“I’m sorry, Mary. I truly am. It won’t happen again. I promise.”
Mary’s slender body ached from the bruised cheekbone and the black eye. Her Italian black hair was in tangles. The nosebleed had nearly stopped now, but the bruised skin told a violent story of strong fingers leaving purple fingerprints on her small left bicep. At 5’4” she couldn’t protect herself from his rage.
“I know, Bert. I know you’ll try hard and I’m grateful for that. Now I need to get ice cubes for my face and arms.”
“Yes, I know, Honey. Let me help you with that.”
Bert hurried to the kitchen, with Mary staggering, unbalanced as she followed him.
It was the same routine, over and over for Mary, the senseless beatings for trivial reasons, the apologies, and the pampered assistance, false concern, sorrowful eyes, sometimes even tears. Then the voice of guilt and self-denigration would hit him. It was pitiful.
The next morning Bert acted normal, and happy, and expected Mary to act normal, too, and act submissive and happy about her situation as his loving, cooperative wife. She had been through these episodes many times. She complained to police officers who said she was a liar, that they knew Bert wasn’t like that because they’ve known him since childhood. “He wouldn’t hurt a fly,” one of them said. So, they laughed at her, and humiliated her, saying she must have felt a lot of pain slamming her body into hard objects and finding a man who would agree to choke her bad enough to get handprint bruises around her neck. They dismissed her account and didn’t even accept her written complaint.
“Sit at the table. I’ll fill a bag with ice.” The old refrigerator would only produce slush, maybe a few bigger chunks, but no ice cubes. What ice there was melted at once in the plastic pouch?
“What the fuck is wrong with the refrigerator’s icemaker?” he said accusingly as if she had purposely sabotaged it.
“It’s been that way for a few months,” Mary responded in a calm, quiet voice, not wanting to upset him.
“So, why the fuck didn’t you mention it to me, Mary?” Bert’s temper was building slowly, like a campfire starting with tinder, then twigs, then with the increasingly larger logs. He was getting hot.
“Sweetheart, I’ve been telling you about it almost every week, but I know it’s my fault. I should have written you a note as you like me to do.” She had written plenty of notes but remained silent about them.
“I’ll try harder and I’ll also try to be more precise and correct. I know that sometimes I don’t express myself very well. I hope you will forgive my mistakes. You will, won’t you darling?”
Bert was happily appeased by the feeling that Mary knew who the boss was and that she admitted that she was the one at fault, which was honest of her. She was at fault, and she accepted the blame and acted subservient. Well, he thought, I can be generous and forgive her, this time.
“I’ll get you a new refrigerator. A top of the line one, too. You know that the newest Sanko brand makes ice cubes so hard that you need special silicone ice cube trays so the ice cube will come out of the tray easily. You’ll have a hard time breaking them, even with an icepick. They stay harder, and longer, too. Hard as stones, they are.”
Mary hid her smirk, thinking, harder, longer? He’ll have to stick his dick in there, so I can finally get it harder and longer.
Bert had paused, thinking. “So how do you get ice-cubes for my drinks?”
“I buy bagged ice. It’s in the drawer under the bottom shelf. Thank you, Bert. I’d like to have that new refrigerator. You are so kind to me.” Groveling was better than a beating and the injuries—broken bones, hairline fractures of the cheekbone and the orbital bone, the dislocated shoulder, broken fingers, hyper-extended knee, and other more minor injuries that had occurred over the last three and a half years of the four-year marriage. Mary knew those injuries were all on record at the local hospital. She’d use them against him when it was the right time. Right now, however, she would fear for her life if she presented them to the town’s law enforcement. Bert had friends who were cops, guys he’d known since childhood.
Mary continued with a compliment, saying, “Bert, then I can tell all our friends what a wonderful husband you are.” She studied his face. Would he fall for the bullshit?
“I’m surprised, Mary, but pleased with that thought. I’ll have Jack, at Home Depot deliver it in a day or two. Promise.”
He was now so lost in thoughts of being praised that he forgot all about Mary’s injuries. He left the kitchen, turned on the TV, and watched Archie Bunker being a wimp instead of demanding total obeyance from empty-headed Edith. He stared at Edith’s screen image and knew he could control that imbecile in less than two weeks if she were his wife.
