He stood outside a living room window of the little three-room cottage
looking in, watching her. By moving from one side of the window to
the other he could see almost all of the room, and she, even if she
looked toward the window, would not be able to see him. There was a net
curtain inside the window. From the outer darkness he could see through
it clearly into the lighted room, but from where she sat the curtain
would be opaque. He could--except for his Need and his desperate
impatience--stand here as long as he wished to make his plans and
calculate his chances.
He thought they were good. The cottage was on the outskirts of town, in
a neighborhood not very built up as yet. There were only a few houses
in the block.
There was one almost directly across the street but it was dark and
there was no car in the carport alongside it. Obviously either no one
lived there or no one was home.
The nearest house on the right was vacant and had a "For Rent" sign on
it. People were home and lights were on in the nearest house to the
left--but it was well over a hundred yards away and besides either a
radio or television set was turned on quite loudly. He could hear it
from here. Over that volume of sound so close to them would they be
able to hear the sound of a scream? He didn't think so. But it was a
risk he would have to decide to take--or not to take. He'd never be
able to get through the window and get to her to knock her out without
her having time to scream once.
The window at which he stood was at the side of the house and he could
see the inside of the front door--and the chain bolt on it. Probably
just about every house or apartment in town had one now. Well, the
method he'd tried three times had succeeded twice but now he might as
well forget about it.
The danger that was greater than a scream being overheard was in plain
sight on a stand right beside the door. The telephone. Would he be able
to get through the window and to her before she could get to the phone
and finish dialing a number? If she got a call through--even managed
to get an operator and call _help_--he wouldn't have time to have his
way with her. But if by then he was in the room with her, if she'd seen
him, he could still take a few seconds to kill her quickly, so she'd
never describe or identify him, and still, he hoped, be out of the
neighborhood before the police came.
It would all depend on how quickly he could pry that window up and get
into the room.
He weighed the other chances against him. He'd checked the garage
behind the house; the door was open and the car was gone. That meant
that her husband, if she had one, was out and not in the bedroom or
the kitchen. Of course the husband might return too soon, but that
would be too bad for the husband unless he was a heavyweight champion
boxer. He'd hate to have to interrupt himself to do it, but he could
handle any ordinary unarmed man. The only difference would be that
he'd be leaving two corpses behind him this time instead of one. Or
three or more corpses if by any chance a child or children asleep in
the bedroom. He wouldn't mind killing them at all; he hated children
almost as much as he hated women.
His eyes went back to the woman. She was sitting on the sofa, her feet
curled under her, reading a magazine. Well--what was he waiting for?
He took the heavy chisel out of his pocket and put its edge between the
bottom of the window and the sill, then put both hands on the handle
and leaned his full weight against it. It made no appreciable sound;
she hadn't looked up from her magazine. But it was in as far as he
could push it, and was it in far enough?
There was only one way to find out. He threw all his strength into
pushing down on the handle of the chisel, and this time there was
noise--but it was the noise of splintering wood and not the snapping of
the window catch above. He had failed.
She looked up now, and there was fright in her face, but not panic. She
didn't scream. But she ran for the telephone and started dialing.
And there was no chance of getting to her in time now, with a second
try at the window. He ran to the car he had parked a quarter of a
block away. Stupid, he thought; he should have found the telephone
wire outside the house and snapped it. Then he'd have had time to get
in while she struggled with a dead phone. Next time, if he tried this
method again, he'd do that. And he'd have a hammer to use with the
chisel, to drive it far enough in so the catch would snap instead of
the wood splintering.
This time he was six blocks away when he heard the approaching sirens.
But would one of them by any chance stop and investigate a car driving
away from the address to which they'd been called? There wasn't much
traffic out here, and the cops just might get that bright idea. They
weren't in sight yet so he quickly parked at the curb in front of a
house, turned his lights off and lay down across the front seat out of
sight. They wouldn't investigate an apparently empty parked car this
far from their destination.
They didn't. Two of them screamed past him. No more seemed to be
coming, so he started his car and drove back into town, thinking
despairingly that he wouldn't dare make a third attempt tonight after
two unsuccessful ones. He'd have to case and plan his next kill
carefully.
For tonight, he thought, the Need would have to go unsatisfied. He'd
have to settle for the poor consolation of a few drinks to calm his
nerves, and then sleep.
That's what he thought. But then, he had not yet met Ray Fleck.