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Joan Crisp |
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“You’ll … … never
… … EVER … … hurt … … me … … again … … you … …
BASTARD!” With each word that she
yelled, she brought the make shift club down on the back of his head. He
was already dead of course, but now that the years of torment had been
ended by her sudden, unexpected, uncharacteristic fit of rage, she
didn’t seem to want to stop hitting him. She paused, unable to
think of any more words she could use as her reason to continue laying
into his limp, lifeless body. Breathing heavily, she
finally placed the weapon on the kitchen table, and sank into the
nearest chair. Her eyes moved from the
body to the table as she quickly came back to her senses. “I’ll leave it for
three hours, then I’d better call the police.” She thought to
herself. Putting on her warmest
overcoat, Joan Crisp calmly left the house and walked to the local shop. -oOo- Two and a half hours
later, the quiet little cul-de-sac was positively heaving with activity.
Police cars, ambulances, and finally a mortuary van were parked wherever
they could find a space. Inside No. 5, Swallow’s
Nest Drive, two police officers were sat opposite Joan Crisp in the
living room, dutifully asking questions, and nodding sympathetically as
she sobbed out her responses. Frank Crisp’s cold body
was still in the kitchen, and Joan could see the constant flash of a
scene of crime officer’s camera. “Fuck me!” one of the
younger detectives shouted as the body was finally turned over,
“someone really laid into that poor old Sod.” ‘I’ll hang that loud
mouthed little wanker out to dry when I get him back to the station’
thought Detective Crabb as he tried his best to pretend he hadn’t
heard the outburst. “So, Mrs Crisp. You started cooking the evening
meal, left the house to buy some fresh vegetables, because your ummmmm,
… … … the deceased man, wanted asparagus, and when you returned,
there he was, dead.” “That’s right” she
wailed, “I was gone only 35 minutes.” “We’ll get the evil
person who did this Mrs Crisp, I promise.” Detective Crabb forced a
nearly-convincing smile, “Once we’ve found the murder weapon, the
rest will fall into place very easily. Always does.” “Oh I do hope so,” she
cried. “Ummmm, excuse me,
Inspector” the young, big mouthed officer stood in the doorway,
nervously staring at his boss. “Mrs Crisp must have something in the
oven, and if we don’t turn the gas off, its gonna burn and fill the
room with smoke.” “Okay” Crabb was
visibly annoyed at the interruption, “turn off the bloody cooker, but
touch NOTHING else!!” Joan’s sobbing became
even louder “Ohhhhhhhh! It’s the lamb! Franks favourite! I was
cooking him roast leg-of-lamb for tonight.” Those in the lounge heard
the sound of the oven door being opened, and the room filled with the
smell of roasting lamb. The roasting dish was left
in the hallway, away from all the ‘action’ and by the time the house
had cleared, it had been cold for several hours. Joan sat in the hallway
alone. Finally, she allowed herself a smile. Leaning over, she tore a
piece of the tender meat and ate it. It was cooked to perfection. The police had already
started scouring the local countryside in an attempt to find the murder
weapon – a large, club-shaped, blunt item – rock hard. Maybe the
killer used the side of a hammer, they had told her. How much sweeter the lamb
tasted now. After she had smashed his ugly, sadistic head in with the
frozen piece of meat, she had defrosted it in the microwave before
putting it in the oven and walking down to the shops. ‘Once we’ve found the
murder weapon, the rest will fall into place very easily.’ –
that’s what the nice detective had said. She tore away another piece
of meat and chuckled triumphantly. Perhaps I should have asked Inspector
Crabb to stay for dinner. But of course, he was too busy looking for
that murder weapon. |
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