Chapter 11
When Arthur Webb planned his wife's murder, he took into consideration the fact that he would need some kind of bracer to see him through, something to hold him together and keep his nerves intact.
Liquor was exactly what he needed just enough to make everything easier. As he secretly poured his third stiff drink in the kitchen, he was aware that he might be exceeding the prescribed dosage a little. But he still retained full use of his senses, and the bourbon was having the desired effect.
He was more determined than ever to go through with the murder exactly as he had planned it.
As soon as he finished the drink in his hand, he would put the whole plot into motion. Everything was set. He had already drawn a tub of water. Thelma was in the living room reading a book. He had gone over the plan a hundred times and been unable to find one flaw in it.
So, the time to act had arrived.
As he sipped at the drink, he gazed out the window toward the apartment across the way. He found himself wondering what Terry was doing this afternoon, if she were thinking of him as much as he was thinking of her.
He was still aglow with the memory of yesterday. Visions of her ripe young body kept swarming through his mind. He could almost see her lying naked on the bed the buoyant thrust of her breasts, the flat little tummy, the bewitching thighs and slim fleshy legs.
How he longed to be with her this very moment, to feel the nestling warmth of her body and the breath-taking touch of her lips on his.
It would not be long now. Soon he would be able to hold her in his arms and experience the intoxication as their bodies merged with flaming passion. She would be his every night for as long as he lived!
But first he must deal with Thelma.
She was in the way. She had given him nothing but misery, and now she must pay. It has to be done! His lips actually moved, as he spoke the thought aloud.
Lifting the glass to his lips, he poured down what was left in it. There was a gradual warming in his stomach which spread through his bloodstream. He could feel it tingling his nerves, stiffening his backbone, giving him the resolve that he needed to go through with his plan.
He placed the empty glass in the sink. Then he opened the refrigerator and took out a tray of ice cubes. As quietly as possible, he broke them free. Walking on his toes, he went to the door and peeked in at Thelma.
She was still reading her book, hardly aware that he was even in the house. Arthur smiled and walked back to the sink. His breath felt tight in his throat. His whole body was trembling now.
From the pocket of his trousers he took out a sock. His mouth was grim as he dropped in a half dozen ice cubes. He twisted the top of the sock and tested it by striking against the palm of his hand.
The perfect weapon.
And the real beauty of it was it could be disassembled after the act. There would be no blunt instrument. So naturally there could be only one conclusion Thelma had fallen in the tub and cracked her head.
He could hardly suppress his excitement now. A gloating sound came from his throat. Thelma did not even look up when he walked past her and into the bathroom. A wisp of steam curled up from the water in the tub.
For an instant he was startled by his image in the mirror. His eyes seemed almost demented. But who wouldn't be in a highly excited state of mind when he was about to commit a murder?
The bluntness of the fact stunned him for the fraction of a second. It was true he was about to murder his wife! But it had to be done, for the moment Thelma was dead his troubles would be over. Now was the time!
He took a stance against the wall beside the door. Then he raised the sock which contained the ice cubes over his head. A slight trickle of water rolled down his arm.
"Thelma-" he called. His throat was dry. He licked his lips. "Come here a moment, would you, please?"
"What do you want now?" she demanded irritably.
He was prepared for her surly reluctance. After all the miserable years of living with her, he knew how she would react to any situation.
"I you left your nail polish open, and I've spilled it all over everything-"
"Oh, you fool-" she called angrily.
And then she was walking toward him. He heard the heavy tread of her feet. She was muttering to herself, ready to give him another of her tongue lashings.
But this time she would not succeed!
The instant she walked through the door, he brought down his arm. There was a heavy cracking sound as the ice-filled sock struck the back of her skull.
Thelma staggered and reached for support. Her hands grasped the wall. Arthur cursed with fury. She was stunned, but she refused to go down.
He struck again, and this time she fell backward through the door, into the hallway. Quickly Arthur threw the sock down and caught her under the arms. Lifting her up, he leaned her against the wall.
Luckily she was wearing only a housecoat. But he found that taking it off of her was more difficult than he had expected. She was as limp as a bag of bones.
When she was naked at last, he leaned down with his ear close to her lips and listened for breathing. Finally he nodded with satisfaction. She was still alive. This was very essential, for they must find water in her lungs when they performed the autopsy.
Arthur lifted her once more and dragged her across the floor to the tub. After nearly a minute of struggle, he got her head under the water.
He held it there for a long time longer than was necessary. But now he could take no chances. In the years ahead he could do anything he pleased, in any manner that he pleased so long as right now he took his time and finished the job properly.
Finally, he picked up her arm and felt her wrist. There was no pulse.
