Man on a leash - By Charles Williams Page 0,60

the country before the imitators can start crawling out of the woodwork.”

“If you’ll remember,” Kessler’s voice said, “D. B. Cooper got away with it, precisely because he was first and he was qualified.”

The bed was beginning to creak on the other side of the wall. Romstead and Paulette Carmody looked at each other and shrugged.

“So sign it, Romstead,” the voice went on. “And Mrs. Carmody, just write ‘Dear Jerry’ comma ‘send it’ period ‘He means business’ period on that sheet of paper. I want that note on its way in the next ten minutes.”

“And if we don’t sign?” Romstead asked, knowing it was a futile question and what the answer would be.

“We bring Mrs. Carmody out here and work on her. We’ll do it in front of the intercom, so you can listen.”

Romstead thought of the burro. He signed the withdrawal slip and handed her the pen. The sheet of paper was on the nightstand between the beds. The little gasps and outcries filtered through the wall. “I’ll be glad to sign it,” she said wearily to the intercom, “if you’d just move that riding academy to some other room.” She wrote the message he had dictated and put her signature to it. Romstead put the two pieces of paper on top of the chest under the panel, along with the passbook. A hand came through and picked them up. The slide closed and he heard the latch being refastened. The ecstasy on the other side of the wall reached climax, died with one final shriek, and silence returned. Paulette Carmody didn’t even try to evade it anymore; maybe, Romstead thought, she had accepted it as part of the process of breaking them down and decided that escape from it was hopeless.

He wondered if the girl could be Debra, but it didn’t seem likely. Debra was presumably on heroin, which was supposed to inhibit all sexual desire; if anything had ever eroded this chick’s libido, he’d hate like hell to have run into her in a dark alley before she began to cool down. He heard a car start up somewhere in front. The ransom note was on its way.

“What was all this about D. B. Whatsisname?” Paulette asked.

“You remember,” Romstead replied. “D. B. Cooper—at least that was supposed to be his name. He started the wave of plane hijackings for money; bailed out over the Pacific Northwest with two hundred thousand dollars, and so far he’s either got away with it or he’s dead. I’m all for his being dead, and there’s a good chance of it. Jumping into heavy timber in the dark will never make you the darling of the insurance companies.”

“Oh, sure,” she said. “I remember it now. And you figure if this dingy creep gets away with it, electronic extortion will be the latest craze to sweep the country? I see what you mean. And what do you think his chances are of getting away with it?”

“Damned good,” Romstead said. “For the short term. They’ll get him in the end, of course, but I don’t know how much good that’ll do us.” There was no use raising any false hopes; also, they were being overheard.

There was no further word from the intercom. The day dragged on. At noon two bowls of some kind of stew were handed in through the sliding panel, along with some cans of beer and a carton of Paulette Carmody’s brand of cigarettes. They began to hope the girl had gone off with the bearer of the ransom note, but shortly after noon she was back in action again.

“Do you suppose,” Paulette asked, “there are any convents that take neophytes my age?”

Romstead smiled but said nothing. He was only half listening to her. He wished Kessler would come on the intercom with his plan for the ransom pickup. There was little or nothing to work on until he did. After a while he went over and spoke into it. “When do we get some idea of what we have to do and where we do it?” There was no reply. Maybe it was going onto a tape. How many were left out there now? There had been complete silence for more than half an hour. Had they all left on business in connection with the pickup? He took off one of the heavy brogues, went over to the chest, and raised the shoe as if to smash in the mirror. The panel slid back, and the barrels of the shotgun came