Chapter 15

The tall stranger had come to Sally Rosson's flat shortly after noon. He had knocked politely several times and waited. Sally, dressed in a halter and shorts, stopped cleaning up to listen.

Sally knew the police car was patrolling the area and was not too worried. Nonetheless, when the knocking came, she felt her heart pound. She let the visitor rap several times while she wondered what to do. It might be a peddler or even a neighbor, but she was too nervous to find out. For a long moment, she stared helplessly at the door.

Finally she decided to tell whoever it was that she was ill and could not see anyone.

"Who is it?" she asked through the door.

"Mr. Conrad, L.A. District Attorney's Office. I planned to call for an appointment but the police are tapping the line and want it kept free. Lieutenant Bishop asked me to come and see you. Need some more facts on this case. He said you could help me."

Sally sighed with relief and unlocked the door. The visitor was a very pleasant-looking man, tall, broad shouldered and had nice warm brown eyes. He carried a leather briefcase in one hand.

"I'm sorry I'm so nervous," she said apologetically. "Please excuse my dress. I was doing some household chores."

He laughed. "Well, I don't think a person ought to wear formal dress to clean up."

"No," she smiled. "Won't you sit down, Mr. er-"

"Conrad. Thank you. I'm sorry if I've disturbed you, Miss Rosson. But we have our own investigation and I've got to make a report this afternoon to the district attorney."

"Well, sure," the blonde girl said quickly. "But I told everything I know to Lieutenant Bishop. You can get it all from him. Don't you people share these things?"

"Yes, yes, of course," the young man interjected. "I've done that. I've read his report. This is just some supplementary material I need-to, well, kind of round it out. Our reports have to be fuller."

The girl nodded. She settled herself comfortably on the leather couch, stretching her long, shapely legs, and lit a cigarette.

"Shoot," she said. "What else do you want to know?"

The young man smiled and opened a long legal-sized pad he had taken from his case.

"Well, now, this man who came to your window. Sanderson."

"Yes."

"Did he come before?"

"Yes, but I've told all that to Lieutenant Bishop. Besides, as I said to him-the only time Jim ever did anything to me was on the beach."

"What beach?"

"Well, out toward the county line. When we made those photos."

"What happened there?"

The girl's eyes widened. "Didn't you read the report? I thought you said-"

The tall man reddened, and nodded embarrassedly.

"I did. But tell me again, please. I want it a little more thoroughly."

"Well, I was posing for these nudes and Jim got kind of carried away."

"I don't know as I blame him," the young man said pleasantly.

Sally smiled her appreciation. But something in the man's too-casual tone and the way he looked at her legs disturbed her.

"Well, he kind of stared at me in a funny way," she began. "I was posing in black panties, like I said."

"Can I see those?" the tall man said matter-of-factly. "I mean, if you still have them."

"I think I do," she said, a little flustered by his request. "But I don't see what that would add to your report."

"Please get them," he asked politely.

Somewhat upset, she went into her room and got the panties. He examined them very carefully. She watched him with a mounting uneasiness she could not explain.

"Then he raped you?" the tall man asked finally.

"No, not quite. I gave all that to the lieutenant, Mr. Conrad. Do I have to go over all that again?"

Was she mistaken or was he looking at her now like a psycho? His eyes seemed to crawl over her legs and breasts. As he smiled at her hypnotically, a premonition of danger filled her. She remembered that it was shortly after noon. He continued to stare at her, ignoring her question. A cloud of fear mushroomed in her stomach.

Suddenly the telephone rang.

"Excuse me," she said nervously.

The tall man stood up. "If that's the police, please don't tell them I'm here," he said crisply. "Weer-conduct our own private investigations. I'd rather not let them know what I'm doing."

His words really worried her now. She picked up the phone and said hello.

"Sally?" she heard Bishop's voice say. "Lieutenant Bishop here. You okay?"

"What number do you want?" she answered, her heart beating faster.

"This is Lieutenant Bishop."

"I'm sorry. You must have the wrong number. This is not Hollywood 7-4916," she said slowly, hoping the visitor could not hear the beat of her heart. There was a moment of what seemed an interminable silence at the end of the line.

"Control yourself, honey," Bishop said, finally. "We'll be right up. Don't act scared. Stall him by being nice. Don't, for God's sakes, let him know if you recognize him. Offer him a Coke or something so you can get to the back and unlock the door."

