Vanish in an Instant by Margaret Millar Read Free Book Online

big blind eyes. Meecham recognized him instantly. He had seen him that morning in the county jail, the old-young man with the sensitive face and the swollen dissolute body. The body was hidden now under the tent of his overcoat. His face was bland and unlined, and the falling snow had feathered his eyelashes and made his eyes look dewy and innocent. He was, Meecham thought, about twenty-eight.
    He said aloud, “We’ve met before.”
    â€œYes, I know. I know who you are.”
    â€œOh?”
    â€œYou’re Mr. Meecham, the girl’s lawyer.”
    Meecham had an abrupt and inexplicable feeling of un­easiness. It was, he thought, like turning around suddenly on a dark night and finding at your heels a silent and vicious dog; nothing is said, nothing is done; the walk con­tinues, the dog behind you, and behind the dog, fear, following you both.
    â€œWhat’s your name?” Meecham said.
    â€œLoftus. Earl Duane Loftus.” The young man blinked, and the snow tumbled from his eyelashes down his cheeks in a miniature avalanche. “You’d better go and call the police. You wouldn’t mind if I waited inside the house un­til they arrive? I’m not cold—I never mind the cold—but I’d like to sit down. I tire easily.”
    â€œWhy should I call the police?”
    â€œI’d like to give them a statement.”
    â€œWhat about?”
    â€œI committed a murder.”
    â€œOh.”
    â€œYou don’t believe me,” Loftus said.
    â€œOh sure, sure I do.”
    â€œNo. I can tell. First you thought I was a bum, now you think I’m a psycho.”
    â€œNo, I don’t,” Meecham lied, without conviction.
    â€œWell, I can’t blame you, actually. I guess every murder case attracts a lot of tips and confessions from psychos, peo­ple who want punishment or publicity or expiation. I don’t fit into any of those classes, Mr. Meecham.”
    â€œOf course not,” Meecham lied again, wishing that a pa­trol car would come along, or that the young man would go away quietly, and without a fuss.
    â€œI can see you’re still skeptical. You haven’t even asked whom I killed.”
    Meecham felt cold and weary, and a little impatient. “What gave you the idea you killed anyone?”
    â€œThe body. The dead body.” Loftus’ long skinny fingers worked nervously at the lapels of his coat. “I didn’t come here following the old lady home. We had a common desti­nation, that’s all. I wanted to see the doctor and tell him first. His wife didn’t kill Margolis. I did.”
    Meecham’s impatience had grown with his discomfort. “How’d you kill him, with a shotgun as he was going into the post-office to mail a letter?”
    Loftus shook his head, very seriously. “No, sir, I didn’t. I stabbed him in the neck. Four or five times, I believe.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œI had a good many reasons.” He leaned toward Meecham in an almost confidential manner. “I look funny to you, don’t I? You think like a lot of people that a man who looks so funny must also be funny in the head. Looks are very important. Very deceiving too. I’m quite sane, quite intelligent even. There’s only one thing the matter with me; I am going to die.”
    â€œWhy are you telling me?”
    â€œYou asked why I killed Margolis. Well, that’s one of my reasons. Ever since I found out, a year ago, what my chances were, I’ve been pondering the situation. Since I was going to die anyway, I thought I would take someone with me—rid the world of someone it would be better off without, some incorrigible criminal, perhaps, or a danger­ous politician. But when the time and opportunity came, it was Margolis. I wish it could have been someone more important. Margolis was very third-rate.”
    â€œHe had a wife and two kids.”
    Loftus’ calm was unshaken.