From A Poison Pen: A collection of macabre short stories

by Smythe, B. P.

  ‘Ah, everybody is good at something, my dear. Now me for instance…’ Donald gave her a sardonic smile. God was he enjoying himself and his secret added to the excitement. Then he turned serious. ‘I can’t tell you what I’m good at, otherwise I’d go to prison for life.’

  Her face dropped for a fraction. Donald joked with a hand to his mouth and whispered,

  ‘I fiddle my income tax returns.’

  ‘Go on.’ Didi slapped his arm playfully.

  ‘And if you saw me play golf or cook a Chinese meal, you’d stop the taxi and get out and I wouldn’t blame you.’

  Didi laughed and cuddled up to him. Then she considered.

  ‘You know, there must be people out there who are geniuses at something, but don’t know it. They’ve just never had the chance or the opportunity to try out what they’re good at. Now, you take Muhammad Ali? What if he’d started off as a shoe salesman and had made that his career? I mean, what a loss.’

  Donald chuckled. He put his arm around Didi’s shoulders and said,

  ‘I suppose that goes for anybody famous. Say, what if Paul McCartney had left school and had become a car mechanic. Never lifting up a guitar or writing a tune.’

  Didi nodded,

  ‘True – true, nearly as good as my analogy, Don, but not quite.’ She gave him a cheeky grin and he burst out laughing and hugged her.

  ‘Now you’re teasing me, you naughty girl,’ he said. ‘When I get you home, I’ll have to put you over my knee and spank your bottom.’

  Didi looked at him coyly.

  ‘Well there’s a first time for everything, Mr Putting.’

  Then she became serious and leant towards him. When he kissed her, the back of his neck tingled. Her soft tongue darted around inside his mouth. She placed her hand high up his thigh near his crotch. Donald moaned and reciprocated with a hand on her breast. She was wearing his favourite perfume again. It was driving him wild.

  They kissed and fondled each other for the next three minutes, not even noticing that the taxi had stopped. The driver turned his head and gave them a polite,

  ‘Ahem. That’ll be ten pounds, mate.’

  Don pulled away, embarrassed.

  ‘Oh yes, sorry, of course.’

  While Didi checked her makeup, he paid off the cabby.

  Inside the jazz club, it was just the right atmosphere. The lights were deep red and dimmed as they went upstairs and were shown a balcony table overlooking the stage. The round table was ideal. He could sit near Didi with his arm around her shoulders. It was so good to touch her. A feeling he had long missed over the years with Janice.

  She held his hand and squeezed it while they looked at the drinks menu card together. Donald felt good, more relaxed. No doubt the two snifters beforehand while getting changed, a couple of fifteen-year-old Remy Martin’s, had helped. Although it was only his second date with her, it was as if they’d known each other for a long time.

  Was this really going to be his soul mate? A term he knew was regularly bantered about on dating sites. However, was he going to be one of the lucky ones that finds true love at the first stab?

  He wanted to push the boat out tonight; really show off and treat her. Donald clicked his fingers to the waiter and asked for a bottle of Dom Perignon. A few minutes later, it arrived. After the usual ceremonial uncorking, they toasted each other, and for Donald, the first one didn’t touch the sides.

  ‘My God, that was good. I needed that. I was gasping. It’s so hot in here.’

  Didi raised her eyebrows and said,

  ‘If I try to keep up with you and get a little sozzled, promise you won’t take advantage of me?’

  Donald lifted his arm and with a two-fingered salute replied,

  ‘I wouldn’t dream of it, Ma’am, Scouts honour.’

  Didi giggled and then she downed hers.

  Donald immediately refreshed their glasses. He raised his again,

  ‘Here’s to swimming with bow-legged women,’ and downed the whole glass as before.

  She thought for a moment then her face brightened.

  ‘I know that line. From the film Jaws, right? You can’t catch me out, Donny Boy.’ She took a careful sip this time and said,

  ‘ “Sometimes I feel like a vampire.” ’ Didi looked at him with expectancy. ‘Come on, Mr Clever, who said that?’

  Donald grinned at her.

