Alfred Hitchcock Mystery Magazine. Vol. 50, No. 1 & 2, January/February 2005

“I doubt it. Time passed and I got so I could hardly stand to see her. She grated on me, like nails scraping a blackboard. And she used the word totally all the time. It was totally delicious, she was totally tired, the gas station attendant was totally creepy. Totally totally totally... I tried to tell her the effect she was having and she tried to stop. She did. But it was ingrained. One night I’d gone to my den to escape her constant jabbering. I was working on my samples. Did I tell you I’m an amateur geologist? Anyway, in she came and she started. I was totally insensitive to her needs. She was totally committed to our relationship. This had totally gone far enough. Totally totally totally. After I told her! So I picked up my sample hammer, swung it at her head.

“It made this... this meaty sound, this thump when it hit her temple. She dropped straight down, straight down. She was dead.”

He was looking off into the distance now, seeing the night. “Just like that. Dead.

“I knew the Cimmarron Movie Ranch from my trips to the desert. Knew no one ever went there. So, I took her... took the body and buried it there. I drew out some cash, threw some valuables into my bag to dump on my next trip, told the police she’d disappeared. When they looked up her record, her criminal past, well, as I said, they reached the obvious conclusion.”

McGrath took another piece of paper from his file, slid it across the table. It was an aerial photo of the movie ranch.

“You dumped the body here, right?”

“I told you.”

“Care to show me?”

Cunningham looked down and, without hesitation, pointed to an alleyway running south of the single main street. “There.”

There was a long moment of silence.

“What’s the matter? Don’t you believe me? You must be able to find out it’s her!”

McGrath shifted uncomfortably.

“Look, we appreciate you coming in and all...”

“What?”

“Things are at an early stage... We know where to find you...”

“No no no no no. I’m sorry. I’ve steeled myself for this. Resigned myself. I want this to be over.”

McGrath turned to his companion at the door, made a shrugging gesture.

“It’s her. I killed her. What more do you want?”

“Go home, Mr. Cunningham. See a doctor. Your wife running off... something like that does weird stuff to your head.”

“This is outrageous!”

“Like I said, if we need you, we’ll call.”

McGrath got up.

Cunningham thumped the table.

“No! I will not go home until this thing is cleared up!”

The echo of his shout seemed to hang in the air.

McGrath remained still for a moment. Then he turned and said, “Okay. Look. We’ve got some problems with your story, okay? There’s something doesn’t add up...”

“How can it not add up, you idiot!”

“Whoa, you are riled.” McGrath looked toward his companion. The other officer remained silent, impassive.

“I’ve got a suggestion. You don’t have to do this, it’s up to you, okay? You can call a lawyer, whatever...”

“For God’s sake, what is it?”

“Say we take a drive out there. To the ranch. Go over the scene.”

Another man might have hesitated, been reluctant to face the memories that waited out there in the desert. “Is that all? Then let’s get a move on.”

It was dusk when they arrived at the ranch. Instead of dreading it, Cunningham was relieved. The entire journey had been filled with McGrath’s constant prattling, asking Cunningham if he liked baseball, if he went to the movies. The man was a moron.

The other officer, who was called Jimenez, remained silent throughout.

Now they were pulling into the Cimarron Movie Ranch, driving past the excavations for the new highway project. In the fading pink light, the machines, abandoned for the day, reminded Cunningham of the dinosaurs whose bones he sometimes found among the rocks.

Although it was called a movie ranch, the Cimarron also boasted a false-fronted Western street with saloons, general store, and sheriff’s office. Back in the heyday of the B-movie Western, this would have been used as a location. The horses, trained to fall on cue or stand still when the reins were dropped, had been kept in corrals and stables back behind the fake street. The place had been abandoned since the fifties, as much a ghost town as the real settlements it had been built to resemble.

The unmarked police car stopped in the middle of the street and the three of them got out. The night was turning chill.

“Care to show us where you buried her?”

“But you know. You dug her up.”

Cunningham strode down the alleyway, eager to get this over, not because he was afraid, but because he wanted to wipe the doubt from that idiot’s face.

He stopped.

No excavation work had been done in the alley. The spot where he’d buried her was smooth and undisturbed. The world seemed to tilt crazily. He cast around, tried to find his bearings... This was the place. It was!

“But they found her body... the news...”