How Not To Commit Murder - comedy crime - humorous mystery

by Robin Storey

  At three o’clock, he washed his hands and got ready to knock off. Joe appeared at his elbow.

  ‘Not so fast, boy, I want that bag of carrots and celery chopped before you go. Practice makes perfect.’

  ‘But I have an appointment at three-fifteen.’

  He had an appointment with Lucy, but he wasn’t about to disclose that to Joe, not being sure whether Nina had told him about his being on parole.

  ‘You’d better get started then.’ He winked at Nina, who had just appeared in the doorway.

  ‘I’m going, Uncle Joe.’

  ‘All right, my sweet. Do you have college tonight?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’ll keep you some meatballs.’

  ‘Don’t go to any bother, I’m going to the library after lectures. I’ll fix myself a sandwich when I get home.’

  Joe wagged his finger at her. ‘You’re burning the candle too fast, young lady. It’s not good for you, and you can’t live on sandwiches.’

  ‘Okay, save me some meatballs,’ Nina said.

  Reuben rolled his eyes at her. Joe whipped around. ‘What are you looking at?’ he thundered. ‘Get to work!’

  It was three-twenty when Reuben finished chopping enough carrot and celery to feed an army of vegetarians. Joe tapped his watch. ‘Three minutes, that should have taken. I think you’re a lost cause, boy.’

  He made a quick exit before Joe could conjure up another chore, and apologised to the receptionist at the parole office for his lateness.

  ‘That’s okay,’ she said airily, ‘Lucy’s running late with her appointments anyway.’

  It was a different receptionist today – young, with a fluffy mass of blonde curls. She looked too innocent and untarnished to be in her job. ‘Five minutes late is nothing, we’re happy if you actually turn up on the right day.’

  She leaned forward with a conspiratorial air. ‘Don’t say I said that.’

  ‘My lips are sealed.’

  The waiting room was standing room only. Reuben found a spare bit of wall to stand against; next to a young guy in dreadlocks and board shorts who was sitting on a chair with his girlfriend sprawled across his lap. Slim and tanned, she wore the most micro of miniskirts. He ran his hands constantly over her body, making her giggle, and every few seconds their lips locked.

  The other occupants of the waiting room looked away but kept an eye on the couple’s antics in their peripheral vision. Except for a greasy-haired, pimply-faced youth sitting across from them, who was staring right up the girl’s skirt.

  ‘Hey mate,’ Dreadlocks said. ‘Keep your eyes to yourself.’

  ‘It’s a free country, mate. I can look wherever I like.’

  ‘Really? Where’d you get that idea?’

  ‘Tell your missus to stop flashin’ it then.’

  Dreadlocks tensed, his veins rope-like on his arms. His eyes glinted. ‘Get off,’ he said to his girlfriend. She jumped off, smoothing down her tiny skirt in a pointless gesture. Dreadlocks advanced towards Pimples and stood over him.

  ‘Get up and say that again.’

  Pimples scrambled to his feet, hands out in front of him. ‘Steady on, mate, it was a joke.’

  ‘Some fuckin’ joke...’

  ‘Ben, calm down!’ The receptionist glared at him through the glass. There was nothing innocent or untarnished about her now. ‘If you start anything, the police will be here in two minutes.’

  Ben clenched and unclenched his fists. His arm muscles twitched with the supreme effort of not knocking Pimples out. He gave Pimples a malevolent look and turned away. ‘Come on,’ he said to his girlfriend.

  ‘We’re going out to have a smoke,’ he told the receptionist.

  ‘Good idea,’ Pimples said.

  ‘Don’t push your luck, Josh,’ the receptionist said.

  ‘Jesus fucking Christ,’ Josh said as he sat down again. ‘The guy’s a maniac.’

  ‘What do you expect at the parole office, mate?’ said a skinny, greasy-haired man. ‘It’s worse than the loony bin.’ He wore a t-shirt with the words ‘Trainee gynaecologist. Volunteers wanted for oral exam.’

  There was a wave of sniggers. Reuben had watched the episode with a feeling of deja vu. He’d encountered many like Ben in prison, their stance and their swagger containing a simmering anger that boiled over to rage at the slightest provocation. On the one hand he empathised with them, knew that the anger had come, in many instances, from being beaten, neglected and abused; and that they knew no other way of dealing with it except to inflict the same punishment on others.