  ‘Haven’t a clue…wash it Chrishopher Lee?’ The club was packed out with people. The heat was getting to him. Beads of perspiration had gathered on his forehead and he was seeing slightly double. He clumsily took off his jacket and hung it on the back of the chair.

  ‘No, silly, it was Ted Bundy, the serial killer. He said it at his trial.’ Didi leaned towards him. ‘Do you know he confessed to killing thirty women? But they reckon he killed many more.’

  ‘You don’t shay,’ he replied in astonishment.

  She said,

  ‘Can you imagine, he got away with killing all those women before being caught? I know it sounds a bit ghoulish but, think of the hundreds, even thousands of people that have killed just once and never been caught.’ Didi looked around. ‘I mean in this club for instance, there could be a murderer sitting right next to us and no one would know. Just innocent-looking like you and me.’

  Donald smiled at her with satisfaction.

  ‘Ah, you shee. Some people can get away wish murder because they can put up a mental wall angainsh any shense of enormity of whash they’ve done. Believe me, I shknow.’ He realised what he had said and quickly back-tracked. ‘I’ve read quite a bit myshelf on Google. A killer can erectsh powerful barriers to his guiltsh. Barricades of denial that shometimes can never be breached.’

  ‘Wow, you have read up on it, Sigmund Freud.’

  At that moment, Donald felt special. He felt like a member of an exclusive club. Didi had excited him even more by talking about it. He wanted her tonight. Get her drunk and then back to his place. To think, if he got lucky, she would be making love with a killer and be none the wiser. Donald felt smug and gave her a lopsided grin. Then he poured himself another glass. He hovered with the bottle over hers but she covered it with her hand.

  ‘I’m OK for the moment, thanks. You finish the bottle, darling. You’ve probably had a hard week? You deserve it.’

  He was unsteady with his aim while filling his glass. Some of it splashed the tablecloth. He looked across at her sheepishly and said,

  ‘Shorry about that.’

  Didi patted his hand.

  ‘Don’t mention it. You’re enjoying yourself, who cares.’

  Over the next ten minutes, they sat in silence with his arm around her shoulders and watched the resident quartet perform Dave Brubeck’s Take Five, then So What from the Miles Davis music collection.

  Donald was getting hungry and was about to call the waiter over when Didi nuzzled his ear and gently put her hand on his crotch. He jerked at the suddenness and then began to respond to her gentle massage.

  ‘Why don’t we finish off the evening back at your place,’ she whispered seductively.

  Donald didn’t need asking twice. He waved his hand for the bill and declining Didi’s offer to split it, ushered her into the first taxi he could flag down.

  With a cabby content to mind his own business and keep his eyes on the road, especially after striking gold with a fare back to Weybridge, Donald and Didi fondled and groped each other like a couple of love-struck teenagers on the back seat.

  After forty minutes and a generous tip, the taxi was already pulling out of Donald’s driveway. He stood there swaying, fumbling for his key while Didi supported him.

  ‘This looks very swanky, Don.’ She cast her eyes over the front of the house. ‘A girl could get used to this.’ Didi kissed his cheek affectionately and joked, ‘If I shacked up with you, would you promise to keep me in a way I’m not accustomed to?’

  Donald was partly listening as he stumbled t
hrough the front door with her arm around his shoulders. He had an erection that was bursting his trouser buttons. Kicking the door shut, he immediately had Didi up against the wall. He launched his tongue into her mouth. The smell of his sweat mingled with her expensive perfume as they grappled with each other. Then his tongue was in her ear and at the same time, he was groping with his trouser belt while the other hand moved up Didi’s thigh.

  ‘Woa-woa, Mister. Let’s take it easy.’ She playfully fended off his frantic advances, slid under his arm and moved away. ‘Let’s chill out first. I’ll mix us a drink. You can put on some sweet music.’

  Donald blinked, he didn’t quite know what had happened. She had made him feel embarrassed.

  ‘Err, yesh OK, if you want.’

  In the lounge, he stumbled over an expensive Chinese rug as he moved to the Bang and Olufsen sound system. Donald couldn’t read the music menu. Everything was double. He just pressed the button and on came Duke Ellington’s Take the A Train.

