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| Perfect Execution |
By:
Eva Bell |
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PERFECT EXECUTION.
The classroom was packed to capacity. Kenneth Clarke’s dark eyes rested on his captive audience. He was the dashing Professor of Creative Writing – the heart throb of the ladies; the envy of the men who admired his sartorial elegance, and aped his swagger.
Here before him were young, ambitious minds brimming over with lofty dreams; raring to soar across literary skies like luminous shooting meteors. Not so long ago, he too had been young and eager – dreaming of instant fame with his magnum opus – A Booker perhaps or a Pulitzer! Those dreams died young. ‘Writing’ was a possessive mistress, sapping all of one’s time, energy and sanity, but giving no assurances of reward. ‘Capriciousness’ was her second name.
Flashes of the past came to haunt him. Jeannie his first love had been overpowering. Under her cherubic face was a steely determination to wean him away from his nebulous dreams.
“Writing? What a waste of time! Have you an inheritance to fall back on? Or do you expect me to go around with a begging bowl, to put food on the table? Think again, Man. Either you get a steady job or I’m through with you. Writing can only remain a hobby.”
So Kenneth had taken up teaching, and was now Professor of Creative Writing. But giving up his dreams didn’t stop Jeannie from leaving him for a rich man, only a few months later.
“Everything happens for the best,” he thought, “Linda is my treasure. I am content with her love and ministrations. I have even begun to write again in my spare time. Whatever I do,
I am assured of my wife’s support.”
Today Kenneth was to lecture on the techniques of writing a Crime story.
“Most of us subconsciously delight in crime,” he said, “We all have an inner compulsion to lawlessness and violence.”
“Oh no!” interrupted Marla. She was sitting in the front row, her legs crossed to reveal her shapely legs, “I thought we humans had the essence of the Divine within us – Man made in the image of God and all that! I wouldn’t think there was an iota of violence in you.”
The students had giggled, and Kenneth could feel the bile rising. But damned if he would give her the pleasure of knowing she had riled him. He beamed his most indulgent smile, though he was fuming inside.
“Darned stupid girl!” he thought. She reminded him of Jeannie his first wife, who had entranced him and then spurned him.
Marla had tried every trick in her book to ensnare him. But her flirtatious advances seemed to repel Kenneth.
“Ever since I spurned her overtures, she’s got her knife into me. Sits in the front row and keeps interrupting my lectures with silly comments or embarrassing questions. She really was getting obsessive – barging into my office at odd times and throwing her arms around me as if I was her lover.”
Marla had even rung up his house, several times in the dead of night, swearing her love for Kenneth. His wife had grown suspicious. For the first time he saw doubts in her eyes, as she asked timidly,
“Are you having an affair with one of your students, dear?”
“Not on your life. The girl is becoming a nuisance. A real brazen hussy who thinks I’ll fall for her flirtations. I’ll just have to report her to the Principal. For some reason, she reminds me of a tree in the “Devil’s Garden” of the Amazon forest. It secretes a kind of chemical that kills off all other species in the vicinity.”
“Oh don’t be so harsh on her Dear, Linda teased, “You’re so irresistibly handsome! She probably can’t help herself.”
Marla had been pulled up by the man. But she was determined to have her revenge on the Professor.
“She may be a woman scorned, but her rage is unseemly. She disrupts my lectures, and makes me lose the trend of my thoughts. The other students giggle at my discomfiture.”
Kenneth wished he could say something that could silence her permanently.
He cleared his throat and continued with the lecture.
“Make your villain a charming, handsome rogue whom no one will suspect. Plan his movements in such a way that he’ll have a reliable alibi for the time of his crime. He’ll probably murder his wife just about the time when the grocer or the postman comes calling, then stealthily slip away to his club where he’ll play snooker till evening. Then he would innocently report the murder of his wife, putting on a convincing act of abject sorrow.”
“I think you’ve given me a brilliant idea for a perfect crime story,” said Marla.
“I’ll be looking forward to reading it,” Kenneth answered, “And the rest of you, do submit your crime stories to me before next week.”
Kenneth was busy for the rest of the day. The departmental meeting had gone on for longer than expected. The possibility of him becoming the Head of Department of English when the present incumbent retired, was exciting.
He was in a good mood when he drove home that evening. He was expecting a sumptuous spread for tea, as Linda knew that he never had lunch at College.
Everything seemed unusually quiet.
“Darling I’m home, and I’m famished,” he shouted as he entered, “Linda, where are you?”
He saw her slumped over the dining table.
“Oh my God! Are you alright?”
Her body was cold and lifeless. There was nothing to indicate what had happened, except for a chair that was askew. Could she have had a visitor?
He dialed for an ambulance.
“Come quickly,” he begged, “My wife has had a heart attack.”
How could it have happened he wondered? She was young, healthy and had never complained of illness.
The postmortem revealed no signs of a heart attack. In fact they could not arrive at any cause for her death.
All fingers pointed to Kenneth. The students gossiped among themselves.
“Only this morning, he outlined for us a perfect crime story – ‘The handsome rogue,’ ‘the perfect alibi.’”
Marla’s was the loudest whisper.
“A perfect execution!” she said, “The man had planned it all.”
“Marla’s revenge!” Kenneth thought, “Didn’t she declare she had the perfect plot for a crime story? But who will believe me?”
As he was led away to police custody, Marla placed herself where he could see her.
“I hope you rot in hell,” she sniggered. “You shouldn’t have messed with Marla.”
She had left no traces behind. The needle mark was cleverly camouflaged in the hairline over Linda’s nape.
“That was a whopping dose of Insulin for such a puny lady,” she laughed, “I never thought it would be so easy. I think I’ll become a specialist in crime stories.”
Word Count: 1134 |
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