15 Signs Of Murder (Fifteen thrillers)

by Luis Samways

  She looked up at the chandelier again and noticed some cracks forming at the base of ceiling. It was as if the chandelier was unstable and looked like it was pulling on the ceiling. She had seen the cracks before, but she thought they looked like they were getting bigger. It was then that she thought she’d ring Phil up and tell him to get some filler from the store. She didn’t want bits of ceiling falling onto the Christmas roast.

  She turned around and went back into the kitchen to get back to her duties as a caring wife and mother. A Princess waiting for her handsome Prince to return from battle.

  ***

  Phil Rogers was pushing his way through the crowded mall on Eighth Street. He was battling the elements of the Christmas Eve rush. Hundreds of shoppers were cramming up in the mall standing in front of him, behind him and almost on top of him, all huddled up like sardines in a tin. Hundreds more were rushing out of the mall. It seemed like everyone in Boston was acting crazy. Everyone was running around like headless chickens. It seemed as if everybody had forgotten to do their Christmas shopping until now. As usual Phil had yet again chosen to wait until the very last minute to pick up his reserved gift. He knew it would have been easier to get it the day before, but he was at work and he couldn’t just drop everything for a present, no matter how important or expensive that present was. At least he had had the frame of mind to reserve the present and not go out on a limb and assume it would still be available. That was always a mistake most people made, and they would surely regret that mistake come last-minute-shopping time.

  Phil finally escaped the manic rush and emerged victorious as he walked into the retail outlet that contained his wife’s big gift. He went up to the woman behind the counter who recognised him and gave him a cheerful smile.

  “Welcome back Sir. You here for your reserved jewellery?” she asked.

  Phil nodded and took out the rest of the cash he owed on the present. “Sure am,” he said with a courtesy smile he flipped back at her.

  The woman bent behind the counter and pulled out an expensive looking box. She opened it up and showed Phil. He nodded. Everything was in order. The gift looked wonderful. He gave the cash over to the girl.

  “That comes to five hundred dollars,” she said, counting out the cash. “It’s all there,” Phil said.

  The woman nodded when she finished counting the money and handed him a receipt.

  “Have a wonderful Christmas sir. I hope your wife likes the present,” she said.

  “Will do and thanks for holding it back. Means the world to me,” he said.

  Phil Rogers walked out of the shop and into the half empty foyer of the upper level of the mall. His cell phone rang and he fished it out of his pocket. Juggling his gift bag and the cell phone was proving a little taxing. He managed to flip his cell open and answer it.

  “Hello,” he said.

  “Hiya’ darling. It’s Betty. Just to ask if you could bring back some filler for the cracks on the ceiling. The chandelier looks as if it is about to crumble to the ground. I’m sure it’s safe and all, but filling up the cracks would stop me having to vacuum the remains of our ceiling off the carpet,” his wife said on the other end of the phone.

  A look of dread came over Phil’s face as he stopped dead in the middle of the top level of the mall. The shops around him seemed to spin and mesh into one as he became dizzy and felt faint. He could hear his wife’s voice on the other end of the cell phone but he couldn’t speak. Something came over him. Something powerful. Something he hadn’t felt before.

  “Honey?” his wife said.

  For a split second he had lost control. But then it returned and his voice suddenly worked again.

  “Yes honey. Sure. I’ll pick up some filler,” he said, his voice sounding creaky as he tried to clear his throat.

  “Are you okay baby?” his wife asked, sensing something was off.

  Phil didn’t say anything for a good few seconds. It was long enough for him to compose himself and get himself straight.

  “I’m fine Betty. Filler it is. I’ll pop into the hardware store on my way out,” he said.

  Phil’s voice suddenly sounded normal again. He finally had control once more. His wife told him she loved him and Phil hung up the phone.

  His face went white for a split second. It looked like he was going to be sick. And then the colour returned to his face. He relaxed and shook his head.

