When he settled behind the wheel, he felt too tightly wound to risk driving. He sat for fifteen minutes, paging through the service manual and the ownership papers before finally starting the engine and pulling away from the curb.
He didn’t go to the park to watch the girls on their lunch hour, because he feared recognition. If someone tried to strike up a conversation, he would not know what to say.
In his room, he poured a glass of whiskey over two ice cubes and stirred it with his finger.
He turned on the television and found an old movie starring Wallace Beery and Marie Dressler. He’d seen it at least half a dozen times, but he kept it on just the same. The repetition, the dependable order of the sequential scenes – through thousands of showings in movie theaters and on television – gave him a sense of stability and soothed his nerves. He watched Wallace Beery’s clumsy romantic pass at Marie Dressler, and the familiarity of Beery’s antics, seen so often before and in that same exact detail, was like a balm on his troubled mind.
At five minutes past eleven the telephone rang.
He finally answered it, declined to do a press interview, and hung up.
At eleven-twenty-six it rang again.
This time it was the insurance agent with whom the Merchants’ Association had taken out a year’s policy on the Mustang. He wanted to know if the coverage was adequate or whether Chase would like to increase it for a nominal sum. He was chatty at first but less so when Chase said that the coverage was adequate.
At eleven-fifty the phone rang a third time. When Chase answered, the killer said, “Hello, how has your morning been?” His voice was hoarse, hardly louder than a whisper.
“Not good.”
“Did you see the papers?”
“One.”
“Lovely coverage.”
Chase said nothing.
The man said, “Most people want fame.”
“Not me.”
“Some people would kill for it.”
“You ?”
“I’m not after fame,” said the killer.
“What are you after?”
“Meaning, purpose.”
“There is none.”
The killer was silent. Then: “You’re a strange egg, Mr. Chase.”
Chase relied on silence.
“Be by your phone at six o’clock this evening, Mr. Chase. It’s important.”
“I’m tired of this.”
“You’re tired? I’m doing all the work here. I’ve spent the morning researching your background, and I have similar plans for the afternoon. At six I’ll tell you what I’ve found.”
Chase said, “Why?”
“I can’t very well pass judgment on you until I know what sort of transgressions you’re guilty of, can I?” Under the pervading wheeze of protesting vocal cords lay a trace of the amusement that Chase had previously noticed. “You see, I didn’t randomly select which fornicators I would punish up on Kanackaway.”
“You didn’t?”
“No, I researched the situation. I went up there every night for two weeks and copied license-plate numbers. Then I matched them until I found the one most often repeated.”
“Why?”
“To discover the most deserving sinners,” the stranger said. “In this state, for two dollars, the Bureau of Motor Vehicles will trace a license number for you. I had that done and learned the identity of the boy who owned the car. From there it was a simple matter to investigate his background and to learn the name of his partner in these activities.” The formality of his speech led him into odd locutions – or evasions. “She wasn’t the only young woman he entertained on Kanackaway, even though she thought he was seeing no one else. She had her own promiscuous affairs too. I followed her twice when other boys picked her up, and one of those times she gave herself to the date.”
“Why don’t you just stay home and watch old movies?” Chase wondered.
“What?”
“Or seek counseling.”
“I’m not in need of counseling. This sick world is in need of counseling. The world, not me.” His anger sent him into another coughing fit. Then: “They were both sluts, the boy as well as the girl. They deserved what they got – except she didn’t get hers, thanks to you.”
Chase waited.
The man said, “You see, I must research you as thoroughly as I did those two. Otherwise, I would never be sure if you deserved the judgment of death or whether I’d eliminated you simply because you’d interfered with my plans and I wanted revenge. In short, I’m not killing people. I’m executing those who deserve it.”