'Tappley residence.'
'Mrs Tappley, please,' said Rick Corday.
'May I say who's calling?'
'Mr Runyon.' That was the code name she knew him by.
'One moment, please.'
She came on at once. 'Good evening, Mr Runyon.'
'You asked us to keep you informed.'
'Yes.'
'We're just about to get the project underway.'
'I see. I hadn't heard from you or your partner for some time. I was getting concerned.'
'Everything is fine.'
'So it will besoon?'
'Very soon, Mrs Tappley. Very soon.'
'And you'll keep me informed?'
'Oh, you'll know about it, Mrs Tappley. I promise you that.'
'You're certain you've thought it through?' This was more like the Mrs Tappley Rick Corday had talked to before. He knew her attorney, Arthur K. Halliwell, who had set all this up. Rick had never met Mrs Tappley, but she was certainly formidable over the phone.
'We've thought it through carefully,' he told her now. 'We couldn't have asked for a better set-up.'
'I've waited a long time for this.'
'I know you have, Mrs Tappley.'
'I just want everything to go right.'
'It'll go fine, Mrs Tappley. I promise.'
This was one of the few times he'd heard both age and grief in her voice. Her son had been executed. She'd never recovered. All she had, as the lawyer had said, was her anger and her desire for vengeance. And those things could sap you of all reason and all strength.
'Good luck, then.'
'Thank you, Mrs Tappley. Talk to you soon.'