And then a thought came to Marco. Timothy had no way of knowing he was down here alone. Without turning on the flashlight, which he’d extinguished when he’d quit searching, Marco called softly, “Get back in the car, Timothy! Trying to attract the attention of anybody who happens to pass? You crazy or something? I’m coming right up.”
Chastened, Timothy was under the wheel of the car when Marco returned.
“Let’s get out of here, Timothy.”
“What took you so long?”
“For pete’s sake, I wasn’t so long. It only seemed that way to you. I had to find the guy. And then I tried to figure something to do. Thought about moving him. Looked around for a place maybe to hide him.”
“Then he’s—”
“Deader’n a burned out match, Timothy.”
A sob came from Timothy as he hunched over the wheel.
“Look,” Marco said, “I’m sorry.”
“I’m a murderer, Marco.”
“I wouldn’t feel…”
“Murderer,” Timothy said. He suddenly beat on the steering wheel with the heel of his palm. “I’m a murderer—and the fact can never be changed.”
“Hey, now get hold of yourself. We’ve got to think. ”
“One second,” Timothy sobbed wildly, “I was a decent, law-abiding guy with a business interest and a girl. The next tick of the clock and I’m a killer, and nothing will ever make things exactly the same again. ”
Marco gripped him by the shoulders. “That’s right Timothy. You have to get used to the idea. ”
“Marco, I’m scared to face the police.”
“No need for you to. Crazy if you do, pal. You were drinking when you hit that guy. They’ll really throw the book at you!”
Timothy shuddered and dropped his forehead on the rim of the steering wheel.
“But cheer up, pal,” Marco slapped him on the shoulder. “There’s a way out.”
“There is?”
“Sure. I’m going to help you, Timothy.”
“How?”
“We’ll go back to my apartment I’ll give you all the ready cash I’ve got. You’ll have a long head start before that guy is found. They’ll never find you.”
“You mean—run away?”
“Any better ideas, Timothy?”
“But I’d lose my share of the business, my girl.”
“There are other businesses, other girls. But you just have the next twenty years one time, Timothy. Of course, if you want to throw them away, along with the business and girl…” Marco shrugged. “I’m trying to help you salvage what you can, that’s all. I see no other way but for you to get going quick, go far, and never look back. And try not to take it so hard, Timothy. You’re not the first guy to have a thing like this happen.”
Timothy became quieter. He pulled himself erect, reached to the ignition key, and started the car. Marco was glad he had the cover of darkness to hide his elation.
They rode the self-service elevator up five flights to Marco’s apartment. Marco let them in and turned on a light in the living room.
He gripped Timothy’s bicep briefly. “Cheer up, Timothy You’ll start a new life under another name a thousand miles away, and all this will seem a bad dream. Now, I’ll see how much cash I can rustle. ” Timothy moved dully to the window and opened it. He drew in a deep breath of air. The rain had stopped. The night outside was clean tasting and very silent.
Marco returned. “Here’s about five hundred bucks, Timothy. Not much, maybe, but used sparingly, it’ll take you a long way.” Timothy took the money, looked at it as if he didn’t quite realize what it was, and slipped it into his pocket. The lower portion of his face parted in a gray smile. “Murderer…” he mused. “You know, Marco, once you get over the first shock of knowing you’re a murderer, it changes your whole outlook.”
“Just don’t think about it, Timothy,” Marco admonished him then.
“Why not? Once you’ve killed, then human life assumes a completely new value. Or should I say lack of value?”
Marco began to feel uneasy. “Timothy, you ought to use every possible minute to put as much distance…”
“I hate to think of losing the business and my girl, Marco. Really I do, especially since there is only one thing that can definitely link me to the hitchhiker. The rain must have washed the tire tread marks from the shoulder of the road, and I can burn my shoes, in case I left footprints. That leaves just one thing, Marco. You, the lone witness. ” Before Marco could speak, Timothy clipped him on the jaw. As he crumpled, Timothy took Marco’s shoulders and directed his fall out the open window. Then he kicked back the throw rug from under the window, which made everything reasonably obvious. Timothy would agree with everyone that it had been most unfortunate for the rug to slip.
PROXY
Originally published in Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine, June 1966.
When I left her apartment, I skedaddled straight to Mr. Friedland’s estate. I left the car standing in the driveway and went in the big stone mansion like a coon with a pack on his trail.
I asked the butler where Mr. Friedland was, and the butler said our boss was in the study. So I busted in the study and closed the heavy walnut door behind me quick.
Mr. Friedland was at his desk. He looked up, bugged for a second by me coming in this way. But he didn’t bless me out. He got up quick and said, “What’s the matter, William?”
I knuckled some sweat off my forehead, walked to the desk, and laid the envelope down. The envelope had a thousand smackers, cash, in it.
Mr. Friedland picked up the money. He looked a little addle pated.
“You did go to Marla Scanlon’s apartment, William?”
“Yes, sir.”
“She was there?”
“Yes, sir.”
“But she didn’t accept the money? William, I simply can’t believe it. ”
I couldn’t think of an easy way to explain it to him. “She’s dead, Mr. Friedland.”
He cut his keen eyes from the money to me. He was a lean, handsome man who looked about thirty-five years old in the face. It was just the pure white hair that hinted at his real