  Conversely, he was also contemptuous of them, of their inability to rise above their upbringing and their circumstances. It was a contempt born of fear, fear of being hurt. A fear he’d lived with every day in prison, that he’d risen above because he could act as if he didn’t give a shit and make them laugh in the process.

  It was a fear he’d succeeded in forgetting about since his release, except when he encountered guys like Ben. And Frank Cornell. They brought it all back with a chilling vividness.

  The door of the far interview room opened. ‘Reuben, come in.’

  Lucy flashed him a quick smile as he sat down. Her face was paler than usual and there were shadows under her eyes. Had her child been ill? Or perhaps she and her husband were having marriage problems. He felt buoyant at the thought. He saw himself envelop her in his arms and bury his face in her soft hair smelling of apples and sunshine. He’d soothe her and tell her it was all okay because he would look after her. And he’d kiss her perfect shell of an ear, and it would taste so divine he would have to keep going, down her neck, into the hollow of her collarbone; she had the sexiest collarbone he’d ever seen…

  He was aware she’d said something. She was looking at him half-reprovingly, like a teacher who’d caught her favourite pupil daydreaming.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said, ‘I’m tired, it’s my new job.’

  He held out his hands. ‘Look at them, almost worn to the bone.’

  ‘Welcome to the world of earning an honest living.’

  Her smile took the sting out of her words, but before he could stop himself, he said,’ If that’s earning an honest living, no wonder there are so many criminals around.’

  Shit. In the list of Worst Things to Say to Your Parole Officer, that would have to be number one.

  ‘But I’m not about to go out and commit more offences,’ he added hastily.

  Only if it means saving your life, of course.

  She clasped her hands together on the desk. Her gold wedding band glinted under the fluorescent light.

  ‘I know that what you’re doing now doesn’t afford a lot of job satisfaction, but it’s a step in the right direction. Perhaps you should look at doing a course of some sort.’

  ‘Droop- I mean, Dave at the employment agency, was looking into that for me. I’ve never been much into study though.’

  ‘What you did or didn’t do in the past doesn’t have to dictate your future. If you’re going to succeed, you have to be able to break your old behaviour patterns and try new things.’

  She sounded like Carlene. He had a vision of the two of them with their heads together, plotting and planning his future. But it was easier to forgive Lucy; it was her job after all.

  As she wrote out his appointment slip, he had a premonition of what it would be like reporting to the parole office if Lucy were dead. Being questioned and lectured at by someone else, his life dissected by a complete stranger. Of course, Lucy was a stranger when he met her but only in theory – in his mind she’d always existed. Perhaps he’d have to report to Merle again. Yet another incentive, if he needed any more, to stop Frank from killing Lucy.

  As he stood up to go, Lucy said, ‘By the way, I couldn’t find a report anywhere about that parolee hiring a hit man to kill his parole officer.’

  ‘Really? That’s strange.’

  ‘Not recently anyhow. There was a guy in Arizona who made threatening phone calls to the parole office, sai
d he was going to skin his parole officer’s cat and hang it from a tree in the main street. But that was five years ago.’

  ‘Maybe that was it,’ Reuben said. ‘I might have got the story a bit mixed up.’

  ‘But the funny thing was,’ Lucy said, ‘his parole officer didn’t own a cat.’

  Reuben smiled and shook his head. ‘There’re some crazy people around, aren’t there?’

  CHAPTER 14

  ‘Where have you been?’

  Carlene watched him with her hands on her hips as he brought the groceries in from the car and placed them on the kitchen bench.

  ‘You know where I’ve been. At the supermarket.’

  ‘You took two hours to get three bags of groceries?’

  ‘I like to check all the prices, make sure I get the best value.’ He busied himself putting away the groceries. ‘And I had a coffee while I was there too.’

  It was half true. He’d had a coffee while shopping, but had done it all in fast forward mode in the last half hour, battling the Saturday morning crowds. He spent the first one-and-a-half hours driving to various locations, taking photographs of Lucy’s imagined haunts from the list he’d painstakingly created.