  “Get yourself together Phil. Everything is going to be just dandy.”

  Phil got to walking quickly. His pace was nearing the speed of a light jog down the park. He wanted to get out of the mall as quickly as possible. Something was telling him he was needed at home. Something was telling him his secret wasn’t safe. Maybe his wife knew. Whatever it was, he needed to get home as soon as possible or he could be sleeping on the couch, or worse… sleeping in jail.

  He rushed out of the mall and darted around the corner, headed towards the car park. He could see his car parked up sitting stationary, looking cold and bleak in the distance. He sighed as he reached the driver’s door. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his keys. He unlocked the door and jumped in, bags and all. He shut the door and turned around. He flung the bags of shopping he had into the back of the car, over the passenger seat.

  “Watch it man, be careful,” a voice said from behind him.

  It startled him. He recognised the voice but didn’t know if he actually heard it or his mind was playing tricks on him. He turned his head and saw someone sitting in the back seat. The person leant forward and his face was illuminated from the shadows.

  “Fuck sake. What are you doing here,” Phil asked, looking at the rear-view mirror in horror.

  “I thought I’d pay you a visit, Philip.”

  “How the hell did you get into my car?”

  The man leaned in and tapped Phil on the shoulder. It made him jump at the man’s cold touch.

  “It was easy. You went into the mall, I coat-hanger’d your door,” he said.

  “The lock better not be busted,” Phil said.

  “The lock is the least of your worries. Now, onto business. The merchandise. Is it safe?”

  Phil gripped his fingers around the steering wheel as he started to sweat uncontrollably. He could feel his sweaty palms sliding off the curved surface of the wheel as he tried to remain calm, avoiding eye contact with the man in the back of his car.

  “The merchandise Phil. Is it safe?” the man repeated, this time a little louder.

  “Yes. Yes.”

  “Good. I want you to move it. I want you to move it tonight,” he said.

  Phil found himself with a dry mouth. He felt like he hadn’t had a drink in two days and his car had all of a sudden become a desert. He felt trapped with no sign of an oasis.

  “Why the rush?” Phil asked.

  “There is no rush, Philip. It’s just necessary. You know the drill. The boss wants it moved. The time has come. You will be paid on receipt of the merchandise. Is that clear?” the mysterious man said.

  “I guess.”

  Phil remained with his eyes fixated on the steering wheel. He didn’t dare look at the man sitting in the back. He heard stories saying that it was best to keep your eyes off him or anyone associated with “the boss”. He knew it was safer to not know, to be ignorant. He knew it was the safest bet of him staying alive. Before Phil could convince the man in the back of his commitment to delivering the merchandise, he heard the back door open and close back shut. The man was gone within a blink of an eye. All that was left was Phil and his racing mind. He needed to get home. He knew his family would be in danger if he didn’t do as the man said. The merchandise needed to be delivered. To be honest, Phil was glad it was getting taken off his hands. He was fed up with the secrets and lies. He needed the weight lifted off his shoulders. It was with that motivation that he keyed the ignition and raced home. Every second counted and with every tick of his watch, he knew that time was growing ever more frantic and the race to the finish wa
s near.

  ***

  Phil got out of his car and locked it shut. He raced up the driveway up to his house and barged through the door. He had a pale, ghost-like tint to his skin. His wife noticed something was up straight away. She beckoned him into the kitchen. He didn’t even acknowledge the greetings from his children. It was unlike him to ignore them. But he felt flustered and didn’t even hear them say a word. It was as if the whole house was dead silent through his ears. Everything was muffled until it hit him like a ton of bricks. The sounds of Christmas songs and movie explosions rattled in his eardrums. The sound of his wife asking him questions and his children pestering him all conjoined into one large equation of nonsensical sounds and shapes. It was torture. He was feeling wobbly and decided to take a seat. He sat on a chair. He could feel his weight flex underneath him. He could feel the vibrations under his feet. It felt like an army was on its way and he could feel their marching come ever closer.