Mary substituted the ice water for ice cubes in the two pouches, then placed them over her neck and wrist bruises. She sat at the kitchen table, cried softly, and thought of various ways that would get her out of her marriage to Bert, her tyrant, sadistic husband.
The new refrigerator came the next day. Bert’s friend from Home Depot made the shipment a priority delivery.
The delivery guys hauled the old fridge away and thoroughly hooked up the new one including, of course, the water hook-up so the freezer could automatically make ice.
The men peered at Mary’s bruises sympathetically, then with pity. Immediately they figured out what happened from seeing the neck bruises. They thought they knew Bert. They knew he was a whiny wimp with the guys, but the guys didn’t tease him too much because he had connections with cops. They hadn’t suspected that he was abusive to anyone, and especially not suspect him of being a wife beater. They said nothing and left, one of them thinking, you never really know anybody thoroughly. People are always changing. One minute they are nice, the next minute an ogre. People change personalities, characteristics, desires, and mental health needs. None of my business, he concluded.
Mary restocked the new refrigerator with the contents of the old one. She checked her watch knowing she’d have to wait a few hours for the ice cubes to be made, she could see if the Sanko would live up to its icy-cold reputation. She set her watch timer for a couple of hours.
She was on the internet researching the divorce process and price, then checking the reputations of area divorce lawyers when the alarm rang. She checked the ice cube container and was pleased to find how hard and cold the ice cubes were. The ice cube maker had already partially filled the container in the freezer. Now I have plenty of ice cubes and no longer need to buy bags of ice, she thought, followed by a broad smile.
A few hours later Bert came through the doorway, throwing his baseball cap on a nearby chair and noisily kicking off his steel-toed work boots, a necessity when moving heavy boxes in a warehouse. Good thing the machines did most of the work or he would not be fit for that kind of job. He had worked at the warehouse since high school and had risen to the boss level. He worked with strong men and a couple of women, so he seemed to think he was absorbing their toughness and strength, but actually, he was just a B-B amongst marbles. But he was their boss and he thoroughly enjoyed giving orders to the other employees.
As soon as Bert sat and kicked off his shoes, he yelled, “What’s for dinner? Better be good. But first I want my drink, pronto, little lady.” He ginned at his ability to boss her around, just like the warehouse workers.
Mary quickly placed four newly made ice cubes in his glass—it had to be four or he’d get angry. She got the shot-glass and poured four Southern Comfort shots slowly over the ice cubes—supposedly the slow pour helped the whiskey get colder, and faster. Then she added one—it had to be just one—shot glass of Canada Dry Ginger Ale—it had to be that brand. She brought it to Bert.
Bert snatched it quickly, rattling the cubes against each other and the glass, then put to his lips for the first swallow. He looked forward to that first swallow each day.
As Mary walked away, she heard a strange noise. She thought it was just the ice cubes clanging together, though it sounded differently. Then she heard Bert swearing. She froze in her tracks wondering what she had done wrong and what might happen if he came on in a bad mood.
“Pretty god-damned hard ice cubes! Thought they’d break a front tooth when they hit it. Fuckin’ things. I’ll suck on one to test its hardness.” Mary was relieved as Bert placed a cube into his mouth and sucked on it. Then he tried to bite it but stopped due to a ‘brain freeze.’ “Holy shit! They’re hard as rocks and cold. So, the new refrigerator. You like it?”
“I like it very much, Sweetheart. It’s one of the best, most useful gifts you have ever bought for me. I’m especially happy now. Dear, were you hurt by the ice cube hitting your front teeth?”
“A little, but what the fuck. A new fridge, colder, harder ice cubes for my drinks. But I think the fridge setting is set too high when it comes from the manufacturer. Take care of that,” he ordered as he looked into his glass at the pleasing, amber liquid, not finished yet, but already wanting more.”
