midnight.
I settled down for the monotonous wait. Mosquitoes swarmed about my ears and bit me on the backs of the hands. Then suddenly a light came on behind a small ground-glass window just forward of the bedroom. Bath, I thought. Did that mean Tallant was there? No. It went off again almost immediately. She was probably after a sleeping pill or glass of water. If Cannon’s head had looked anything like Purvis’s after they hit him, I thought, she probably bought sleeping pills by the quart.
The minutes dragged on: It was one o’clock. Then one-thirty. There were no signs of Tallant. He must not be coming, or he’d have been here by this time. Some Tallant, I thought. I’d have been in there before the light bulb got cold. I thought of her in that room alone and wondered if she slept in one of those shortie nightgowns or maybe just in the raw. Then I wrenched my mind away from her and cursed under my breath. Thinking about her always made me uncomfortable. Well, maybe she’d told him not to come. That happened, too.
The house was dark and silent and the others in the neighborhood had long since put out their lights. I began to grow impatient, and a little nervous, wanting to get it over with, but I made myself wait. Being caught in there would ruin everything. Give her until three o’clock, anyway. She should be asleep then if she was going to sleep at all. I began to worry about the door again. Suppose she had discovered the night latch was off? But I’d seen her leave the living-room to go to bed, and she hadn’t checked it. Stop stewing about it. Mosquitoes sang about my face. I flailed at them with my hands. It was a long, long hour.
When the hands of the watch came up to three I was tense and eager. I set the recorder on top of the wall and climbed over, landing softly on the grass on the other side. Going slowly and avoiding the lawn furniture from memory, I eased up to the flagstone terrace outside the living-room door. The soft-soled shoes made no sound on it. I located the door and reached for the screen. It didn’t open.
I stood for a moment, cursing silently. I’d been right there at the door and hadn’t had brains enough to check the screen to see if it was unlatched. But maybe it had been latched since then. That would mean the door was locked again. Well, there was no way to tell until I got the screen open. I set down the recorder and took out my pocketknife.
Switching on the little flashlight, I ran the beam along the edge of the frame inside until I located the hook. It took only a few seconds to work the knife blade through the mesh, place it under the hook, and pry upward. It came free with a little rattle as it bounced up and fell back against the wood. I switched off the light and waited, holding my breath. The night was silent all around me. It was all right, I thought; she couldn’t have heard it inside with all the doors and windows closed. The door, damn it, the door! I eased the screen open and took hold of the knob. It turned. I breathed softly.
I stepped inside, gently closed the door, and pushed around the end of the drape. It was cool after the heat outside. The blackness was impenetrable. I stood motionless for a long minute, listening intently. There was utter silence except for a faint whirring noise somewhere in the house from the blower mechanism of the air-conditioner. I switched on the flashlight and stepped across the room to the long, custom-built sofa. Lifting the red-shaded lamp off the end table, I placed it on the sofa and moved the table out of the way. Nothing made any sound on the carpet. Squatting, I looked behind the sofa. It was fine. There was plenty of room for the recorder, between the back of the sofa and the wall. I set the light down on the table, picked up the end of the sofa, and moved it out from the wall until I could get behind it.
I was working fast now, and silently, with all the moves worked out and memorized in advance. Taking out my knife, I
I settled down for the monotonous wait. Mosquitoes swarmed about my ears and bit me on the backs of the hands. Then suddenly a light came on behind a small ground-glass window just forward of the bedroom. Bath, I thought. Did that mean Tallant was there? No. It went off again almost immediately. She was probably after a sleeping pill or glass of water. If Cannon’s head had looked anything like Purvis’s after they hit him, I thought, she probably bought sleeping pills by the quart.
The minutes dragged on: It was one o’clock. Then one-thirty. There were no signs of Tallant. He must not be coming, or he’d have been here by this time. Some Tallant, I thought. I’d have been in there before the light bulb got cold. I thought of her in that room alone and wondered if she slept in one of those shortie nightgowns or maybe just in the raw. Then I wrenched my mind away from her and cursed under my breath. Thinking about her always made me uncomfortable. Well, maybe she’d told him not to come. That happened, too.
The house was dark and silent and the others in the neighborhood had long since put out their lights. I began to grow impatient, and a little nervous, wanting to get it over with, but I made myself wait. Being caught in there would ruin everything. Give her until three o’clock, anyway. She should be asleep then if she was going to sleep at all. I began to worry about the door again. Suppose she had discovered the night latch was off? But I’d seen her leave the living-room to go to bed, and she hadn’t checked it. Stop stewing about it. Mosquitoes sang about my face. I flailed at them with my hands. It was a long, long hour.
When the hands of the watch came up to three I was tense and eager. I set the recorder on top of the wall and climbed over, landing softly on the grass on the other side. Going slowly and avoiding the lawn furniture from memory, I eased up to the flagstone terrace outside the living-room door. The soft-soled shoes made no sound on it. I located the door and reached for the screen. It didn’t open.
I stood for a moment, cursing silently. I’d been right there at the door and hadn’t had brains enough to check the screen to see if it was unlatched. But maybe it had been latched since then. That would mean the door was locked again. Well, there was no way to tell until I got the screen open. I set down the recorder and took out my pocketknife.
Switching on the little flashlight, I ran the beam along the edge of the frame inside until I located the hook. It took only a few seconds to work the knife blade through the mesh, place it under the hook, and pry upward. It came free with a little rattle as it bounced up and fell back against the wood. I switched off the light and waited, holding my breath. The night was silent all around me. It was all right, I thought; she couldn’t have heard it inside with all the doors and windows closed. The door, damn it, the door! I eased the screen open and took hold of the knob. It turned. I breathed softly.
I stepped inside, gently closed the door, and pushed around the end of the drape. It was cool after the heat outside. The blackness was impenetrable. I stood motionless for a long minute, listening intently. There was utter silence except for a faint whirring noise somewhere in the house from the blower mechanism of the air-conditioner. I switched on the flashlight and stepped across the room to the long, custom-built sofa. Lifting the red-shaded lamp off the end table, I placed it on the sofa and moved the table out of the way. Nothing made any sound on the carpet. Squatting, I looked behind the sofa. It was fine. There was plenty of room for the recorder, between the back of the sofa and the wall. I set the light down on the table, picked up the end of the sofa, and moved it out from the wall until I could get behind it.
I was working fast now, and silently, with all the moves worked out and memorized in advance. Taking out my knife, I
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