  His wife’s voice rang in his ears a little until everything died down. The blurred shapes that stood in front of him started to become coherent and familiar. The vibration under his feet became steady and the numbness he felt disappeared. He had gotten himself together once again. He no longer looked pale and finally felt steady.

  “Honey!” he finally heard his wife shout.

  He looked up and saw her worried face. She looked beautiful and innocent in her Christmas apron. She had a look of absolute shock peppered on her face. He wondered why. And then he realised. He must have looked a state.

  “I’m okay. Just feeling flustered. The mall was such a rush. So many people. I got into an argument with someone. They wanted to skip the line and go in front,” Phil said.

  His wife’s facial expression eased up and she relaxed. She believed him. At first she thought he was ill or dying. He had looked such a state when he had gotten in.

  “You look really tiered honey. Are you sure you are okay? I thought something was wrong. You looked like someone had died or something. I was talking to you and you said nothing.”

  Phil smiled at his wife. He felt his cheeks flex but couldn’t feel his teeth. He didn’t even know if what he just did could be classified as a smile. He was sure it looked more like a forced grin. The sort of smile someone does when they feel uncomfortable. It would have to do. He couldn’t afford to convince his wife of his wellbeing. He had work to do.

  “Don’t worry honey. I’m fine. I’m just tired. Anyway. I got to see to fixing those cracks on the ceiling. I’m going upstairs to check out if anything is causing a load on the ceiling. You never know, might be a loadbearing wall gone faulty and if that’s the case, the house could be unstable,” he said.

  His wife made a face.

  “Unstable? You think the ceiling is going to collapse?” she asked.

  “Nah, everything will be fine. Just relax and let me check it out. Christmas isn’t any time of the year for my wife to be worrying her head,” he said. He immediately realised how condescending his comment sounded. He decided to make up for it by planting a passionate kiss on the plump lips of his wife.

  “I love you Betty,” he said.

  “I love you Phil,” she replied, still sounding a little cautious.

  Phil tapped her on the bum and went into the living room. He saw his kids watching their second movie. This time he didn’t have a clue which movie it was. They must have watched the first movie by now. Maybe it was a new movie. He didn’t really care. He just kissed both of them on the forehead and made his way upstairs.

  He went into the utility room that stood just above the chandelier. It was a small cupboard; it was big enough to fit a few towels and had a large tank in it. Below the tank were some wooden floor boards. He reached inside the dark cupboard and felt for a cord. He tugged on it and a light came on. It hung above his head and swung from left to right, making sparse shadows project across the cracks of the floor. He stood there for a few minutes contemplating whether or not he should pry the wooden boards up. He decided that maybe it was best to do it at night when everyone was asleep.

  “Too many witnesses,” he said, not quite believing he just referred to his family as witnesses.

  A few hours had passed and the kids were in bed. He had kissed them goodnight and found himself pacing the hallway outside of their rooms. He had been pacing for a few minutes. He had a sweaty forehead and was oozing with anxiety. It was a good job that his wife was downstairs. He knew that if she saw him in his current state, maybe she’d be dialling an ambulance or something fearing he was about to die again. He loved his wife and all but her obsessive worrying always made him weary. Maybe down the line she would be one of those spouses who snapped and ended up killing her husband. More the reason he felt he needed to hide his current situation from her. God only knew what she was capable of.

  “Get a grip Phil,” he said to himself.

  He could hear himself clearly now and the thoughts that were running through his head were scaring him. Was he really that paranoid that he would suspect his wife of murdering him if she found out? He decided that it was best if he stopped his pacing and went downstairs. He needed to get his mind off his problems and back into reality.

  When he finally plucked up the courage and went downstairs, he felt better. He didn’t know if it was the fact that the smell of cinnamon and pastry was filling up the house or he had managed to get a grip on his escaping sanity. Whatever it was, he felt good and had a second wind to him. A surge of energy that made everything feel alright. He no longer felt trapped. He felt that maybe he would get through it. Just maybe he would succeed and get the whole ordeal over and done with.