Mary returned to the kitchen to continue her work on dinner. She heard Bert laughing at a TV comedy show. She wished she could laugh like that, no restrained giggle, just a blast of carefree laughter. But she felt helpless, isolated, unprotected, and nowhere to turn for help. She kept it a secret from her parents. If she asked them for help, they would be at risk. They were old. No telling what the stress may do to them. The law wouldn’t help, nor would the wrong divorce lawyer. She couldn’t depend on friends because her only friends were Bert’s buddy’s wives. Although she knew most of them, they were not friends. They were acquaintances who were informers. They told their husbands what Mary said and did. Things that Bert may not like. Then the husbands told Bert and there was hell to pay when he got home from work. She was alone.
Mary continued with the whispered thought, “I can’t even sit on the toilet without someone informing Bert whether I had shit or pissed.” She searched the house for hidden cameras and microphones but found nothing.
Dinner time was the usual interrogation routine where she was extra careful not to upset Bert. Otherwise, dinner was silent except for Bert’s open-mouthed chomping on his food and continually sniffling his snot instead of blowing his nose.
How could I have married a guy like this? Mary asked herself. Well, he wasn’t like that three years ago? He was soft-spoken, gentle, and easy to please, plus he wanted kids. Something happened to change all that. He even made her take birth control pills which she agreed with because she did not want to have a child with him as the father. The drastic change was probably from his buddies drumming into him that a ‘Man is the King of His Castle’ and that he should demonstrate his authority over his wife. He used the Bible when it benefited him, otherwise, he treated it like a poorly written, inaccurate work of fiction.
When dinner was finished, Bert went to the living room to watch evening TV. Mary washed the dishes and whatever else she used to cook with. Then she cleaned the counter and the table, cleaned the crumbs, and a piece of food on the floor. Finally, she grabbed a broom to thoroughly clean the floor. When she got to the living room, Bert’s TV show was ending. She sat away from him and worked on a crossword puzzle she found in the New Yorker magazine. Then she read the Borowitz report, viewed the comic illustrations, and read the short story. She felt tired now, so she picked up her romance novel. She rolled her eyes thinking of the irony, yet she desired to have ultra-romantic sex the way the hero and heroine did and not make it a fast grunt orgasm for him. When she read the romance novel and felt the sexual need, she locked herself in the bathroom and massaged herself into an orgasm as she thought about the hero in the novel.
She’d get up now and make Bert another drink. He already had two and wanted a third. She handed it to him, saying, “I’m going to bed for a relaxing read.” Bert gruffly growled, “Go, you and your useless cunt.”
She knew when it was a good time to retire to the bedroom. When Bert had more than two drinks, he got belligerent, argumentative, and hostile. She wanted to avoid all of it, especially when he demanded oral sex while he sat on the living room couch, too drunk to stand up. She knew he liked seeing her on her knees. Get beat up or give him oral sex, not much of a choice.
She brought her book and tablet to bed with her for the digital books, but also to research the idea of getting away from Bert. She especially enjoyed reading short stories, particularly the shorter ones that had a surprising ending, ones that caught her off guard, surprising her. She had just recently started reading the horror short stories on the CreepyPasta.com site.
She’d only read a few pages to finish the romance novel when she set the book down. She relaxed her head and neck into the marshmallow pillow, staring at the ceiling. She wondered about ways of escaping Bert’s hold on her. The ideas ran across her mind in slow motion making her drowsy. She hadn’t fallen asleep with a grin on her face in a long time.
The next morning, she woke to her other tyrant; her alarm clock which bullied her until she got up to turn it off—she set the clock away from her so she would have to get up to shut off the damn thing.
Bert was not in bed. Mary was thankful for getting a decent night’s sleep. Bert was a snorer and his movements at night were like a struggling wrestler, especially when he occasionally elbowed or kicked her. He had forbidden separate beds when she brought the subject up. He said it was something to do with masculinity. Mary nearly laughed in his face when he said it. She thought, at 5’7” and skinny, with thinning hair and a wispy mustache, where was the masculinity? He did have strong fingers from his warehouse job of lifting, shifting, and rearranging boxes.
He must have passed out on the couch, Mary guessed. Mary put her robe on, washed her face, gargled with mouthwash, and went ahead down the stairs to the living room. She leaned over the back of the couch to wake Bert. She knew better than to wake him face to face. He woke up ugly and hostile.
