Murder by the Book

I felt that I was fairly safe, though I was not completely easy. Toward the end of December I was shocked into a realization of my true position. Dykes came into rny office, during office hours, and asked for a raise in pay of 50 per cent. He said that he had expected to make a considerable sum from the sale of his novel, and now that he had surrendered that source of income he would have to have a substantial raise. I saw at once what I should have seen clearly before, that I would be at his mercy for years if not for life, and that his demands would be limited only by his desires. I was literally in a panic but concealed it successfully. I told him that I had to consider the problem of justifying so large a raise to my associates, and asked him to come to my apartment the following evening, Saturday, December 30, to discuss the matter.

By the time he arrived for the appointment I had decided that I would have to kill him. It proved to be an absurdly easy thing to do, as he did not suspect my intention and was not on guard. As he sat I went to his rear on some trivial excuse, picked up a heavy paperweight, and hit him on the head. He crumpled without a sound, and I hit him again. During the four hours that I waited for the deserted streets of late night, or early morning, I had to hit him three more times. During those hours I also went for my car and parked it directly in front. When the time came I got him downstairs and into the car

without being observed. I drove uptown to an unused East River pier in the Nineties and rolled the body into the water. I must have been less calm and cool than I thought I was, for I thought he was dead. Two days later, in the newspaper account of the recovery of the body, I learned that he had died of drowning, so when I rolled him in he was only stunned.