Cody Craig
New Member
CHAPTER THREE
Bernadette was crouched next to the body of her husband Edward; due to the complete drenching that she had received her long blonde hair was a shade darker than usual and was hanging in sodden matted ropes. She looked up as she heard the approach of a person, his footfalls making soft splashing sounds in the shallow puddles that had formed on the bitumen surface of the road.
Her eyes are swollen and red from crying; her mascara had run and had left a black smudge under each eye and a dark trail down the side of her nose. The flashing blue and red lights from the emergency vehicles were casting strobing shadows across her wet tired face.
Bernadette looked into the police officer's eyes, momentarily; quickly she diverted her eyes back to the crumbled bloody body that lay in front of her.
Had he seen that my tears were fake?
Can he sense that I set the accident up?
Bernadette was worried that she had blown her cover. It had seemed so easy before the event. The hours that she had laid in bed and thought through the whole scenario, the ease in which she had pulled it off in her mind. But now it was a completely different story. Now that she was faced with the actual death of her husband.
Real blood. Real cops. Real murder.
She wasn't so sure that she could pull it off at all, but it was too late to change her mind. Edward was dead and there was no bringing him back.
It was far too late now to change my mind.
Bernadette's stomach was a mass of squirming snakes, twisting up into an ever-tightening knot. She felt like vomiting, but resisted the urge. Her condition wasn't from the death of her husband but from her wrecked nerves. It was fear. Fear of getting found out. Fear of going to jail. She had heard some terrible stories about what they do to attractive women in jail.
This is murder! Hold yourself together girl. Don't act suspicious; you're suppose to be the grieving widow.
She lifted her gaze back to the police officer's face and shakily rose from her crouch. She began to sob again. The officer offered a shoulder for her to cry on and Bernadette accepted it.
"Thanks."
"It's the least I can do for you," replied the police officer.
She sobbed some more, acting the part of the grieving widow. But it wasn't as easy as she thought it would be. She was weak, unable to resist the temptations of the flesh. Bernadette liked the feel of the officer's toned body. He felt very strong through his wet shirt. She could feel his chiselled pectoral muscles and carved abs pushing against her wet trembling body. His upper arms were muscular and wrapped her shoulders nicely. She felt like squirming against him, rubbing herself over his wet body. Only their sopping clothes would be separating their naked skin. But she had to refrain from it. Being a distraught grieving widow took a lot of self-control. She could feel her nipples start to stiffen just from the thought.
Bernadette stepped away from the officer and gave him a smile, not a happy smile but a thank you smile. She hoped that the smile contained some sorrow. When she was practicing in front of the mirror in her bathroom, Bernadette had managed to get her facial expressions down pat. The grief, the sorrow, the anguish were all part of her repertoire. Now all she hoped was that her expressions were being read correctly by the police officers at the scene of the accident.
The officer returned the smile, "Do you feel up to talking?" He asked.
Bernadette removed a handkerchief from her purse and wiped her eyes and nose. "I'll try to answer your questions," she began sobbing again.
The officer had a look of concern on his face, as if she was crying because of him. Bernadette still felt nervous but she was happy with her performance to date.
"How about I drive you over to the station, away from all of this and out of the weather," offered the officer. “It’s a lot warmer and dryer there and we can have a hot cup of coffee."
Bernadette nodded her head in acceptance. The officer escorted her to a black and white patrol car and opened the door for her. She took a seat and was happy to be out of the cold swirling rain. The trip downtown was quiet and quick.
Once seated in the brightly lighted station, the officer went and fetched two cups of coffee. He returned and sat on the other side of the desk from Bernadette. Pulled out a notepad and pen from the top drawer of the desk, and started to scribble down notes as he spoke.
The questioning was routine and the officer tactful, asking Bernadette for details about the victim, details about herself, details about their relationship and finally details about the vehicle that had hit Edward.
On account of the last line of questioning, she gave exact details as to the make and colour of the vehicle; a silver two door BMW. She wasn't worried about the vehicle being identified as Calvin had planned to use a stolen vehicle for the mishap. She grinned inside as she thought about his choice of vehicle though. He certainly has a taste for expensive things. Any old junker would have done the job just fine, but no, Calvin had to go for a luxury sports car. She just hoped that he had remembered to wear the rubber gloves as they had discussed when they were planning the operation. That way there would be no evidence to link him and ultimately her to the murder.
Done questioning, the officer thanked her and drove her back to her house.
She smiled internally as the patrol car pulled to a halt at traffic lights a mile from her house, that's right it's my house now. Not anyone else's. Just mine. Bernadette had decided that she would catch a cab downtown in the morning and pick up her car, which was still parked a couple of blocks away from the restaurant. It would still be parked exactly where she had insisted that Edward should park it. Her plan had worked brilliantly and she was having a hard time in controlling her joy.