Bert got up slowly, and put his hands to his head, a sure sign of a bad headache. As he staggered up the steps, he yelled, “Strong coffee!” He continued up the stairs to the bedroom bathroom. He washed his hands and face, took a mouthful of water, then spit it out. Later Mary would notice that he stank of booze, perspiration, and whatever smells he got from the warehouse. She so hoped that he would shower, but she didn’t hear the shower water running. Of course, she had to hold her tongue, but she felt better when she knew he’d be gone to work soon. He usually gave her a list of jobs he wanted her to do during the day, but with a bad headache, he usually forgot, his mind too focused on the pain.
She made his breakfast the way he demanded: two eggs over easy each egg on a piece of toast—she always worried about breaking the yoke. Bacon and coffee on the side—the bacon had to be crisp and on a separate, smaller plate. He drank his coffee with a couple of teaspoons of sugar and just as much creamer. “Where’s the fuckin’ masculinity in that,” she whispered to herself.
She had his lunch box prepared. He liked to have two bologna sandwiches with cheese, mustard, and relish. He filled his thermos and then ate without saying a word. When done, he rose, grabbed the lunch box, and started for the door. As he grabbed the front doorknob he turned around and said loudly, “I want spaghetti for dinner. I want the Prego Three Cheese sauce. None of that crap from your mother’s recipe. And you know I like a meat sauce so put pieces of ground hamburger in it. And don’t be stingy about it!” Then he turned around, went out the door, and slammed it.
When she heard to door slam, she thought, sarcastically, wow, such an example of manhood, and so tough—she stretched out the word ‘so’ to make it sound as if the word had a dozen letters of ‘o’ in it.
She finished washing the breakfast dishes, then determinedly she rushed to the garage and found Bert’s sports closet and his sports equipment. She pulled out the softball bat, went into the back yard, and started swinging slowly, at first, then harder in gradual increments until she was swinging as hard as she did on her high school softball team. But, not finished, she walked to the unused clothesline. It had ropes between two wooden posts that looked similar to crucifixes. She swung at the post horizontally. Swinging softly didn’t produce much of a dent in the 4’X4’ post. Medium didn’t satisfy her either, so she went for a full power swing and was thrilled with the sound of the resulting dent. She eyed the loose splinters, made a fist, and shook it while saying, “Yeah. Yeah. That’s what I want”.
She went to the bedroom and looked in Bert’s closet to search through his winter clothes. She found the heavy winter socks that she needed.
She returned to the kitchen, opened the refrigerator door, and turned the coldness setting to high, then checked to see if the ice cube container was filled. It was, and so were the trays.
It was a happy day for her. She felt the tingle of excitement rush from her brain, down her spine, into her groin, and engulf her clitoris, pleasurably squeezing, and delightfully rubbing. This occurred several times during the day. Each time she shivered with an orgasm. She thought, “Wow! That’s better than a short and dirty dick inside of me, then having to fake multiple orgasms. Bert got angry if she didn’t have at least one orgasm. Something to do with masculinity, he said. She laughed.
Late afternoon she got the spaghetti cooked, the Prego with extra spices added, but did not have the ground hamburger, purposely.
The socks, one inside the other, were in the freezer and half full of ice cubes.
Bert was hungry when he entered the house. He brought his lunch box to the kitchen, then stopped by the stove to smell the aroma of the three-cheese Prego sauce. He smiled as he lifted the top of the pot.
“God dammit!” he yelled. “I told you I wanted meat in the sauce. What the fuck is the matter with you? You can’t do something as simple as that? You fuckin’ imbecile.” He held his fist up in front of her nose and said, “A knuckle sandwich? Is that what you need?”
Mary couldn’t resist. She looked at his fist, squinted her eyes, got even closer to his fist, squinted again, then said, “Has your fist gotten so small that I have to strain to see it? Is it shrinking?”
