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Harry Driver didn't understand. "But . . . " he started to protest and was cut off again. |
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"Look, fella, I don't know what's goin' on over there in that cave of kooks, but if it's over, it's over. Some half-baked old woman by the name of Flora has been callin' over here for years. All she wanted to do is tell my wife about her love life. So I told Flossie to let her call her Anna if it made the old woman happy, but to make damn sure she got the money." |
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"Money?" Driver repeated. |
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"Sure, the old woman would call up and tell my wife all about how some guy named Harry made love to her and bought her these expensive gifts. So I told her to ask for money, and she did. Flossie would call herself Anna and tell the old dame that one of our kids was sick or we needed food. The old broad always came through. Twenty bucks here, fifty bucks there, and all just for listenin' to this love-starved old bitch talk about her love life. . . . " |
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Harry Driver didn't have to listen any further. He placed the receiver back in the cradle and listened to the sound of the rain. |
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Fantasy and reality had become one. He shuddered. It had occurred to him what Inspector Dawkins would have thought if he had been the one to uncover Flora's little leatherette box or read the letters or called Flora's so-called friend, Anna. It was a dead woman's story against his. Hers was fixed; there was no |
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