I stared down at the body.
And wondered what to do with it.
Leave it just as it is.
Sure. Why not? I didn’t have the strength or desire to take it anywhere.
Besides, what could be accomplished by moving it?
I might try, if I had a good reason.
In spite of the difficulties and risks, I could probably haul Murphy’s body to the parking lot of Judy’s apartment building, or into Tony’s apartment, or even over to Miller’s Woods. But why? How could his body fit into the rest of it in any logical way?
I didn’t see how.
No matter where they find him, it’ll just add to the confusion.
If they find him just as he is, I thought, it’ll look like an accident. While getting ready to take a shower, he somehow slipped and fell backward and bashed his head on the wall beside the tub.
Which had the advantage of being almost true.
Unless I did some major clean-up, however, they would also figure out that he’d been having sex with a woman just before his accident. And they might suspect she’d had a hand in his death.
If they got that far, they would look for samples of her hair, fluids, etc.
I’d have to make the clean-up effort.
I started with the bathroom. Taking care of the worst part first, I climbed into the tub, straddled Murphy’s body and wiped the wall where I’d hit it with my hands. I didn’t like standing there. Not one bit. I knew that he wasn’t under me, but something was. Not a wax dummy, either—a naked stiff. It made me nervous. Like I half expected a spook of some sort to take over the body and make a grab for me. Or lurch up between my legs and give me a bite.
Me and my imagination.
I got a good case of goosebumps, but I was okay as soon as I’d climbed out of the tub.
Next, I put away the package of cotton balls and the hydrogen peroxide—which wasn’t completely empty. (Naturally, I wiped the plastic bottle to take care of my prints.) Then I found all the used cotton balls on the floor and in the waste basket. I flushed them down the toilet.
Then I mopped the bathroom floor.
I wiped the toilet seat and the flush handle.
That was about it for the bathroom. For now. I’d be back again, but not until just before time to leave.
After putting away the mop and bucket, I went into the living room for my purse. As I headed for the couch, though, I saw a brown leather attaché case standing beside the front door. Though it must’ve been there before, this was the first time I’d noticed it.
Right away, I knew what must be inside.
I crouched beside it, set it down flat on the floor, snapped open its latches, and raised the lid.
The case was loaded with money.
Neat packets of one-dollar bills, fives, tens, and twenties.
He’d gotten it for me in small bills, just as I’d asked.
Murphy’s idea of a joke, I guess.
I would’ve thought it was pretty funny if he’d been there to enjoy the gag with me.
But he wasn’t.
I smiled for about a second, then fell apart.
This was the worst yet. You’d think I’d never seen anything as heartbreaking as those five thousand dollars in small bills. I bawled. Tears poured down my face and spasms wracked my body. I ended up stretched out on the carpet by the door, crying onto my crossed arms.
When I finally ran out of tears, I felt empty and lazy. I was dangerously close to falling asleep, so I pushed myself up. Leaving the attaché case by the door, I hurried into the kitchen. I jerked a couple of paper towels off a roll by the sink, and used them to cover my hands while I pulled open a few cupboards.
I found Murphy’s stash of grocery bags. The paper bags were folded neatly in a row inside a cupboard. I took out two, stuffed one inside another for double thickness, then returned to the living room.
Squatting over the attaché case, I double-bagged my cash.
Then I carried Murphy’s empty case into the kitchen, set it down by the table where he used to work, and wiped it carefully with a paper towel.
I’d planned to do the bedroom next, but suddenly had an urge to take care of my kitchen chores. So I made a couple of trips into the living room to gather the beer mugs, bottles and water glass. I washed and put away the mugs and glass. I wiped the bottles and dropped them into Murphy’s recycling bin.
Back in the living room, I saw the bag of pretzels on the coffee table. I had not only touched its cellophane bag, but I’d reached into it. My fingerprints might actually be inside the bag. So instead of trying to clean it, I decided to take it with me. It went into the grocery sack along with the money.
Well, I’m beginning to see that it might take me all day to describe every single step in detail. And who really wants to read about all that stuff, anyway? So I’ll just summarize the rest of it, if that’s okay with you.
Here’s what I did—pretty much in order—before leaving Murphy’s apartment.
1. Placed my autographed copy of Deep Dead Eyes in grocery bag.
2. Put bottle of Excedrin in my purse.
3. Untied ropes from all four bed legs and tossed them into grocery bag.
4. Found knife Murphy had used to cut the ropes (and me), washed it in the kitchen, and put it away.
5. Flushed condom and condom wrapper down toilet (and again wiped handle).
6. Removed pillow case and sheets from bed, stuffed them into grocery sack.
7. Put clean sheets on bed, fresh pillow case on pillow.
8. Artfully arranged Murphy’s trunks and Bear Whizz Beer T-shirt on bed mattress as if flung there in haphazard manner.
9. Took five copies of The Dark Pit from box, wrapped them for mailing, and labeled package with address Murphy’d copied onto the back cover of TV Guide (and his return address).
