“What?” Mr. Grenick was looking sort of gray, like a prospect for a dose of calomel.
“Where were you between two and five this afternoon?”
“I was…”
“Yes, Bob?” Mr. Friedland prompted.
Mr. Grenick lifted his eyes and looked at his friends. “I didn’t go in, understand. A block away, I turned the car. I didn’t go all the way to her apartment.”
“You were going to see Marla?” the judge asked.
“Yes. I was going to appeal to her, to prove to her that I couldn’t afford the blackmail tariff any longer. I was going to convince her that she’d have to be satisfied with less—or nothing more at all. I simply couldn’t rake up the money. I’m not as well heeled as you two.”
“But you got cold feet,” Mr. Friedland said. “You didn’t actually see her?”
“That’s right, Arch, and you’ve got to believe me.”
“Whether or not we believe you,” the judge said, “cuts little ice. The important thing is that you have no alibi. How about you, Arch?”
Mr. Friedland shook his head. “I got a call from her at two o’clock. She reminded me that William was due at five with a thousand dollars. I drove out for a quiet, private look at some acreage I may purchase. I came back in time to send William on his errand.”
“So any one of us might have killed her,” the judge said.
“Listen,” Mr. Grenick said in a tight voice, “I didn’t do it. But if a scandal of this sort brushes off on me, I’m ruined. The three of us,” his eyes looked wetter than usual, “are ruined. There are too many people in city hall and police headquarters who’d like to collect our scalps. We can’t hush up a thing as big as murder, not even if Arch does control the press and TV.”
“Precisely,” Mr. Friedland said. “Sometimes, Bob, you almost convince me you have a mind, in addition to the cunning you’ve shown in the political jungles. We cannot cover this thing.”
“So what do you propose?” Judge Corday asked.
“An unbreakable gentleman’s agreement,” Mr. Friedland said. “Whichever of the three of us is nailed, he must bear the entire thing alone. He must not turn to his friends for help or implicate them in the slightest. He must stand firm on the statement that he, and only he, was involved with Marla Scanlon. Whichever of us is doomed will at least have the satisfaction of knowing that he shielded his friends.”
“It might be rough,” the judge said. “When a man’s slapped in the face with murder, the natural reaction is to name others, to confuse the issue, to point suspicion elsewhere.”
“I know,” Mr. Friedland nodded, “and that’s my reason for calling you here. We must decide in advance. We must agree that the two who escape will, throughout the future, stand by the loser’s loved ones in any crisis, any trouble, as if the loser himself were still there. ”
“Mr. Friedland,” I said.
He turned his head in my direction. “Yes, William?”
“All the time you been talking,” I said, “I been thinking. I got an idear.”
“William,” Mr. Grenick said in a sore tone, “we’ve far more important things to consider than any ideas you…”
Mr. Friedland shut him up with a motion of his hand. “I don’t think we have anything to lose by listening to you,” Mr. Friedland said. “Go ahead, William.”
“Thank you, sir. You see, Mr. Friedland, you’ve been real nice to me, giving me a chance to live like I never knowed people live, when I was a hillbilly back up beyond Comfort, North Carolina.”
Mr. Grenick groaned. “This is no time for asinine, emotional speeches.”
“Yes, sir,” I said. “Anyhow, I’m all through speechifying. I just wanted Mr. Friedland to know one of the reasons I’d be willing to do you-all the favor of standing trial for Miss Marla Scanlon’s murder.”
I had their attention now, believe me. Right then, you could have heard a mouse crossing the attic, only of course there wasn’t none in Mr. Friedland’s attic.
“William,” Mr. Friedland said finally, “I’m touched. But I suspect that you haven’t quite finished.”
“No sir, Mr. Friedland. Not quite. All three of you have society wives and fine kids and fancy homes and just everything to make life good. You stand to lose a real passel. But me, I got nobody but myself. And I never before had a chance to get me a stake together.”
“How much?” Judge Corday asked.
“Well, you been paying Miss Marla Scanlon plenty. One final payment—to me—will finish it for good. Just chip in five thousand dollars apiece, and I’ll protect you all from the aftermath of this terrible thing.”
“I won’t do it,” Mr. Grenick said, “not five thou—”
“Yes, Bob, I think you will,” Mr. Friedland said. He eased his backside to the edge of his desk and brought his eyes back to me. “How do you propose to do it, William?”
“It ought to be simple as picking corn when the sun ain’t hot,” I said, “With your newspapers and TV on my side, and Judge Corday on the bench, and Mr. Grenick handling the case for the state, I ought to come off all right. I’ll say that I had been hanky-pank with Marla Scanlon. I’ll say she was giving me the boot. I’ll say we got in a big fight and I lost my head and killed her without really meaning to. Nobody in this town really cares that she’s gone, nobody to question or suspect what you do. I figure the judge should give me about three years for manslaughter. I’ll behave good and be on parole inside of a year.”
“And then?” Judge Corday said.
“I’ll just take my fifteen thousand and go back to Comfort,” I said. “None of us