He slammed the top onto the pot, turned back to Mary, and punched her viciously in the stomach. The rush of exhaled breath out of her mouth sprayed him with her spittle. She bent over in pain and placed one knee on the floor to stabilize herself. She saw that he was going to kick her in the face, so she quickly held up her hand to stop him momentarily as she said, in a pained voice, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. If you go watch the evening news and relax, I’ll run to the deli and get the hamburger for the sauce. It won’t take long, Bert. Really.”
“Then get your worthless ass in gear. . . Get moving, god dammit!”
He stormed into the living room, grabbed the remote, and turned on the old TV. He plopped himself down on the couch, mumbling, “Smart-assed cunt. Bitch.”
Mary prepared herself with a deep breath as she rubbed her stomach until the pain was bearable. She put on the latex gloves, then opened the refrigerator freezer door and grabbed the elongated, double socks that were already half-full of those extra hard ice cubes. She entered the living room. Bert and the TV were on her right, so she concealed the sock along the side of her left thigh. She stopped when she was directly in back of Bert. She thought of hitting a homerun, lifted the sock as if it were a softball bat. Then, without pause, she swung full force, twisting to get her hips into the swing for the extra power, and hit Bert so hard in the right temple that she heard the bone crunch, the temple being the most fragile part of the cranium. Bert’s head snapped left, and he slowly fell to his left side. Mary felt for a pulse. Nothing.
“How mother fuckin’ easy was that?” she whispered sarcastically into his right ear, then smiled smugly.
She exited the house, closing the door. She checked her watch to remember the time. As she walked to the deli, she took off the latex gloves, then emptied the ice cubes from the doubled socks—socks not even wet. Hardly melted at all.
She casually walked towards the deli, as if someone were watching her. The street was empty at dinnertime, so she saw no one. Halfway to the deli was an alley between two buildings where two or three homeless people had settled, usually with a fire in a large garbage can, with a hastily put-together cardboard shelter. They knew her because when she used the deli, she bought them something to cook and eat. Mary approached them and saw their smiles.
“Hey, Mary. How are you? Kind of out later than usual, huh?”
“Yeah. Gotta buy some hamburgers for dinner. You guys doing OK?”
“Oh, sure. No problems, as long as the cops and IRS don’t find us. They winked at her. It was a frequent joke used when Mary came.
“OK if I add to the fire?”
“Sure. It’s pretty hot now, though. Be careful.”
“That’s perfect.” Mary threw the latex gloves and the winter socks into the fires. “Sorry, I can’t give you the socks.” The hissing, snake-like sound was a delight to her ears.
The two guys stared at her curiously as she reached inside her light windbreaker. She pulled out a package of half-red and half-white-hot dogs. Their curiosity vanished and they were all smiles.
“Jake, and you too John, are always so friendly. I brought you something to eat. She handed the hotdogs to Jake, who was closest. They both stared at it as if it were a bundle of money.
“Thank you, thank you,” they both said in unison. You’d have thought that she handed them a genuine gold bar.
“Have a good night, guys.” She looked seriously at them, saying, “And remember, I wasn’t here tonight.”
“You, too, Mary. And, for what it’s worth, we never saw you, but there was a nice black man who gave us these hots.” They chuckled.
Mary went to the deli and walked inside. She checked her watch again. The deli was deserted except for the owner, Vito, and his wife, Rosalita. It was dinnertime. Few customers at this time of night. Her arrival was unexpected but welcomed. She had known them since she was a kid. It was an Italian deli, and the owners were old and good friends of her parents.
“Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Romano. Good to see you.” Mary greeted them.
“Oh, Mary. Are you ever going to call us by our first names? You are always so respectful, but we are friends of yours and your family. So, what brings you out during dinnertime?”
“Well, I messed up and forgot the ground beef for my spaghetti sauce. Bert likes the sauce with cooked chunks of meat in it, so I need a pound of ground beef.”
“No problem. Coming right up.” Don cupped his mouth with both hands and yelled, “Hey, Martha. Mary needs a pound of ground beef.”
“OK,” she answered. “I’ll bring it up to you. I want to say hello to Mary.”
A few minutes later, Martha appeared with the package of ground beef wrapped in white paper. She hugged Mary and said, “Are you OK dear?” She knew the kind of husband Mary had. He had been the neighborhood troublemaker since he was a kid, then went on a self-improvement phase when he met Mary and they were married. Sadly, that phase ended a couple of months after the marriage.