10. In bathroom, turned on shower so it sprayed down on Murphy.
11. Left shower curtain open and shower running.
12. Gathered my clothes and shoes, got dressed.
13. Put wig on.
14. Rearranged contents of grocery bag so that package of books went in on top of money.
15. Set grocery bags and purse near front door.
That’s pretty much all I did. It took a while—especially getting the books ready for mailing. I had to find tape and scissors, cut up a grocery bag, and be careful not to leave prints on any of the books or wrapping materials. A major chore.
I felt pretty good about doing it, though. I’d killed the poor guy, but at least he might get his chance at a movie deal.
Finally, all dressed and ready to go, I made the rounds one more time. I picked up a few odds and ends that shouldn’t be left behind, and gave a quick wipe to whatever I might’ve touched but couldn’t take with me.
I didn’t go into the bathroom, though. The floor was too wet from the shower, and the air was so thick with steam that I couldn’t even see Murphy in the tub.
Returning to the front door, I tossed a few things into the grocery bag with the money, books, etc. I didn’t think I’d be able to manage two bags, so I mashed down the one holding the dirty sheets and pillow case, and stuffed it into the other bag. Then I slipped my purse strap onto my shoulder. I put on my sunglasses and picked up the full bag.
It was pretty heavy. With my right arm, I hugged it against my chest. I used my left hand—wrapped in my skirt—to open the door.
For a few seconds, I stood there and looked out through the screen door. Nothing seemed to be going on outside.
From one of the nearby units came the noisy whine of a vacuum cleaner. I also heard television voices coming from somewhere.
But I saw nobody.
So I stepped out, pulled the main door shut, and walked briskly toward the sidewalk. I was several paces away from Murphy’s unit by the time its screen door bammed shut.
40
LAST TASKS
Eyes turned toward me as I entered the post office. Mostly belonging t
o guys, of course. Scoping out this flashy redhaired babe with the body to die for, the slit up her skirt and her blouse half open.
I recognized nobody.
I don’t think anyone looked high enough to see my face.
But I had my sunglasses on, just in case.
Holding the wrapped books low in front of me to keep the view of my cleavage clear, I walked straight over to the waiting line. There were ten or twelve people ahead of me.
I planned to send the books First Class.
I’d considered Overnight Express Mail, but it was after four o’clock by the time I reached the post office. I thought that might be too late in the afternoon for guaranteed nextday delivery, so why go to the extra expense?
Besides, if I sent the books Overnight, I would have to stand around and fill out a special label. I didn’t want to fool with that.
First Class would get the books to the producers soon enough.
If not tomorrow, the day after tomorrow.
While I stood in the line, I set the package down on the floor in front of my feet. Then I took a twenty-dollar bill out of my purse. I also took out a couple of tissues.
Squatting down, I casually used the tissues to wipe the outside of the parcel where I’d touched it. (Cops can lift fingerprints off paper, you know.) I didn’t pay attention to who might be watching, and didn’t really care. A person’s got every right to clean off a package before mailing it, right? It’s nobody’s business why, and who would ever guess I was doing it to ruin possible fingerprint evidence? Nobody, that’s who.
Keeping a tissue in one hand and my twenty in the other so that my fingertips didn’t touch the package, I picked it up again.
Then I just waited in line for my turn at one of the windows.
I kept my head down. Nobody talked to me, and I spoke to no one. It was a pretty long wait, though.
People are amazing. They’ll go to a place like the post office, and half of them don’t seem to have a clue. They’ll step up to the window with a box that’s still open, for instance, and ask to borrow some tape. Or when it comes time to pay, they’ll have to spend five minutes hunting for their checkbook. Amazing.
Not to mention, the postal workers were in no hurry to set any speed records.
Finally, my turn came anyway.
I set my package on the counter, smiled, and said, “Good afternoon,” to the clerk.
She gave me back a friendly smile, and said, “What can I do for you, honey?”
“I’d like to mail these books,” I told her. My parcel was too large to fit through the slot under the panel of bullet-proof glass (or acrylic, or whatever), so she opened the panel like a door. I slid the package toward her, leaving the twenty on top, and said, “I’d like it to go First Class, please.”
Nodding, she shut the panel. When she set the parcel on a scale, its weight and cost appeared on a computer screen. After slapping on some stickers, she pushed my change under the window and asked if I would like to have a receipt.
“No,” I said. “I don’t think I’ll be needing one. Thanks.”
“You have a nice day,” she said.
“Thanks. You, too.”
I turned away from her window.
“Next in line,” she called.
The line had dwindled. Only three customers were waiting. Two women—one in her twenties and the other at least seventy—and a young guy probably no older than eighteen. Guess which one was looking at me.
He gaped at me, his jaw drooping.
But I doubt that he saw my face at all.
I walked on past him and out the door.
