… I understand.”

  “From the glen to the highway is about a quarter of a mile,” Anson said. “You’ll have to get down to the highway. He’ll be in the driving seat. You won’t be able to use the car. It may take some time before passing motorists see you. You must fake you’re unconscious. Remember, you say nothing until you get flowers from me. If you get carnations, you’ll know the maniac has been caught. If you get roses, you’ll know he’s still at large.” He took a folded paper from his wallet. “Here is a description of a man I have made up. You’ll use this if the maniac has been arrested. You understand all this?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s about it,” Anson said. “Don’t let them rattle you and don’t say a word until you see my flowers. The doctor won’t let the police worry you until he is sure you are good and ready.”

  She looked at him, her eyes dark ringed and scared.

  “You are sure this is going to work?” she asked. “You’re sure we’ll get the money?”

  “We’ll get it,” Anson said. “With this set-up we can’t go wrong. You’ll have the public’s sympathy and Maddox will know if he tries to block your claim, it’ll be bad publicity and he hates that. I’ll work on the reporters. Yes… we’ll get the money all right.”

  Meg, still thinking of Hogan, said, “I can’t believe it’s going to happen.”

  “In a couple of weeks^ you’ll be worth fifty thousand dollars!” Anson said. “We’ll go away together! You, me and fifty thousand dollars!” He put his arm around her. “Together with that kind of money, we’ll take the sun out of the sky!”

  “Yes.”

  Meg broke away and went over to the fire.

  Anson stood up.

  “I mustn’t forget the gun,” he said and crossed to the sideboard and took the wooden box from the drawer. From it, he took the gun and six cartridges.

  Watching him with growing horror, Meg said, “You’ll have to leave now, John.” She felt she couldn’t bear to have this cold-blooded planner of murder any longer in the room. “Phil is coming back. He said he would be back by nine.”

  Anson turned and stared at her; a surge of angry disappointment ran through him.

  “I thought we were going to spend the night together. Why is he coming back?”

  “He has given up his classes now he is going to Florida,” Meg lied. “He is seeing this man he’s doing the deal with, then he’s coming home. You really must go, John. He mustn’t see you as you go down the lane.”

  A sudden cold suspicious expression came into Anson’s eyes.

  “You’re not falling out of love with me, are you?”

  “Of course not… but you take all this so calmly. I’m frightened. I’ll do it with you, but I can’t be so, so coldblooded about it as you are.”

  “This man is nothing,” Anson said. “Fifty thousand dollars will mean everything to us. I’m not being cold-blooded… it is a matter of how much you want the money.”

  “You must go… look at the time.”

  “I’ll be waiting for your telephone call,” Anson said. “Remember what I’ve told you. Ifil work.” He picked up the gun and put it in his pocket. “Come here, Meg…”

  She forced herself to go to him. His kisses made her feel physically ill and the feel of his hands as they moved down her back made her cringe.

  She pushed away.

  “You must go!”

  He looked at her for a long moment, then nodded and went out to his car.

  She sank onto the settee, her hands to her face, shuddering.

  Sailor Hogan came out of the kitchen where he had been listening to everything that had been said.

  “Well, you nearly balled up everything,” he said, coming into the room. “What’s the matter with you? Why didn’t you love the guy a little? He was wanting it. Now you’ve sent him away with a bee in his workbox.”

  “I hate him!” Meg said. “He terrifies me.”

  “What’s the matter with you? He’s smart and he means business. He’s quite a boy with his talk of taking the sun out of the sky… I dig for that.”

  Meg jumped up and put her arms around Hogan’s thick muscular shoulders.

  “Love me, Jerry,” she said, her lips lightly touching his thick coarse skin. “Please love me.”

  With a bored grimace, Hogan swung her down onto the settee.

  At half past five on Friday evening, Anna Garvin pushed aside her typewriter, collected the papers on her desk and put them in one of her desk drawers.

  “Time to go home, Mr. Anson,” she said as she got to her feet.

  Anson regarded her as he leaned back in his desk chair. His desk was covered with papers which he had deliberately laid out to create an impression that he was busy.

  “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 e
leven.” 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.

  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 co
uld 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?”