Lifting her feet, he shoved the rest of her body into the tub. She was sprawled with her head still under the water. Everything looked just the way it should. Anyone would believe that she'd had an accident.
Arthur picked up her house coat and hung it on the hook behind the door. That was where it would naturally be if Thelma had actually been taking a bath.
He looked around the bathroom for any signs of a struggle. One of the towels was slightly tilted on the rack. He straightened it. Then he picked up the sock and carried it to the kitchen, where he emptied the ice into the sink. Perfect!
It had all gone off without a hitch. Arthur chewed his lip, then frowned. Well almost without a hitch. He had not expected her to stagger backward and fall into the hall. Was there anything which might incriminate him?
He hurried there and looked around on the floor. Not even the rug was wrinkled. He glanced once more into the bathroom, where Thelma still lay immersed in water. He could not prevent a chuckle of triumph.
He turned to go and stopped cold.
From the spot where he stood the spot where Thelma had fallen he was visible from half a dozen windows of the apartment house across the way! That is, if anyone had been watching at that time through a telescope!
It was a possibility that he could not afford to over-look, no matter how remote it might be. Yes, everything had to be in order.
Everything.
He raced to the bedroom and took down the cardboard box from the closet shelf. Opening it on the bed, he stood up the tripod and screwed the telescope onto the base.
Then he carried it all with him back to the hall which led to the bathroom. He placed the tripod in exactly the spot where Thelma had fallen. He aimed the telescope toward the window and beyond to the distant apartment building.
And then he peered nervously into the eyepiece.
On closer examination he saw that the possibilities narrowed down to four windows. Four chances out of infinity that someone had been watching from a distance and had seen him murder his wife.
No they would not have seen the actual blow. And they would not have seen him holding her head under the water. But if they had seen her stagger and fall even that would point the finger to him, when it was learned later that his wife had died in an unusual manner.
He could not permit the slightest chance to wreck his plans now. He must know for certain. If anyone were at home in one of the four apartments, then they were at once to be suspected.
But only if they owned or had access to a telescope. In no other way could they have spied on him. Did that mean he would have to investigate the occupants of each apartment? That only led to further problems. If someone were home now, and had a telescope that would mean he would have to kill again to cover himself.
He shook his head.
It was all so confusing. How could he have overlooked such a thing? He could not understand how such a simple thing could suddenly become so involved.
Thelma was dead, and yet he was still not free to reap the benefits. A dark cloud still hung over his head.
Squinting through the eyepiece, he stared into one of the windows for a full five minutes. But nothing moved. Apparently there was nobody home.
He moved on to the next window beside it, and after more than a minute came to the same conclusion. The other two windows in doubt were on the next floor below. It was in the third window that he saw something which turned his blood to ice. A groan sounded deep in his throat.
In the room stood a man, stark naked, facing the spot where Arthur was standing. And around his neck hung a pair of binoculars on a strap.
There was something familiar about the man, but that was unessential compared to the fact that this man might have been witness to the killing of his wife.
A witness who could destroy him!
Then the man must be dealt with at once. There must be no holding back now, for everything was at stake. His happiness, his future with Terry. Everything-
Keeping the particular window in view, Arthur picked up the telescope and carried it across the living room. From there he was able to locate Terry's window. He counted down and across. A little simple mathematics would allow him to figure out the precise floor and room number of the apartment unit where the man stood.
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to calm his jangled nerves.
Then he ran to get pencil and paper. He made the calculations right there so that he would be certain to get the right apartment.
There could be no mistakes.
A wave of panic swept through him as he started dismantling the telescope. It must be done. He had to take one step at a time and cover his tracks. Everything had to look proper when the police arrived. Any little thing might arouse their suspicions.
His heart was beating wildly now. But he forced himself to move slowly and deliberately. With great effort he knotted a tie and slipped on his suit coat. His face seemed more flushed than usual as he looked at his image in the mirror, but the wild stare had faded from his eyes.
Soon he would be back to normal.
Only one more thing had to be done, and he would be free at last. One more terrible thing. . .
He ran to the kitchen and pulled open the utensil drawer. There was a small bone-handled carving knife which could be hidden in his coat pocket. Perfect! He grabbed it quickly and rushed through the house.
His eyes turned toward the bathroom door as if drawn by a magnet. What if she were not really dead yet? That was nonsense, of course. He did not have time to check again. Such distracting thoughts could turn him from his purpose. He had to keep control just a little while longer.
He made sure that the door was locked behind him, then he ran along the corridor. His heavy breathing was noticable. He waited for nearly a minute before he pushed the elevator button. His other hand was in his coat pocket, clasping the bone handle of the knife.