The Third Victim Read Online Free PDF

you,” Sally answered, “I’d call the cops. I mean, among other things, it’s your civic duty. Sure, the statistical chances are that it wasn’t Tarot. And, sure, the police are being deluged with calls from hysterical females—which makes you feel like a hysterical female, calling. I know. I had a prowler myself, back East. And there just happened to be a sex fiend loose then, too. However, there’s the simple fact that switch-blade knives are illegal. Which brings us back to your civic duty.”
    “I know. I agree. But the first thing the police would do is search the house. And I don’t want to put Josh through that. I just don’t. He’s just too—too vulnerable right now. And he’s already worried about Tarot.”
    “Well…” Sally shrugged. “Maybe you’re right. You probably are right, as a matter of fact. Something like this Tarot brings the loonies out of the woodwork. And one of them is bound to have a switch-blade, I suppose. By the way, how’d you get Josh to day care this morning, if your car’s broken?”
    “A neighbor took him.”
    “Do you want to borrow my car? I don’t use it, you know. I mean, I take the bus to work.”
    “Oh, no. Thanks, Sally, but no. Actually, I thought I might call up Kevin. He picks up Josh once in a while, just so they—” She swallowed. “So they can see each other. Maybe he can do it.”
    “Ah…” Sally nodded. “That’s good. I withdraw the offer, in that case. In favor of Kevin. Well…” She hopped off the stool. “Well, back to the typewriter. If you need a car, though, let me know.”
    “Thanks, Sally. And thanks for the bearclaw.”
    “You’re welcome.”
    Kevin wiped away the lather, rinsed his face, and studied the result in the mirror. Should he trim his moustache? He brushed at the moustache with a light, tentative finger. Perhaps, really, he should shave it off. As a statement of individuality, facial hair had become a cliché. Every postadolescent who thought he was doing his own thing grew a moustache. Every—
    “How soon’ll you be ready, Kevin?” Cathy’s voice came from the kitchen, counterpointed by the clink of pans and the closing of cupboard doors.
    “How’s ten minutes?”
    “Fine. I’m going to make omelettes.”
    He decided not to reply. Instead: “Where’s the haircutting scissors, anyhow?” He opened the door of the medicine cabinet, frowning at the jumble of bottles and tubes.
    “I think I put them in—”
    “Never mind. I found them.” He closed the cabinet, then adjusted the folding side mirrors, studying his profile. From the next room came the sound of the radio, a newscaster. He half opened the bathroom door. “Turn it up, will you?”
    As he began snipping at his moustache, the newscaster’s voice swelled:
    “Police, it was learned, have had a special Tarot Squad in operation since the second Tarot letter was received—the one in which Tarot warned that he’d already selected his second victim. This special squad, composed of four detectives and headed by Detective Sergeant Matthew Connoly, is working closely with state and federal law-enforcement officers in an effort to uncover some clue to Tarot’s identity. Interviewed at his office in Santa Barbara police headquarters an hour ago, Sergeant Connoly stressed that the police are taking this fourth Tarot letter very seriously. Without going into specifics, Connoly stated that certain internal evidence indicates beyond reasonable doubt that all four letters were sent by the same person. In any case, Connoly stated, the police are proceeding on the theory that Tarot wrote all four letters. Without doubt, then, there is a maniac loose. However, Connoly urged Santa Barbara residents—especially women—not to panic. At the same time, citizens are urged to exercise ordinary good sense. Women living alone should…”
    The phone was ringing. Cathy’s footsteps hurried into the living room. The radio’s volume faded as she turned it down. The phone