  ‘So what’s your poison?’ She was at his bar with two glasses filled with ice.

  ‘I’ll have a largsh Jack Danielsh on the rocks, thanksh.’

  ‘I’ll join you. Two Jack Daniels coming up.’

  Donald had collapsed onto the sofa. Didi came across and offered him his drink. He clumsily took it and then toasted her. ‘Here’sh to…here’sh to women with bone legged shwimmin’.’ He downed it in one go. He looked at her to do the same.

  She smiled at him.

  ‘To bone legged women,’ and then gulped it down. Didi wasn’t keen on American Dry, However, it was the only non-alcoholic drink that resembled bourbon. She patted her chest to pretend it was strong.

  Donald grinned inanely at her.

  ‘That’ll push hairsh on yer chesh. Pour ush another one, barmen.’

  She did as he said. By the time she got back, he was snoring away. Didi pulled off his shoes and made him comfortable.

  *

  He opened his eyes and wondered where he was. Someone seemed to be stamping on his head. It felt like it anyway. Donald looked around and tried to remember. Squinting, he could make out two empty glasses on the coffee table. He looked at his watch and had to strain his eyes. Eventually, after half a minute, he could focus and established it was quarter to four in the morning.

  Donald tried to raise himself and sat back. After the third attempt, he was up and swaying. He held on to the arm of the sofa to steady himself. He caught the hint of perfume. Didi, where was she?

  Donald moved cautiously across the lounge to the door. In the hallway he called out,

  ‘Didi – Didi, are you there?’

  Nothing. Not a sound. He moved into the kitchen and switched on the light. The blinding florescent came on like a bursting supernova. The smell of yesterday’s fish and chips meal still lingered. Donald blinked and then moved back into the hallway.

  It was then he could hear something. Faint at first but definitely talking. He looked up the stairs. It was coming from up there. Donald called out.

  ‘Didi, are you up there?’

  Still nothing. He moved slowly up the stairs. The muffled talking immediately stopped. Near the top, he caught the strong smell of her Creed perfume. Was she in bed waiting for him? Perhaps she was on her mobile? Of course. That was it. He’d fallen asleep. How embarrassing. He began to feel excited of what was to come. Donald had some Durex in his back pocket. Should he put one on now? Be ready? He hesitated. Maybe she could do it for him, like it said on the packet. Thinking of that made him more excited.

  He softly trod along the landing to his bedroom. As he approached, he could see the soft glow of the night-light. Donald peeked around the door. The sight caught his breath. She was naked on the bed with her back to him. Dear God, that cute little arse. The thought that he would be running his hands all over it and possibly more, made him stiffen.

  Donald quietly undressed. He stroked himself and slipped on a rubber. Then with her back to him, he gently lifted himself onto the bed. He lay down behind her; his mind dizzy with anticipation. He placed his hand on her white milky thigh and began to stroke it. She felt cold to the touch. He would soon warm her up when she turned around.

  It was after twenty seconds he realised something was strange. Her skin. It was very smooth. Too smooth and, possibly, too cold. Donald raised himself on one elbow and shook her arm. A pillow half covered her head.

  ‘Didi, wake up.’

  At that moment, the talking started again. Then he heard laughter. Donald jerked his head. It was coming from the landing somewhere. He shook her arm again.

  ‘Didi, wake up.’

  Donald leant over her and lifted the pillow.

  ‘Arrhh.’ He screamed and drew back. The blackened face of Janice with the scorched scalp and hanging skin looked up at him. She was grinning with her ragged beehive hair-style. ‘Fuck me, dear God, no. It can’t be.’

  Donald moved away. This wasn’t happening. He was in a dream. ‘I’ll wake up in a minute, I know I will. I’m downstairs on the sofa still sleeping.’ Then the talking outside got louder with sudden bursts of shouting.

  Staring at the shape on the bed he slowly put on his trousers and shirt. ‘I’m still in a silly dream, that’s all it is.’ Then it came to him. ‘Jesus, I’m sleepwalking, that’s it. Get downstairs to the sofa.’

