Overload by Arthur Hailey

need no lawyer."
    "That will be up to you, sir."
    "Mr. Jackson," Nim said, "don't you realize the seriousness of all this?
    Tampering with meters is a criminal offense, and the pbotos we are taking
    can be evidence."
    "Oh, there'll be criminal prosecution all right," London said, as if on
    cue. "Though I will say that if Mr. Jackson co-operates in two ways it
    might work out in his favor."
    The garageman looked at them suspiciously. "What ways?"
    As they talked, the photographer clicked away, shooting flash pictures of
    the gas meter, then moving to the electric one. Ile serviceman began
    loosening more cement, exposing more of the concealed pipe within the wall.
    "TI-ie first thing you have to do," London told Jackson, "is pay for what
    you owe and what you stole. Since I was here the first time, I've been in
    touch with our Billing Department. Comparing recent bills with what your
    gas and electric charges used to be, they've come up with five thousand
    dollars owing. That includes a service charge for what we're doing today."
    The garageman paled; his mouth worked nervously. "Jesus! It can't be that
    much. Why, it's only been . . ." He stopped.
    "Yes," Nim prompted. "How long has it been since you began tampcring with
    the meters?"
    "If Mr. Jackson tells us that," London joined in, "mavbe he'd tell us who
    did the job on the gas meter. That's the second thing we'd look on as
    co-operation."
    The serviceman called over his shoulder, "I'll tell you one thing for sure.
    Whoever did it was no amateur."
    45
     

London glanced at Nim. "Remember what I told you? A lot of what we're
    seeing is professional work." He returned to Jackson. "How about that,
    sir? Feel like telling us who did it?"
    The garageman scowled, but didn't answer.
    London told him, "When we've finished here, Mr. Jackson, we'll be
    disconnecting your gas and electricity. They'll stay disconnected until
    the amount owing is paid."
    Jackson spluttered, "Then how the bell do I run my business?"
    "If it comes to that," London retorted, "bow would we run ours if every
    customer was a cheat like you?" He asked Nim, "Seen enough?"
    "Too much," Nim said. "Let's go."
    Outside, London said, "Ten will get you one, he's in hock too deep to pay
    what's owing. Doubt if he'll tell us who did the work either."
    As they got into the car, Nim asked, "Can we prosecute and make it
    stick?"
    The ex-policeman shook his bead. "I'd like to try, and we might even get
    a conviction. More likely, though, a court would insist we prove eitber
    that Jackson did the meter rigging, or knew about it. No way we can."
    'So in some ways it's a lost cause."
    'Some ways, maybe; not all. Word will get around; it probably has
    already, and that will scare a lot of other, would-be jacksons. Also
    remember, we've spread our net wide today. There'll be a lot more
    cheaters in it before sundown."
    "But only from Brookside." Nim considered gloomily the enormous area
    which GSP & L served; within it Brookside was a single peanut in a huge
    plantation.
    A few minutes later they were back at the communications center on the
    shopping plaza parking lot.
    As Harry London had forecast, Brookside's D-day caught many
    meter-tampering offenders. By noon there were more than forty cases,
    either proven or suspected; it seemed likely there would be at least as
    many more during the afternoon. Some supermarkets were included in the
    bag; an entire local chain bad been raided, with illegal installations
    found in five out of eight stores.
    Nim stayed close to Harry London, observing, visiting the scene of some
    of the more interesting, ingenious violations.
    During the late morning they had gone together to one of the trim tract
    houses Nim noted earlier. Two GSP & L vehicles were parked outside. One
    of the Property Protection staffers, a serviceman, and the same
    photographer as before were clustered around an exterior electric meter
    near the side door.
    "Nobody's at home," London said in explanation, "but