Just so the flashy redhead who mailed Murphy Scott’s books would not be connected directly to Judy’s car (on the slim chance that an investigator might actually look into the situation), I had parked her car a block away from the post office and around a corner.
Nobody followed me around the corner.
I climbed in and drove away.
I had no more chores to run. Only one thing still needed to be done: ditch Judy’s car.
Abandon it somewhere, and walk home.
Walk home carrying the grocery sack loaded with my pretzels, my personally inscribed and autographed copy of Deep Dead Eyes, my souvenir pieces of rope, a pair of used bedsheets and a pillow case, and my five thousand dollars in small bills.
It wasn’t terribly heavy, now that I’d gotten rid of the five hardcover books.
But heavy enough. I didn’t care to trudge five or ten miles with it.
There was, of course, a simple solution to the problem. Why not drive straight home, park in the garage and haul the sack up to my room, then take off again to find a distant dumping-spot for the car?
Simple, but not for me.
I just didn’t have the guts to go driving Judy’s car brazenly all over creation. Even the trip from Murphy’s neighborhood to the post office had nearly undone me. Too much time had gone by since leaving Judy, Milo and Tony. Too much might’ve happened. What if Judy had already been reported missing? What if somebody had stumbled upon Milo’s camp? Suppose Judy had escaped from the woods and told the cops all about me? What if Tony’s body had already been discovered in the parking lot of her apartment building?
If anything of the sort had happened, every cop in Chester might be on the lookout for her car.
I wanted to be far away from it.
The sooner, the better.
Even if it meant a tough hike home.
But I couldn’t just leave it anywhere. For one thing, I didn’t want people to notice me getting out. For another, it really should, if possible, be abandoned in a place where nobody would pay attention to it for a while.
I came up with one idea after another, but found flaws in all of them.
Until I thought of the perfect place.
The mall!
The vast, indoor shopping plaza over by the highway was surrounded by acres of parking lots with probably more than a dozen entances and exits.
There was no parking fee, which meant no gates or cashiers.
With a steady flow of cars coming and going, one more would hardly be noticed.
I would hardly be noticed, entering, parking, walking away with my bag.
To top it all off, the lots were never completely empty. Even after the mall’s closing time, plenty of vehicles remained because of people parking there, then walking over to nearby establishments. Scattered all around were minimarts, restaurants, bars, and fast-food joints. There was even a supermarket. Some stayed open late, while others (including the supermarket) stayed open always.
In short, the mall’s parking lots offered anonymity.
I could anonymously drop off Judy’s car and walk away.
Her car might anonymously sit there, day after day, night after night, lost among the others.
Delighted, I headed for the mall.
About halfway there, I swung onto a little sidestreet. I pulled over and stopped the car in front of a house that had a For Sale sign on the front lawn. The house looked empty. Across the street was a vacant lot. Looking all around, I saw nobody.
So I grabbed one of the legs that I’d cut off Tony’s jeans last night and climbed out of the car. With the denim leg, I wiped the exterior door handles and everywhere else that I might’ve touched.
Then I climbed in and did the interior.
Then I double-checked the whole car, inside and out, to make sure I hadn’t missed anything. Judy’s purse was still on the floor, partly hidden under the driver’s seat. Fine. It could stay there.
Satisfied that I’d removed every trace of myself (to the extent that it can be done in a few minutes with a rag), I tossed both the legs into my grocery bag, started up the car again, and drove the rest of the way to the mall.
Plenty of other cars were coming and going.
I entered a parking lot over on the Macy’s side of the complex, found an empty space, pulled in and shut off the engine.
Just for the heck of it, I left Judy�
�s key in the ignition.
I wiped off the keys and key case, the shift handle and the steering wheel.
My purse and grocery bag were on the front passenger seat. Leaning sideways, I grabbed them.
I climbed out of Judy’s car. Purse hanging by my side, I set down the bag. Then I looked around. Several people were in sight, some heading toward mall entrances, others returning to their cars. None paid any attention to me.
With one of the denim legs, I cleaned the interior door handle.
Then I flopped the leg back into the sack, hoisted the sack off the pavement, stepped out of the way, and flung the door shut with my knee.
Even as the door thunked, I realized that I’d forgotten to lock it.
I’d meant to lock it.
But this is better.
Leave it unlocked, key in the ignition.
With any luck, some creep might come along and steal the thing.
Walking away from Judy’s car, I couldn’t help but smile.
41
GOING HOME
Freedom’s just another word for nothing left to fear.
As soon as I walked away from Judy’s car, I felt hugely, enormously, wonderfully free.
I was done!
I’d severed my last major connection with the series of accidents and/or crimes that had started last night when I killed Tony. Sure, I still had possession of a few items such as the money and autographed book, but nothing that could draw me in as a suspect.
I was, as they say, “home free.”
But several miles from home.
I started to hike across the parking lot, the grocery sack clutched to my chest. It was heavy enough that I needed to hold it with both hands.
Gonna be a long hike.
After Midnight Page 26