She hung up and, without looking directly into the visitor's eyes, said, "Wrong number."

"Let's go on," the visitor said. "If you don't mind?"

"No."

She sat down nervously, feeling all at once very undressed, in her tight-fitting shorts and narrow halter.

"So all he did on the beach was look at you in a funny way, huh?"

Her heart beat faster. He had obviously not read any report about the incident. Had not consulted with Bishop.

"That's right," she said. Her throat suddenly felt very dry.

"I'm surprised," he said, impaling her with his eyes. "I would have thought he'd do much more than look. Have you ever been bothered by prowlers before?"

"No," she said.

His fixed gaze was unnerving her. She tried to appear as calm as possible.

"Anyone ever try to attack you? Sexually?"

"No."

"What are you so nervous about, Miss Rosson?"

"Nothing."

He smiled broadly as he read her fear. "You don't think I'm the prowler? Do you?"

"No," she said slowly. "Not at all."

He laughed. "Well, why shouldn't you? He always comes about this time, doesn't he?"

She did not answer him.

He put a finger to his upper Up. "What if I were to tell you my name is not Conrad," he said slowly, "and that I'm not from the District Attorney's Office. Does that frighten you?"

"No, I don't think so," she said, hearing the pounding of her heart. He was sitting about six feet away from her. The way he stared, he might be getting ready to do anything.

"You're thinking right now that I'm going to attack you," he said softly. "That right?"

"No," she said. She wanted to add something else-something to add to the stark, frightened-sounding "no," but her palate felt very dry.

"Tell me what you're thinking," he asked, his eyes boring into her own. "I want to know exactly what's going on in that pretty little head. You think I'm the prowler and you're wondering if the police will save you. Is that it?"

She shook her head quickly, watching his every move. If he sprang at her, she would try stopping him with judo. He looked pretty strong, but he might not know the defenses. It was a chance anyway and she had to take it. She wished to God that the police would hurry. The man might be armed. He might have a gun in that bag.

"If you're counting on the police," he said softly, "I'd advise you to forget it. If they couldn't catch a man they had surrounded in a department store, they'd never get me. I'd kill you long before they got here."

Clenching her fists, she said as smoothly as she could, "Would you like a cup of coffee? Or a drink?"

"So you could run into the bathroom or yell for help?"

"No." She tried to muster up a tired smile. "I just thought you might like it."

"I suppose they call this being nice to a psycho," he said. "You're very good. Very convincing. If I didn't know you were shivering like jelly, I'd believe it. But it's a good try. Who taught you? Bishop?"

"No."

"No?" he said surprised. "Are you sure?"

"I mean yes," she said. "Yes, he taught me."

"What else did he tell you to do if I came and he wasn't here?"

"Just to be nice. To treat you nicely."

He laughed, enjoying this very much. "Be nice to the madman, eh?"

"He just said be nice."

He pulled a cigarette from a package in his pocket and put it to his lips. "Want one?"

"Yes, thank you."

He lit both cigarettes in his mouth and gave one to her. He drew on it easily. She choked on hers as the smoke went down the wrong way.

"Would you mind if I got some water?" she said slowly, hoping her voice did not shake too much.

"Go ahead," he said softly. "Listen, I think I'll have a Coke after all. I like Coke."

As she moved to go, he rose, and for an awful moment she thought he would attack her. He smiled instead.

"Let's see what your great protectors are up to."

He tiptoed to the window and glanced into the street. His laughter filtered back to her. She had almost reached the small laundry room leading to the back door when she saw his face behind her.

"I'll empty the ice tray for you," he said. "Your watchdog's down the block. Know how I got in without his even seeing me? I waited while he cruised around the block. Clocked his speed a few times and then beat him. See how easy it is?"

He smiled at her as he sipped his drink. "Mind if I look around your place, Miss Rosson?" he asked, genially.

"No." Her voice sounded hoarse even to her.

As he walked into the bedroom, her mind raced with possibilities. The back door was locked by a single hook. If she moved quickly, she could unhook it. She dismissed the idea of escaping. He might hear the door move or her footsteps as she ran through the long alley and shoot her. She decided it was safer to wait for the police. If he tried to rape her, she might still be able to handle him.

She moved slowly toward the laundry room.

"Nice bedroom, Miss Rosson," she heard him say. "Very pretty." His voice sounded closer.