“I’m fine, Martha.” As she said it, her hand automatically went to her stomach and rubbed it where residual pain still lingered.
Martha noticed but didn’t pry.
Mary paid for the meat, headed for the door, and said, “See you when I see you.” On the sidewalk, when she passed the front window, she smiled and waved to them. Nice people, she thought.
Arriving home, she opened the front door and entered. Now, to win this year’s Oscar, she thought, as she dropped the package on the floor—she wanted to make this scene look good. She rushed towards Bert, kicked up the rug purposely, as if she had tripped, then closed her eyes and slammed her head into the corner of the coffee table that sat in front of the couch. She got up, looked at Bert, and smiled before she called 911. She felt the blood trickling down her forehead. She had practiced a panicked voice and used it on the 911 operator.
The operator informed her not to touch anything, and she didn’t, but she did reach into her pocket and pulled out a wadded-up tissue. She opened it carefully. A torn piece of latex was there. She dropped it near Bert’s mouth. She’d already made sure that she did not have any more latex gloves in the house. They weren’t bought locally so there would be no record of her making a purchase of latex gloves in town. Then she sat down thinking, don’t touch anything, my ass. I’m in a distraught panic. A person like that can’t follow instructions so she sat down, but she quickly covered her mouth and laughed until tears appeared around the same time as the cops. Tearful eyes were a nice acting touch. Now, she thought, just act shocked and dazed. Easily done. She imagined being on stage receiving this year’s Oscar award for Best Actress in a Drama. She giggled.
She didn’t look at the cops who knocked and then entered the house through the open door.
“Ma’am,” the first cop said. “Are you OK? The ambulance will be here soon. I can hear it now. Can you tell us what happened?”
Mary stared straight ahead. Occasionally she wiped the tears that streaked down her cheeks. Her eyes were red and she, in slow motion, looked upward at the cop—the other cop was searching the room for clues and evidence. He thinks, that when the husband is killed, it was probably the wife. If the wife is killed, it’s probably the husband—a truism carved in stone for law enforcement officers.
The EMTs entered the room and checked Bert. Once they knew he was dead, they went to Mary. They pushed between the cop and Mary. The female EMT said, “She’s in shock and not in any shape to answer your questions.”
The cop took the hint and went to his partner, but as he left, he heard Mary say, in a dazed voice, “I can answer some questions, officer.”
By the time the body was removed, Mary had explained what went on before the crime and what happened when she got home from the deli. She gave approximate times, although she knew the exact times. The first cop wrote it all down, his hand working furiously so he didn’t miss anything. Before they left the cop asked her to come to the station to give a report.
“For Christ’s sake, Dave. You’ve been to enough of these scenes to know that she’d need at least a day to collect her thoughts, nerves, and emotions before she can give a report, so stop pushing. Look at her. You’re lucky she’s able to say anything at all.”
“We’ve had words about this kind of thing before, Sally. This is my call, not yours so stop interfering.”
“Right. Sure. And I’ll be filling out my report concerning your unnecessary harassment of a victim in shock. You get anything by questioning her in a state of shock, and it will not be usable in court. You decide, big-shot, since you’re in charge,” Sally said with sarcasm.
“God dammit. Fine.” He walked away without knowing that Sally knew Bert and the kind of creep that he was.
The next day Mary filled out a report. A rather good one, too, she thought.
Two days later the coroner’s report was finished. It said: Crushed right temple area pushed splinters of bone through the hippocampus lobe and much deeper into the brain stem causing immediate death. Questions about no blood evidence are answered by the rapid heart stoppage. When the heart stops, the blood flow stops.
Unknown killing weapon unless it was found at the scene. There appear to be markings of an unusual weapon. Marks of straight, curved, and pointed lacerations. Very odd, indeed. Have not come across such lacerations before. Some sort of unique weapon. The weapon was handled with both extreme speed and power. Thus, the assailant is probably a male. May have been a left-handed assailant, if attacked from the front, or a right-handed assailant if the victim was assaulted from behind. An attack from behind is more likely.
