Rick Corday had no problem getting into Jill Coffey's place. He owned a number of burglary tools.
Wearing a pair of latex gloves, he spent half an hour searching through her closets and drawers. He didn't need to do this but he enjoyed it. There was something sweetly pornographic about spying on somebody else's life.
A week ago, the range of his spying had increased when he'd let himself in here and installed a bug in her telephone, one he could pick up on an FM receiver from his motel room or, as earlier today, from his car. He'd heard her make her appointment with Eric Brooks.
A lot of dirty fun, spying on people.
The hell of it was, Jill Coffey seemed to be a pretty tame person. One time in New York, searching through the apartment of a highly-regarded female broadcasting executive, he'd come upon some of the most vicious S amp;M appliances his knowing and cynical eyes had ever seen. The belt with the tiny metal thorns had been the really impressive one. God, you could shred a guy's back with two lashes.
The bathroom offered even fewer revelations. Not a single vibrator in sight.
He went back into the bedroom to do what he'd come here for.
Find a skirt and blouse.
He selected a sandwash silk in electric blue for the blouse and a royal blue wraparound for the skirt.
Pantyhosethat would be a nice touch.
He searched through three drawers before he found a pair that had already been worn.
He wrapped these inside the skirt.
By this time, he had already made up his mind.
A better opportunity might never come.
It had to be tonight.
Before he left, he picked up the long scissors with the rubberized orange handles. He'd set them next to the phone the other day, knowing she'd be bound to pick them up. He dropped the scissors carefully inside a Ziploc bag.
Then he let himself out, reconstructing the security system that no doubt gave Jill Coffey such a great sense of well-being.