James Chase - Like a Hole in the Head

“He’ll do it.”

He looked at his watch, then got to his feet and went into the house. He returned, carrying two pairs of 9 x 35 binoculars. He gave me one pair, then sat down, holding the other pair on his knees. “The bay ahead of you is part of Willington’s private beach.” Again he looked at his watch. “Take a look at the bay through the glasses and imagine you are going to shoot.”

As I picked up the glasses I heard the distant throb of a high- powered engine. I was focusing the glasses as I picked up a sleek motorboat as it came around the arm of the bay. I adjusted centre screw. The glasses were good. I now had the boat in focus. There was a fat negress wearing a white overall at the wheel. I saw the tow rope white against the blue of the sea and I shifted the glasses to the left.

The girl on the skis was completely naked. Her slim, perfectly-built body was golden brown: her straw-coloured hair streamed out behind her. I moved the centre screw a little and she came sharply into focus. I could see her dark nipples and her taut arm muscles. She looked like a sea nymph as she skimmed over the water to the far end of the bay. There was an excited, laughing expression on her young face. The boat made a sharp turn. She jumped the tow rope with the ease and confidence of an expert, then she lifted a leg and skimmed along on one ski.

She cavorted for some fifteen minutes: beautiful, exciting, sexy and thoroughly expert. Then the boat took her out of sight behind the row of palm trees that fringed the bay. I heard the motor splutter, then die.

“That’s her,” Raimundo said, putting down his glasses. “Every day at this time she skis. Diaz is one of the top skiers in South America. It’s a safe bet when he has screwed her enough, they will come out on that bay and show each other how good they are. Can you nail him from here?”

I thought about this. The target would be moving fast and constantly changing direction. I thought of the 600mm. telescopic sight which would cut down the distance to maybe a hundred feet. It wouldn’t be an impossible shot, but a tricky one. Then I thought what it would mean if I missed. I looked again at the Red Dragon brand on the verandah upright. I remembered the time when I had been high in a tree with a rifle equipped with a 300mm. sight. I had waited three long, hot hours for a sniper to show: a sniper who had done a lot of damage. My arms had become stiff and my eyes, in the glare, unreliable before he raised his head into sight. The range had been close on five hundred yards. I had a split second to kill him, but I had killed him. That was three years ago. My reflexes were that much slower, but I would have Diaz in my sights for half a mile. I would be shooting with a silencer. I would have at least six shots at him without him knowing he was being shot at.

“It’s a seventy-five-twenty-five chance on,” I said. Will she perform tomorrow?”

“Every day at this time.”

“I’ll know for sure when I’ve looked at her through the telescopic sight.” I stood up. “I’m going back to get Timoteo’s rifle.”

Raimundo squinted up at me.

“You want me to come with you, soldier?”

“I won’t run away.”

He nodded.

“Go ahead.”

It took me a little over thirty-five minutes to get back to the place I called my home. During the drive I thought of Lucy. I thought of the first night we had spent together. Unlike most girls these days she had been a virgin. I remembered her little gasp of pain as I had entered her and I remembered her gentle hands holding my head. I remembered the next three months when she had always been dithering but encouraging. I remembered her saying: I am a little scared of you. I do see you have to be tough and hard if you are to succeed, but please try not to be tough and hard with me.

To get her back I had to kill a man. But who was Diaz Savanto? He had shown himself to be an animal. He had raped and branded a girl who was probably as harmless as Lucy.

As I drove up the sandy road that led to the shooting school, I saw the gates were open. As I neared the bungalow I saw the red and blue Buick convertible that belonged to Detective Tom Lepski of Paradise City’s police headquarters.

I slid out of the car, my heart thumping and I looked around. There was no sign of Lepski. I walked to the bungalow. The front door stood open. I entered the sitting-room. The table was laid for a meal. I went into the kitchen. On the stove was a frying pan with slices of ham, a saucepan of peas and another saucepan of water with a cup of rice near by. I walked into our bedroom. It was as I had left it. I looked into Lucy’s closet. Her clothes were there. Nothing seemed missing.

I had a feeling of utter loneliness. This was the first time I had come home and not found her waiting for me.

I left the bungalow and headed for the shooting gallery. I had an idea I would find Lepski there. I was right. As I approached, he appeared in the doorway of the lean-to.

His cold quizzing eyes met mine.

“Hi ! I was going to put in an alarm about you.”

I forced myself to meet the probing stare.

“Alarm? What do you mean?”

“I found this place deserted. I thought something was wrong.”

“Nothing’s wrong. What brings you here, Mr. Lepski?”

“I was passing. I promised Mrs. Benson a recipe for a chutney my old lady used to make. Where is she?”

I was sure he had been in the house, had seen the preparations for the meal and had sniffed around as only a trained cop can sniff around.

“I’ve just seen her off. A friend of hers is ill. We had a panic call.”

“That’s tough.” He shook his head. “When I got here and looked around it was like another Marie Celeste.”

“Another… who?”

He looked a little smug.

“The ship that was found deserted: meals on the table… no one aboard. I’m a Reader’s Digest subscriber. They tell you stuff like that. When I got here, found the front door open, the table laid for a meal, the meal on the stove, no sign of life… it got me bothered.”

“Yeah, we had this panic call. We dropped everything and ran.”

“A friend of your wife’s?”

“That’s right.”

He eyed me.

“Who won?”

I gaped at him.

“Come again.”

“What was the fight about?”

I had forgotten my bruises and the cut under my eye.

“Oh, nothing. I got into an argument. I guess I flip my lid from time to time.”

“Some argument.” He rubbed the back of his neck and looked away from me. “Your telephone isn’t working.” His eyes swivelled back to me.

“It isn’t?” I began to fumble for a cigarette, then changed my mind. That sort of move tells a cop he’s making you nervous. “One minute it works, the next it doesn’t. You know how it is when you’re as far out as we are.”

“The line’s been cut.”

The back of my throat was turning dry.

“Cut? I don’t understand that.”

“It’s been cut.”

“Some kid… Kids around here are hell. I’ll get it fixed. I had no idea.”

“Do you usually walk out of your home leaving the front door open?”

I was getting fazed with these questions. I decided it was time to stop him.

“If it doesn’t worry me, why should it worry you?”

Lepski’s face hardened. He became all cop.

“Folk who are that careless make a lot of work for the police. I’m asking you : do you usually walk out of your house and leave the door open?”

“I guess so. We’re miles from anyone. We often sleep with the door open.”

He regarded me, his eyes bleak.

“And the kids around here are hell?”

I didn’t say anything.