No defensive wounds. The victim may have known the assailant and let the assailant into the house.” The detectives who investigated talked to the deli owners, checking the times Mary entered and departed, plus asked about her physical appearance and, especially, about her conduct. All this checked out. Even her conduct was cheerful, without stress or anxiety.
Uncooperative homeless people said they knew nothing. Wanted to be left alone to get drunk. Seems like they were half there already when questioned. Not reputable witnesses.
Now the detectives report: Death by an unknown assailant. The victim appears to have had many enemies as well as a few who are adamant about the victim’s good behavior and who vehemently blamed the wife. We checked them and they were friends of the victim, so testimony is unreliable. Hospital records show multiple attacks on his wife. Serious attacks, such as broken bones, bloody noses, dislocated shoulders, lacerations, and more. The coroner did not put one of his thoughts in the report—that unmentioned thought was that Bert’s friends are most likely lying. The report continued with: The victim may have been gentile, and quiet around close friends, but not at home. Hospital records of his wife’s abuse confirm that fact. End of report.
After the report was read, one of the detectives said, “I won’t go to bed tearfully if we don’t find his killer.”
The detective’s partner said, “But don’t you see. She’s getting beat-up, so she has a motive to kill him.”
“Your damn right she had a motive to kill him, and eventually she might have. But you know as well as I do that women don’t kill violently. They like poison, or at least something that doesn’t get their hands dirty. Mary is a slight woman. No way she has that kind of power and speed. That’s the kind of power and speed of a male who is used to swinging things. Plus, there was no evidence of latex gloves in the house, so that torn piece you found means nothing. Also, you checked his wallet. Empty, right? Looks to me like a revenge killing, and while the killer is at it, he might as well take the money. You wait, in a month or two we’ll catch the guy who did it for some other crime and then he’ll admit he was the one who killed her husband, especially if he gets a plea deal.”
“OK. You’re the senior partner. If that’s what you think, then no skin off my nose. Consider that I agree with your report.”
“Good man.”
Mary waited three months before she collected Bert’s life insurance. It was a secret policy that she had arranged. One of those policies that checked with his doctor about his physical condition instead of requiring a physical by their doctor. The policy was taken out at an insurance office in a town that was fifty miles away. The payment was via mail, as a money order.
The agent called her one morning because, somehow, he had heard about the death. He had a check for her and would come to the house the next day. As good as his word, he arrived the next day with a check for two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. Mary had been paying for a little over a year. Scrounging to get one hundred dollars a month to pay for the insurance was not easy. She stole money from Bert. He found out and
beat her often. But she endured. So, she thought, for two thousand dollars in premiums, she got a quarter of a million.
“Aren’t you the lucky lady!” the agent said to her in a gentle but suspicious voice.
“You know the abuse I’ve gone through in four years. Coincidences do exist, mister, so don’t be a wise-ass about it.”
“Oh, you got me wrong, Mary. I’m flirting. You know how it is with guys. Young woman, nice looking, coming in a lot of money. How about a date, Mary?” Then he broke out into laughter. “Just joking, of course.” I’ve read the coroner’s and the police reports, so I know you are an abused innocent in this matter.
“Oh shit. Then I apologize for my misinterpretation. The stress of the last few months has been awful.”
“You might have guessed that I read the coroner’s and the detective’s reports. You are in the clear and lucky to get away from that guy. Good luck.” He got up, smiled, and left. He opened the door, turned, and smiled at her, closed the door, and was gone from her life.
“Well, thanks for the compliment. In four years, I haven’t had many, and none from Bert.”
Mary went upstairs to her closet, looked inside her pair of old work boots, and pulled out a round-trip ticket for a world tour cruise with the Princess Cruise Line. She’d be gone for months. Meanwhile, the real estate agent would sell the house and the sale would add considerably to her funds since the house was paid for. In addition, the price of houses had sky-rocketed in the last few years.
She took a relaxing, deep breath through her nose, letting it slowly out her mouth and turning into a huge smile.
“Thanks, Bert. May you not rest in peace as you gargle while trapped at the bottom of a barrel of shit.”
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