One small slip and I'll end up as someone's bitch in the big house, the thought temporarily brought Bernadette back to reality.
As they rounded the corner into her street, Bernadette spotted Calvin's red Porsche parked on the street in front of a house, four houses down the street from hers. A dry lump developed in her throat. She coughed to try and clear it, but it wouldn't budge. They had agreed not see each other until this whole thing had ample time to blow over. She was supposed to be the grieving widow. It wouldn't look too good if she were seen in the company of another male this soon after the accident.
"That's the one," said Bernadette, as the patrol car passed her driveway. She could see a light on inside the house. Its dim glow making the front window glow a slightly lighter shade of grey than the surrounding walls, the light must be coming from somewhere towards the back of the house. Probably from the kitchen.
The officer pulled the patrol car over to the curb. "Are you sure you will be all right here, all alone by yourself?" he asked.
"Yes, I'll be fine. I don't much feel like being in the company of others right at this moment," Bernadette sniffed.
"I know that you probably feel that way, but sometimes it does help to talk. Maybe you have a relative or friend nearby."
"Really, I'll be fine," insisted Bernadette.
"At the very least let me walk you to your door."
Bernadette felt her knees go wobbly and her hands start to shake.
What if he sees Calvin?
Is Calvin in the house or waiting in the car down the road? He has to be in the car, he hasn't got a key to the house. Maybe he broke in, or I left a door or window unlocked.
"You've already done too much," said Bernadette with a forced smile.
"Only doing my job Ma'am," the officer said, returning the smile.
She waited on the sidewalk and watched the patrol car drive off. Then furiously she stormed along the concrete driveway to the porch at the front of the house. She would have to give Calvin a stern talking to. His eagerness could easily have jeopardised the whole situation.
Bernadette fumbled through her purse looking for her house keys. The light above the porch was dark, she was sure that she had switched it on when she and Edward had left to go to the restaurant earlier that night.
Maybe the globe had blown.
Bernadette found her keys then lifted her head in the direction of the dark porch light, and noticed that the globe was missing. Her heart skipped a beat.
Maybe someone is in the house.
A burglar? Rapist? Murderer?
She then laughed to herself, the only murderer that could possibly be in there would be Calvin.
Bernadette was crouched next to the body of her husband Edward; due to the complete drenching that she had received her long blonde hair was a shade darker than usual and was hanging in sodden matted ropes. She looked up as she heard the approach of a person, his footfalls making soft splashing sounds in the shallow puddles that had formed on the bitumen surface of the road.
Her eyes are swollen and red from crying; her mascara had run and had left a black smudge under each eye and a dark trail down the side of her nose. The flashing blue and red lights from the emergency vehicles were casting strobing shadows across her wet tired face.
Bernadette looked into the police officer's eyes, momentarily; quickly she diverted her eyes back to the crumbled bloody body that lay in front of her.
Had he seen that my tears were fake?
Can he sense that I set the accident up?
Bernadette was worried that she had blown her cover. It had seemed so easy before the event. The hours that she had laid in bed and thought through the whole scenario, the ease in which she had pulled it off in her mind. But now it was a completely different story. Now that she was faced with the actual death of her husband.
Real blood. Real cops. Real murder.
She wasn't so sure that she could pull it off at all, but it was too late to change her mind. Edward was dead and there was no bringing him back.
It was far too late now to change my mind.
Bernadette's stomach was a mass of squirming snakes, twisting up into an ever-tightening knot. She felt like vomiting, but resisted the urge. Her condition wasn't from the death of her husband but from her wrecked nerves. It was fear. Fear of getting found out. Fear of going to jail. She had heard some terrible stories about what they do to attractive women in jail.
This is murder! Hold yourself together girl. Don't act suspicious; you're suppose to be the grieving widow.
She lifted her gaze back to the police officer's face and shakily rose from her crouch. She began to sob again. The officer offered a shoulder for her to cry on and Bernadette accepted it.
"Thanks."
"It's the least I can do for you," replied the police officer.
She sobbed some more, acting the part of the grieving widow. But it wasn't as easy as she thought it would be. She was weak, unable to resist the temptations of the flesh. Bernadette liked the feel of the officer's toned body. He felt very strong through his wet shirt. She could feel his chiselled pectoral muscles and carved abs pushing against her wet trembling body. His upper arms were muscular and wrapped her shoulders nicely. She felt like squirming against him, rubbing herself over his wet body. Only their sopping clothes would be separating their naked skin. But she had to refrain from it. Being a distraught grieving widow took a lot of self-control. She could feel her nipples start to stiffen just from the thought.