  Out on the landing he saw the bathroom light through the half open door. Donald edged nearer. He could hear a lot of shouting and yelling. Then the distinct drawl of an American voice. He knew that voice. It was Jerry Springer. The Jerry Springer Show. It didn’t make sense.

  Donald slowly pushed open the bathroom door. He put a fist to his mouth.

  Janice was in the bath watching a portable with her blackened face and scorched scalp. Her ragged beehive hair-style hung down in tatters on her shoulders. She had a fixed grin as the lifeless eyes stared at the television screen.

  Donald exploded with rage.

  ‘You fucking bitch! Why don’t you die?’

  He pushed the television into the bath. The plug outside was pulled out immediately. Donald spun round and was confronted by the two detectives who’d interviewed him at Weybridge Police Station. The other two present were uniformed police officers. One of them was a policewoman. Donald recognised her. It was Didi.

  Detective Inspector Royston, wearing a conservative blue suit and in his mid-fifties with thinning hair and slightly overweight, stood out in contrast to Detective Constable Pritchard, a tall, slim, late twenty-year-old with spikey hair and wearing a sharp light grey suit with matching waistcoat.

  A flashing blue light from outside began to pulsate through the bathroom window.

  Detective Inspector Royston nodded to the immersed television.

  ‘No need to worry, sir, there is a GFCI fitted on that portable as it is relatively new. Shuts off instantly. Unlike your old portable or your electric drill, sir.’

  Donald looked at Didi. He was speechless. He slowly sat on the edge of the bath and covered his face with his hands.

  The Detective Inspector stepped forward.

  ‘Donald Putting, I have a warrant for your arrest for the murder of Mrs Janice Putting which took place here on the twenty-fourth of June last. You do not have to say anything but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court.’ The DI nodded to the DC.

  ‘Would you please stand sir and put your hands behind your back?’

  Donald did as he was told. The Detective Constable snapped the handcuffs on him. Donald sneered at Didi.

  ‘You lousy bitch. I suppose you feel good now? In line for promotion are we?’ He turned to the Inspector. ‘You’ve still got no hard evidence. Show me a witness who saw me kill her? You thought I’d go all gaga and confess because you planted two blow-up dolls. You’ve got to do better than that. You just want to stitch me up for it.’

  ‘You stitched yourself up, sir,’ the In
spector corrected him. ‘When you bought your new laptop, we made a note of it at the time of your wife’s death. We checked your landline contract so we knew your Internet provider who gave us your IP address. At the time that you connected your IP address to your new computer, we were there to intercept with our hacking software, to get into your network. From there, we could see everything you surfed including the porn and dating sights.’

  The Inspector nodded to the WPC.

  ‘Meet WPC Kerry Golding from our Leeds constabulary. She took the place of the real Didi Harrison who you met on EXCLUSIVE PARTNERS. The real one obligingly stepped down, so we had to find a good likeness in the force. I personally think WPC Golding looks prettier, but then, who can rely on dating site photos?’

  Donald was feeling more confident now. He knew his rights.

  ‘So you’re arresting me for surfing porn and dating sites? Let’s face it, that’s all you’ve got.’

  ‘Not quite, sir.’ The inspector clicked his fingers. ‘AD17,’ and the police constable behind handed him an electric drill wrapped and labelled in a specimen bag. ‘I believe this is yours, sir? It was burnt out and still wet when we discovered it in your garage while you was on your first date with WPC Golding. We did have a search warrant.’ The Inspector took out from his pocket another specimen bag and held it up to Donald. ‘This is a stick-on label with a serial number we found in the bath plughole after it was drained. It came off the electric drill. The drill manufacturer confirmed.’

  Donald swallowed hard. He had no answer.

  ‘One last thing, sir. The heavy concentration of bath salts in the water; at the autopsy we couldn’t fathom out why the deceased had no trace of this in the stomach or lungs. Which meant it must have been added after Mrs Putting died. In your panic and concern when you found her, it would seem before phoning for an ambulance, you still had time to add bath salts into the water. For what reason is unclear, only perhaps that it makes a good electrical conductor. Nevertheless, this contradicts the emotional concern and urgency you displayed at the time the ambulance and police arrived.’