After Midnight

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 attache 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 attache 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 attache 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.