  Carlene didn’t answer but her silence was accusing. She’d been acting strangely during the few days since the backpack incident. He’d caught her on a few occasions staring at him while twirling her fingers through her hair, and once he’d come upon her in the bedroom with his mobile phone, scrolling through phone numbers.

  She flushed. ‘Just looking for the number of Pedro’s Pizzas.’

  ‘You haven’t got it,’ she added unnecessarily, placing the phone back on the bedside table.

  She’d also resisted all sexual contact, pretending to be asleep when he came to bed, curled up with her back to him. She lay perfectly still as he kissed her goodnight, her body tense with the effort of not moving a muscle. Last night he’d caressed her neck and chest and slid his hand down to her nipples. They betrayed her by hardening under his touch and she removed his hand. Admitting defeat, he turned over and went to sleep.

  There was a knock at the front door. It opened, followed by a ‘Hullooo!’ Reuben recognised the voice. Why did Jo even bother to knock?

  ‘We’re on the way home from ballet. I brought some bun loaf.’

  She barrelled in but stopped when she saw Reuben in the kitchen. She had Brayden on her hip chewing on a ratty blanket, and Indya beside her in a pink tutu and satin ballet slippers, looking too angelic to be true.

  ‘Hi Jo.’ Reuben greeted her with a kiss. She stiffened and turned her head away. Carlene made coffee and they sat on the patio to have morning tea. Jo avoided eye contact as she passed him the plate of bun loaf. He was about to ask her what the problem was, when Indya, fixing Reuben with her most melting gaze said, ‘Uncle Reuben, will you take me for a ride on the Barbiemobile?’

  Before Reuben could reply, Jolene said, ‘I don’t think so, sweetheart, Uncle Reuben’s very busy.’

  Indya looked at Reuben sitting back on his chair with his feet up on another, stuffing bun loaf into his mouth.

  ‘No he’s not. Are you, Uncle Reuben?’

  ‘You haven’t got a helmet,’ Jolene said.

  ‘I have, Mummy, I put it in the car!’ Indya said triumphantly.

  An undecipherable look passed between the two women.

  ‘I’m sure she’ll be fine,’ Carlene said. ‘Rubie’s a very careful rider.’

  ‘We have to go now anyway.’ Jolene sprang out of her chair and picked up Brayden, who was dribbling half-masticated bread onto the table leg. ‘Come on, Indya.’

  ‘I’ll never get to ride on the Barbiemobile,’ Indya wailed.

  ‘How about we call into McDonalds on the way home and get a chocolate sundae?’ Jo said.

  ‘I don’t want a chocolate sundae, I want to go for a ride with Uncle Reuben!’

  Jo bundled Brayden and a still-protesting Indya into the car, kissed Carlene goodbye and shot Reuben a cold look. Indya’s stormy face was framed in the car window as Jo drove off.

  ‘What’s eating Jo?’ Reuben said.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Surely you noticed it. She treated me as if I were a piece of dog shit she’d just stood in.’

  ‘I’m sorry she was so rude, I’ll have a talk to her.’

  ‘What have I done to deserve that treatment?’

  Carlene shut the door of the dishwasher. She picked up the sponge from the sink and dabbed at a coffee mug ring on the bench.

  ‘I told her about finding your backpack.’

  ‘Jesus ... why?’

  ‘I was out of my mind with shock and worry, I had to talk to someone.’

  ‘Are you telling me that’s why she’s pissed off at me?’

  ‘It mightn’t be such a big deal to you, Rubie…’

  ‘I don’t see why it has to be a big deal for Jolene. It’s got nothing to do with her.’

  ‘She’s my sister and she’s concerned about me.’

  ‘That’s very touching but it still doesn’t explain her attitude. And what was with her not wanting to let Indya come for a ride with me? Have I suddenly turned into a child molester?’

  Carlene looked down at the bench again, rubbing at the coffee stain that was no longer there.

  ‘Jo thinks that any man who dresses up as a woman is a pervert and capable of anything. I’ve tried to explain to her…’

  She faltered. A cold wave of shock hit Reuben with such force, it took his breath away. Child molester. The words he’d tossed out rashly in anger echoed in his head.

