Chapter 8
If Joann Crowley had not read the story in the paper, she would not have been frightened of the quiet stranger.
She had walked down to the back cellar of her pool apartment to do her laundry. As usual she had waited until the later afternoon, when it was coolest and when she knew she would be alone. Too early and you had the housewives. Too late and you were crowded by the wage slaves. Since she got home at two-thirty from her teaching job, she could pick her own time.
About four, once a week, she took a pile of washing down, cigarettes, and the afternoon paper. The owner had generously installed a couch and coffee table and a stand-up lamp. It was like doing the laundry at home, and to keep things cool, she usually came down in her bikini after a swim.
The story about the prowler would not have interested her except for Penny's part in it. She was startled to see her name because she worked just behind Penny at the Acme Art Center:
PROWLER AT NOON Mrs. Penny Bruce of 1671 Balustrade Street, Hollywood, barely escaped being murdered by a prowler in her apartment today. The pretty young housewife escaped the rapist, who had gained entry into her home by posing as a County employee, by locking herself in her bathroom after alerting her husband.
Mrs. Bruce, 25, could not identify her assailant except that he was a tall, well-dressed man with glasses, in his thirties or forties, who carried a briefcase. The intruder, posing as a survey maker, first asked Mrs. Bruce some extremely personal questions about her marriage, then forced her to undress so he could attack her. A chance telephone call from her husband and quick thinking enabled her to give him the slip.
"I think what really helped me was that I didn't panic," Mrs. Bruce said. "I could see he was unbalanced and if I had shown any panic or threatened him, I think he would have killed me then and there."
As she finished the story, she made a mental note to ask Penny about it later and closed her eyes. The long swim, the hot day and the wonderful softness of the couch had made her drowsy. She let the paper slide to the floor and stretched her long legs comfortably.
The stranger came in so softly he did not awaken her. For a long moment, he stared quietly at the girl's breasts as they rose and fell with her breathing, and at her long, beautiful legs which tapered gracefully from round, showgirl thighs. He had admired her round, firm breasts moving up and down and the beautifully sculptured legs gave him a new sensation. He felt an urge to stroke her legs and came closer. The sound of his shoes scraping the newspaper awakened her. She sat up self-consciously.
"I-I'm sorry. I guess I fell asleep," she said, smiling sheepishly. "I'll be through with the machine in a minute."
Then she noticed that all he carried was a briefcase.
"I don't want to use the machine," he said in a voice that sounded somehow familiar. It was a voice she had heard somewhere.
"Are you a new tenant?" she asked politely. There were so many people moving in and out that she couldn't keep up with them.
"No," he said smiling. "I don't live here. Actually, I'm making a survey for the County and I wanted to ask you some questions."
"How'd you know I was here?" she asked, surprised.
"I saw you come here," he said quietly. His eyes moved over her body as he talked and she began to feel uncomfortable.
"Are you a virgin, Miss Crowley?" he asked quicky.
She reddened. "Say, what is this, mister?"
"I'd like to know if you're a virgin?" the man said. "And if you're not, how many times you have sexual intercourse every week?"
She felt her blood run cold. It all fitted into place now. The newspaper story, the man's appearance and his questions all pointed to one thing. She felt a dryness in her throat as he sat down beside her and caressed her bare leg.
"What's the matter, Miss Crowley?" he asked politely. "Anything wrong with my questions? No worse than that Kinsey Report, are they?"
"No, no," she said in a hoarse voice as her heart pounded.
"Well, are you a virgin?"
"No." She stiffened as his big hand cupped her breast. Don't panic for God's sake, she told herself. Don't give him any reason to be afraid.
"Do you have sexual intercouse several times a week?"
She shook her head slowly. He began to undo the top of her swimsuit. She made no attempt to stop him. She had read too many stories about women being strangled because they resisted.
"You're not afraid of me?" he asked surprised.
"No."
His voice was so familiar now that she was positive she had talked to him before. But she could not place the face with the dark eyes, behind the owlish frame glasses and the slicked-back hair.
As he removed the top of her suit, she said carefully, "Can I please go now? I have an appointment and must dress."
"No," he said irritably. He began to caress her breasts and then bent to kiss them. She could feel his teeth closing on them and shuddered.
If he bit her or mauled her, she would scream. She was certain of that. Would anyone hear her, she wondered? It was not likely. The rear ceHar was cut off from the pool area and no one came at this hour. She steeled herself not to cry out and prayed that he would not hurt her.
