Short Story # 16

KILLING CARLA

By

LINDA POVEY

I stared at Eleanor. “Dispose of her? I can’t believe you just said that.”

“It’s the only way, Jonathon. For reasons we’ve already discussed.”

“So, lets get this straight, you want Carla killed?”

“That’s what I’m saying.”

“You can’t make me do it!”

Eleanor gave me a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “That’s where you’re wrong. I can and I will. Think about it.”

“It’s difficult to even contemplate...” I began.

“No,” Eleanor interrupted, “when I say, ‘think about it’ I mean think how you’re going to do it.”

I sat alone in the bar after she’d gone, in stunned disbelief. Of course, I’d accepted Carla had to go if I wanted to keep Eleanor. That was not a problem.

To be honest, I’d been bored with Carla for some time. Her high principles had begun to seem like so much prissiness. Her strong feeling of duty was starting to get tedious. Yet I’d found her so exciting in the early days. I thought back to those heady times.

When Carla first came into my life, she’d just been made head-teacher of a large urban comprehensive. The school was beset with problems. Highly disruptive pupils, drugs, playground fights, one serious stabbing. Against all the odds, Carla had managed to turn it all round. She was passionate about everything she was involved with and I’d got carried away by it all. It was a pity it had all gone stale.

I got myself another drink. Then another. There was nothing else for it, I realised. I had to go along with what Eleanor wanted. As she said, there really wasn’t any other way. But how to do it? I left the hotel and went for a walk.

Two hours of wandering aimlessly around and I’d come to no conclusions. I’d thought about organising a car accident. But that would result in horrific injuries and I didn’t want Carla’s lovely body to be badly disfigured. I owed her that. For the same reason, a fall from a great height or in front of a train was out.

Drowning wasn’t quick enough, I didn’t want her to suffer too much. The same with any sort of poisoning. It might bring about a very painful death. It would have been useful if Carla had allergies to certain foods that could prove fatal, but she hadn’t.

I sat down on a bench, suddenly weary. It was a glorious day. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, the air was fragrant with the smell of newly-mowed lawns. I didn’t want to think about death. I didn’t want to think about poor Carla happily relaxing in the lovely home I’d made for her, unaware of the horrors that awaited.

My mobile phone began ringing. I answered it. It was Eleanor.

“Come up with anything yet?”

I went over all the methods I’d thought of. Explaining why I’d dismissed them.

“Well I can understand your not wanting her to suffer, but what does it matter if the body’s mutilated?”

“Well if you don’t know...” I began angrily, enraged she could be so insensitive.

“Oh all right, keep your hair on. Couldn’t you fix up a mugging or a burglary at the house? One blow to the back of the head might not be too disfiguring. Mm, would that be enough to kill her, do you think?”

“I’ll get back to you, Eleanor.” I shut my mobile off. I was beginning to feel very sick.

I caught the train home and sat deep in thought as it sped away. Ironically, Carla was nearly killed once in a fire at the school, but had been rescued in time from her smoke-filled office.

I sat up straight. That had given me an idea.

******

I phoned Eleanor immediately I’d worked it out.

“I’ve sorted it,” I said.

“Oh good.”

I put aside any revulsion I felt at the excitement in Eleanor’s voice as I explained.

“Before you came on the scene, Carla was once hospitalised after inhaling smoke from a fire at the school. She’s kept it quiet, but it’s left her lungs weak. Any exertions can bring on an asthma attack.”

“This is getting interesting.”

I took a deep breath and went on. “She’s planning to take a small group of children on a walking holiday in the Welsh mountains.”

“Isn’t that a bit foolhardy?”

“Carla’s never been one to wrap herself in cotton wool and she’s fine as long as she’s got her inhaler with her.”

“But if she finds she hasn’t...?”

“Exactly. Now one boy she’s taking is particularly wild. She’s had dealings with him before. If I can ‘arrange’ for him to run off at some point and up a steep mountainside...

“Picture the scenario. She orders the assistant teacher she’ll have with her to watch the others while she goes after him. She becomes breathless, looks for her inhaler.”

“Which isn’t there.”

“No. She begins to panic, which makes matters worse. She passes out. The boy is well away by this time. The assistant teacher, unaware of Carla’s asthma problems, continues to wait until it becomes obvious she’s not coming back.

Help is eventually summoned, but too late for Carla who’s breathed her last. That way death will be relatively quick and from natural causes. And Carla will have died in the call of duty without a blemish on her.”

“Apart from turning somewhat blue. Brilliant, Jonathon. Go for it,” my agent told me.

******

So that’s how Carla met her demise. It made a dramatic and final ending to a successful, but played out, series of novels.

Now I’m ready to start on my new one. Crime is the genre, with my heroine a ruthless detective inspector who knows what she wants and usually gets it. Think I’ll call her Eleanor!