Chapter One
"I was going to kill her myself, but on TV, the husband is always the first suspect, so I figured it'd be best if I had a really good alibi."
"That's good thinking'"
The two men were sitting in a coffee shop booth, the remains of their dinners in front of them. The more distinguished of the two, the husband of the soon to be dead woman, Charles Parker, took a sip of coffee and set the cup back down on the table. The other man, the man Charles was hiring to kill his wife, lit a cigarette and pulled the ashtray in front of him.
"Here's her picture. And the rest," Charles slid a photograph and a thick envelope across the table, "the rest is there as well."
The other man, Neil Jamison, glanced at the photo then cupped his hand over the two items, slipping them into his jacket pocket. "When?"
"I'm flying to Boston in the morning. Anytime between 8 and 10. I'll be on the plane. And I'm going to make sure people remember me." He grinned. From the look in his eyes, Neil didn't understand what he'd meant. "I'm going to be an ass." Charles explained further, and could see the understanding dawn on Neil's face.
"Oh. Ok." Neil gave a hollow chuckle, one that reminded Charles of a foolish cartoon character. "Between 8 and 10 tomorrow morning." Neil repeated, as if reminding himself.
"Yes. Now, Cynthia goes to the gym every morning at 7; she takes some class they have. She'll be leaving around 8:15, 8:20. Solid Bodies, on 83rd, do you know it?"
"Yeah, I can find it." Neil answered. "Solid Bodies at 8:15" he murmured, again like he was reminding himself. Looking Charles in the eye, he nodded. "Got it." He taped his fist on the tabletop. "She'll be dead by 9 tomorrow."
*****
Facing the mirror, Charles' hands went through the motion of tying his tie, but his eyes followed his wife's reflection around the bedroom behind him. When she sat on the edge of the bed and reached down to tie her sneakers, he asked: "Going to the gym Darling?"
"Yep. What time are you landing again?" Cynthia stood and walked over to her husband. Slipping her arms around his waist, she ran a hand up and down his chest. "And do you really have to go?"
He took her hand in his; they looked at each other's reflection. "Yes. I really have to go."
She sighed deeply, rested her check against his shoulder for a moment then pulled away from him. "Ok. Promise me you'll be thinking about me while you're gone?"
"Yes Darling. I promise," he said as he smiled at himself in the mirror.
*****
Neil Jamison ran up the four flights of stairs to his apartment door. Breathing hard, he unlocked the door and flung himself into the apartment, slamming the door behind him. Down the hall a baby started to cry at the noise. Neil paced the small living room, raking his hands through his hair. Back and forth he walked, raking, then pulling at his hair. "Oh God. Oh God. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't know.... I didn't know there'd be so much...so much blood." He looked down at himself, and breathed a heavy sigh of relief when he didn't see any of it on him. He breathed deeply again, calming himself down. "Ok. Ok. Ok." He muttered to himself, plodding into the kitchen he pulled the fridge door open and grabbed a beer. He popped the top and chugged half of it down. Taking another deep breath, he felt better. He leaned against the counter top and drank the rest of the beer in two long swallows. He rested there another moment, trying to figure out what to do now. Not coming up with any ideas, he went back into the living room, turned on the TV and lay down on the couch. In a moment, he was asleep.
"I was going to kill her myself, but on TV, the husband is always the first suspect, so I figured it'd be best if I had a really good alibi."
"That's good thinking'"
The two men were sitting in a coffee shop booth, the remains of their dinners in front of them. The more distinguished of the two, the husband of the soon to be dead woman, Charles Parker, took a sip of coffee and set the cup back down on the table. The other man, the man Charles was hiring to kill his wife, lit a cigarette and pulled the ashtray in front of him.
"Here's her picture. And the rest," Charles slid a photograph and a thick envelope across the table, "the rest is there as well."
The other man, Neil Jamison, glanced at the photo then cupped his hand over the two items, slipping them into his jacket pocket. "When?"
"I'm flying to Boston in the morning. Anytime between 8 and 10. I'll be on the plane. And I'm going to make sure people remember me." He grinned. From the look in his eyes, Neil didn't understand what he'd meant. "I'm going to be an ass." Charles explained further, and could see the understanding dawn on Neil's face.
"Oh. Ok." Neil gave a hollow chuckle, one that reminded Charles of a foolish cartoon character. "Between 8 and 10 tomorrow morning." Neil repeated, as if reminding himself.
"Yes. Now, Cynthia goes to the gym every morning at 7; she takes some class they have. She'll be leaving around 8:15, 8:20. Solid Bodies, on 83rd, do you know it?"
"Yeah, I can find it." Neil answered. "Solid Bodies at 8:15" he murmured, again like he was reminding himself. Looking Charles in the eye, he nodded. "Got it." He taped his fist on the tabletop. "She'll be dead by 9 tomorrow."
*****
Facing the mirror, Charles' hands went through the motion of tying his tie, but his eyes followed his wife's reflection around the bedroom behind him. When she sat on the edge of the bed and reached down to tie her sneakers, he asked: "Going to the gym Darling?"
"Yep. What time are you landing again?" Cynthia stood and walked over to her husband. Slipping her arms around his waist, she ran a hand up and down his chest. "And do you really have to go?"
He took her hand in his; they looked at each other's reflection. "Yes. I really have to go."
She sighed deeply, rested her check against his shoulder for a moment then pulled away from him. "Ok. Promise me you'll be thinking about me while you're gone?"
"Yes Darling. I promise," he said as he smiled at himself in the mirror.
*****
Neil Jamison ran up the four flights of stairs to his apartment door. Breathing hard, he unlocked the door and flung himself into the apartment, slamming the door behind him. Down the hall a baby started to cry at the noise. Neil paced the small living room, raking his hands through his hair. Back and forth he walked, raking, then pulling at his hair. "Oh God. Oh God. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't know.... I didn't know there'd be so much...so much blood." He looked down at himself, and breathed a heavy sigh of relief when he didn't see any of it on him. He breathed deeply again, calming himself down. "Ok. Ok. Ok." He muttered to himself, plodding into the kitchen he pulled the fridge door open and grabbed a beer. He popped the top and chugged half of it down. Taking another deep breath, he felt better. He leaned against the counter top and drank the rest of the beer in two long swallows. He rested there another moment, trying to figure out what to do now. Not coming up with any ideas, he went back into the living room, turned on the TV and lay down on the couch. In a moment, he was asleep.