  He walked into the kitchen to see his wife still slaving over the stove. She looked immaculate and well kept, even under such hot conditions. He admired her for her lack of quit and her inability to give up. She was such a strong woman, and it was her presence alone that made everything feel better.

  “You should rest up, Betty,” he said, wrapping his hands around her soft but firm waste.

  “When the Christmas spread is done, that’s when I’ll rest up,” she said, turning around and kissing him on the cheek. Her soft lips felt like heaven on his skin. It was nice to be home. It was nice to be with Betty.

  “You want any help?” he asked.

  “Keep me some company. That’s all the help I need from you dear,” she said.

  Her easy going nature always put a smile on Phil’s face.

  ‘Such a lucky guy’ he thought.

  He stayed there in the kitchen talking the night away with his wife. By the time the cooking was done, they were both covered in flower and sugar. What turned out as a playful game of “throw the food” soon manifested into a flower fight. It didn’t go on for too long. They soon realised that the effort of the clean-up that would surly follow wasn’t worth the fun of throwing flower all over the place.

  “I guess it’s time to sleep,” his wife said, brushing herself down.

  “Clean up in the morning?” Phil suggested.

  “Sure,” she replied.

  They both walked out of the kitchen and into the living room. There was a loud humming sound coming from the outside. It was helicopter. Betty pulled a face as she sat down on the couch.

  “Not even on Christmas do we get some rest bite from the damn air police,” she said.

  Phil nodded. It angered him as well. To be honest, he couldn’t remember an evening in his neighbourhood where the police weren’t blazing around in helicopters and squad cars. Boston sure had changed.

  “Fucking animals ruining Christmas I say. Cant criminals take a day off and leave the damn police to refuel the helicopter?” Phil said.

  His wife Betty agreed with a partial nod combined with a smile. She was sitting on the couch, staring at her husband with narrow eyes.

  “I thought you said we were going to bed?” he said.

  “Well we could, or you could rip my clothes off here and now and be done with it,” she said, undoing her apron an
d flinging it onto the floor.

  “My, my, I guess I can’t say no,” he said.

  He lunged onto the couch and started fondling his wife. He had her breasts firmly cupped in his hands when the front door to their house exploded from the hinges and landed on the living room carpet. A dozen armed police officers rushed in, screaming orders at the couple on the couch. They had their weapons pointed at Phil and his wife. Phil still had his hands on his wife’s breasts even though he was in shock.

  “Get your fucking hands up. Boston Narcotics. Get your fucking hands up now!” the man with gun nearest to them screamed as he stood tall in the living room, nearly overshadowing the Christmas tree.

  “What?” was all Phil could manage to say.

  “Get up, get up now!” the man screamed.

  Phil remained as stiff as it was humanly possible. A sudden onslaught of fear crept into his joints and prevented him from moving. He couldn’t muster any strength; he just sat there, holding onto his wife. She too was speechless. She hadn’t batted a single eyelid. She was as motionless as her husband, both of them frozen in time, embellished in fear.

  “Get up! Get up!” the man shouted, finally pulling Phil off his wife.

  “We have a search warrant for this property,” the heavily armed man said who was now joined by a few more men wearing the same outfit, as if it was a fancy dress party in Phil’s living room and he hadn’t been informed of the event.

  “A search warrant?” Betty said under her breath. “What’s going on Phil?” she asked, finally turning her attention to her baffled husband.

  Phil just stood there with a blank expression on his face. He couldn’t muster anything of any importance or sense. Nothing came out of his mouth bar the heavy raspy breathing that escaped through his pert lips.

  “Answer me Phil! What’s going on?” his wife screamed, beating on his chest with her petite fists. “God damn it Phil! What have you done?” she started to cry.