Margaret thought she had committed the perfect crime.
Her lover, Paschal, had talked about leaving his wife for years but everytime he came close, his wife would drop an emotional bombshell like; ‘I’m pregnant’ or ‘I’ve been made redundant’ or ‘my mother’s just passed’. Margaret had to hand it to Colette, her timing was always impeccable. Fed up with Paschal, never having the bottle to end it, Margaret decided to take matters into her own hands.
She’d take a revolver and silencer from the gunstore at work. Nobody would notice it missing and by the time the deed was done, she’d have it cleaned and returned without a trace. She’d deliberately recorded a few less bullets in the inventory the month before, pocketing them in the small square pocket of her blue shirt. It couldn’t be simpler.
She’d make it look like a break-in. She’d been called out to her fair share of them on the beat. She knew the classic cases – a broken window, smash a few ornaments in the hall, make it look like the intruder was intruded! Then she’d race up the stairs and catch Colette unawares in the bathroom or in the bed. Paschal left for work at 6am most mornings. She knew that as they’d often go for a work out at her home gym before he took up residence at the small poky office across the street from the station. She’d wait till 8am to make sure he was gone before executing her plan.
Colette burst from the bedroom at the sound of the broken window. Margaret aimed for her abdomen, but missed. Instead a single gunshot wound to the heart followed by a fall down the stairs, made her ‘break-in gone wrong’ attempt look convincing.
Yes. Margaret thought she had committed the perfect crime as she made her way into the station to start her shift later that day. Indeed, she ate an extra donut on her tea break, satisfied that the gun and silencer were back in the gunstore – it was too easy.
She had practiced her shocked face when she arrived at the crime scene. She had rehearsed how she would comfort Paschal. She knew exactly what she’d say and be a pillar of support to his two school-going children. She’d promise to find the perpetrators, knowing that it would be just the right amount of reassurance that they would need to get through the sad weeks and months ahead. She’d ingratiate herself into their lives. She’d be the answer to their prayers.
Yes. Margaret thought she had committed the perfect crime. Too bad she was menopausal.
One hair less was all it took to solve the perfect murder.
By Chele Crawley