  ‘Well, that’s just fucking great, isn’t it? My wife thinks I’m a transvestite and my sister-in-law thinks I’m a paedophile. Why don’t you call the cops right now and put me back inside?’

  ‘Rubie, don’t be like that.’ Carlene put her hand on his arm and stroked it. ‘I don’t think you’re a transvestite. I know I’ve been a bit distant lately, but you’ve got to understand it was a big shock. But I’ve been thinking a lot about it and I’ve decided it’s just the stress you’re under at the moment, starting a new job. People cope with stress in different ways. I met this lady once, at a fundraiser for Friends of the Mentally Ill. She told me that every time she gets stressed she goes into a supermarket and shoplifts. And you know what she takes? Condoms! And she doesn’t even use them – she’s in her seventies and hasn’t had sex for years!’

  She ran her hand lightly up and down the inside of his forearm. It set his teeth on edge.

  ‘And I promise I’ll talk to Jo – there was no excuse for her being so rude to you.’

  He took her hand off his arm. ‘Don’t feel you have to do it on my account. I’d hate her to think she has to be civil to me when it’s so fucking obvious to her that I want to molest her daughter.’

  Ten minutes later, he was in the bath, the water so hot his skin was stinging, absorbed in Mandrake’s battle to smash the mysterious Octopus Spy Ring. As the glamorous but dangerous Sonya confronted Mandrake, he stared hypnotically at her. In her eyes, he transformed into a skeleton and she promptly fainted. Reuben pictured himself hypnotising Jo – a skeleton was too good for her. She hated spiders and screamed even when she saw a daddy-long-legs. He’d appear as a giant hairy tarantula and she’d be out cold for days. The vision only went a little way towards displacing his anger.

  The strains of the Boston Stranglers’ first album, Stranglehold, blared out from his iPod speakers. They were a seventies folk/punk rock/blues band who’d had a couple of hits and sunk into oblivion. General opinion was that they’d tried to encompass too broad a range of music, but Reuben liked their discordant harmonies and underdog status.

  ‘Poor little ole me,’ rasped lead singer Kenny Wrangler. ‘No one understands me, not even my dog, poor little ole me.’

  ***

  Now that he had all the photos ready, the problem now was that he could only do the photoshopping when Carlene wasn’t around. Fortunately, he was able to get a hea
d start on it when she went to church. She was usually away for about two hours as Pastor Bryan always held a morning tea after the service.

  The day was windy, grey and miserable; one of only a handful of truly cold days in a Brisbane winter. A perfect day for sleeping in.

  ‘You’re up early,’ Carlene said as she kissed him goodbye. ‘Seeing as you’re dressed, why don’t you come with me?’

  Reuben shook his head. ‘You can’t trick me that easily. Be gone with you, devil woman!’

  She gave him a pretend-reproving look. ‘Seeing as you’re going to be lolling around doing nothing, you can have a hot chocolate waiting for me when I get home.’

  She seemed to be thawing out. He gave her a smacking kiss on the lips. ‘Your wish is my command.’

  As soon as he heard the car’s throaty grumble, he went into the study and turned on the computer. It was really Carlene’s computer, as his personal computer had been confiscated by police along with the company computers and never returned. He downloaded the photos from his camera and saved them in a WinZip file called ‘Mandrake Stuff’. Carlene wouldn’t bother to open the file if she came upon it. He hoped.

  As the computer didn’t have Photoshop, he downloaded Gimp – a similar free program – and after a quick refresher online tutorial, began work.

  During the week, he’d hung around the shops near Joe’s Cafe, killing time after work, until close to five o’clock when Lucy knocked off. From the car park outside the cafe, he took a few more shots of her walking to her car. It was important to get as many photos of her as possible in different outfits, to ‘prove’ to Frank that he’d been trailing her.

  He was just putting the finishing touches to a photo of Lucy entering a building inscribed with the sign ‘St Mary’s Aged Care’, when he heard the car pull up. He quickly saved the photo into his ‘Mandrake Stuff’ file, dashed out to the kitchen and turned on the electric jug. He was spooning chocolate powder into two mugs as she burst into the kitchen. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes shone.