Bernadette stepped away from the officer and gave him a smile, not a happy smile but a thank you smile. She hoped that the smile contained some sorrow. When she was practicing in front of the mirror in her bathroom, Bernadette had managed to get her facial expressions down pat. The grief, the sorrow, the anguish were all part of her repertoire. Now all she hoped was that her expressions were being read correctly by the police officers at the scene of the accident.
The officer returned the smile, "Do you feel up to talking?" He asked.
Bernadette removed a handkerchief from her purse and wiped her eyes and nose. "I'll try to answer your questions," she began sobbing again.
The officer had a look of concern on his face, as if she was crying because of him. Bernadette still felt nervous but she was happy with her performance to date.
"How about I drive you over to the station, away from all of this and out of the weather," offered the officer. “It’s a lot warmer and dryer there and we can have a hot cup of coffee."
Bernadette nodded her head in acceptance. The officer escorted her to a black and white patrol car and opened the door for her. She took a seat and was happy to be out of the cold swirling rain. The trip downtown was quiet and quick.
Once seated in the brightly lighted station, the officer went and fetched two cups of coffee. He returned and sat on the other side of the desk from Bernadette. Pulled out a notepad and pen from the top drawer of the desk, and started to scribble down notes as he spoke.
The questioning was routine and the officer tactful, asking Bernadette for details about the victim, details about herself, details about their relationship and finally details about the vehicle that had hit Edward.
On account of the last line of questioning, she gave exact details as to the make and colour of the vehicle; a silver two door BMW. She wasn't worried about the vehicle being identified as Calvin had planned to use a stolen vehicle for the mishap. She grinned inside as she thought about his choice of vehicle though. He certainly has a taste for expensive things. Any old junker would have done the job just fine, but no, Calvin had to go for a luxury sports car. She just hoped that he had remembered to wear the rubber gloves as they had discussed when they were planning the operation. That way there would be no evidence to link him and ultimately her to the murder.
Done questioning, the officer thanked her and drove her back to her house.
She smiled internally as the patrol car pulled to a halt at traffic lights a mile from her house, that's right it's my house now. Not anyone else's. Just mine. Bernadette had decided that she would catch a cab downtown in the morning and pick up her car, which was still parked a couple of blocks away from the restaurant. It would still be parked exactly where she had insisted that Edward should park it. Her plan had worked brilliantly and she was having a hard time in controlling her joy.
One small slip and I'll end up as someone's bitch in the big house, the thought temporarily brought Bernadette back to reality.
As they rounded the corner into her street, Bernadette spotted Calvin's red Porsche parked on the street in front of a house, four houses down the street from hers. A dry lump developed in her throat. She coughed to try and clear it, but it wouldn't budge. They had agreed not see each other until this whole thing had ample time to blow over. She was supposed to be the grieving widow. It wouldn't look too good if she were seen in the company of another male this soon after the accident.
"That's the one," said Bernadette, as the patrol car passed her driveway. She could see a light on inside the house. Its dim glow making the front window glow a slightly lighter shade of grey than the surrounding walls, the light must be coming from somewhere towards the back of the house. Probably from the kitchen.
The officer pulled the patrol car over to the curb. "Are you sure you will be all right here, all alone by yourself?" he asked.
"Yes, I'll be fine. I don't much feel like being in the company of others right at this moment," Bernadette sniffed.
"I know that you probably feel that way, but sometimes it does help to talk. Maybe you have a relative or friend nearby."
"Really, I'll be fine," insisted Bernadette.
"At the very least let me walk you to your door."
Bernadette felt her knees go wobbly and her hands start to shake.
What if he sees Calvin?
Is Calvin in the house or waiting in the car down the road? He has to be in the car, he hasn't got a key to the house. Maybe he broke in, or I left a door or window unlocked.
"You've already done too much," said Bernadette with a forced smile.
"Only doing my job Ma'am," the officer said, returning the smile.
She waited on the sidewalk and watched the patrol car drive off. Then furiously she stormed along the concrete driveway to the porch at the front of the house. She would have to give Calvin a stern talking to. His eagerness could easily have jeopardised the whole situation.
Bernadette fumbled through her purse looking for her house keys. The light above the porch was dark, she was sure that she had switched it on when she and Edward had left to go to the restaurant earlier that night.
Maybe the globe had blown.
Bernadette found her keys then lifted her head in the direction of the dark porch light, and noticed that the globe was missing. Her heart skipped a beat.
Maybe someone is in the house.
A burglar? Rapist? Murderer?
She then laughed to herself, the only murderer that could possibly be in there would be Calvin.