"Don't be afraid," he said. "I won't hurt you. All I want to do is love you. I've wanted to make love to you ever since I first saw you paint that Chinese girl. I wanted to rip your shorts and halter off the first time I saw you. But you looked right through me," he said a little resentfully. "Like the rest of them."
Her eyes widened as he removed the bottom of her swimsuit.
The remark suddenly told her who the stranger was.
She had not recognized him until he mentioned the Chinese girl. She remembered the man who kept coming behind her to examine the painting and to touch her "accidentally" each time. She remembered feeling naked under the constant stares he gave her across the room. She remembered with a sinking feeling that Penny had complained about him, too.
He began to run his hands over her breasts and thighs and back, so close to her now that she could hear his heavy breathing and smell his breath. She willed herself not to show terror.
"I want you bad," he said in a rasping tone. "Now."
He covered her body with his own and then loosened his clothing. Slowly, meticulously, his hot, damp fingers began to caress her.
"I'm glad you're sensible," he said. "I've had just about enough rejections today. I'd have to kill you just as I'll kill that other bitch who yelled cop."
He worked himself up to a peak of desire.
"No," she begged. "No."
"Don't be a fool," he retorted. "I told you I'd had enough rejections today. Make one sound and I'll strangle you."
He put his hands around her throat warningly.
She lay still under him and held her breath as his nails raked the small of her back.
He stared with gazed, fascinated eyes at her firm breasts and athletic thighs.
"You're beautiful," he whispered. "How many nights up there I wanted to do this. How many nights I undressed you as you bent over that easel."
He ran his fingers through her long, black hair.
"You've got beautiful hair, Joann Crowley," he said slowly. "Like spun silk. I used to he awake thinking of how wonderful it must look, the long black silky hair against those milk-white shoulders. I wanted to photograph that, but you woudn't have it. Beautiful, silky hair. Hair's very important, isn't it? You like my hair, Joann? You think it's beautiful now? I go to a very expensive hairdresser."
He put firm pressure on her legs. Then brutally he made love to her. The naked girl felt sick at what he was doing to her, but she did not fight him. She prayed that someone would hear the springs of the old couch or come to use the machine. She was certain he meant to kill her.
Don't panic! Penny got away because she waited until the right moment. He won't kill you if you don't panic and scream.
As he continued to make love to her, nearly smothering her in his tight embrace, her mind tried to think. If she could get him to go upstairs with her, she might get away. She might run for it or lock herself away as Penny had done.
She waited until he reached his climax. Then she said, "Will you come upstairs with me? It's cold here."
He looked at her with suspicion. "What are you trying to do? Run away?"
She quailed at the madness in his eyes. She shook her head.
"You want to yell copper!" he said angrily. Suddenly his rage broke its bounds and he began to tighten his fingers around her throat. "Maybe I ought to kill you now."
"No," she gasped, wrenching her throat away. "Don't kill me. Please don't kill me." She fought to get off the couch, kicking at him with both legs. He grabbed her strong legs and pinned them under him.
"Why shouldn't I?" he retorted. "What good are you? You'll only yell copper as soon as I go. You're all alike. You hate me. You don't even think of me as a man." He moved toward her throat again.
"Please don't kill me," she pleaded. "I'll do anything you say. I'll even let you make those pictures you need for that contest."
His hands stopped suddenly, poised above her windpipe.
"What pictures?" he asked quietly. "When did I ask you for pictures?"
"You wanted nude poses for that national contest," she gasped. "I'll let you take them. Don't kill me, for God's sake."
"Do you know who I am?" he asked sadly. "If you remember those pictures, you know who I am. I can't let you live now, Joann. I'm sorry. I'll have to kill you now."
He tightened his grip on her throat just in time to cut off her scream. A moment later he left, just as quietly as he had come.
Bishop and Trask saw her two hours later.
As he lowered the white sheet covering her, the lieutenant turned sadly to Trask. "We'll have to give this a night and day treatment. I think I know now what he's trying to do."
"What?"
"I think he's getting even for every girl in that art school who turned him down. I've met his kind before. He's probably been brooding about revenge for weeks and he's almost psychotic by the time he meets up with them. It doesn't take much to push him completely over the line. We've got to get over to that art school fast. Before he tries to rape or murder every girl who gave him the brush."