2018. DIY murder

Everything costs money, and when Deidre discovered how much it was going to cost to have her husband murdered she decided to do it herself.

She knew that even a DIY murder was going to cost money. Fortunately she had a little nest egg stashed away which she had built up over time for this precise purpose. This murder wasn’t a spur of the moment thing. Now, where was I?

For starters, she had to purchase a gun. You can’t go and shoot someone using a gun you’ve just borrowed off a friendly neighbour. They might begin to suspect, especially since they lived next door. But Deidre didn’t want to go through all the hassle of getting a licence and goodness knows what. She would have to get her gun from some cheap outfit in a back alley.

Then there was the business of corpse disposal. These professional hitmen had their methods. They had done it many a time. But poor Deidre would have to shove Clive’s corpse into the back seat of her old 1977 LTD Ford and deposit the body in some secluded forest somewhere.

Then there was the cost of having to get the carpet cleaned – if in fact she were to pull the trigger in the living room. Quite frankly, Deidre ascertained, the cost of this DIY murder was getting to be as expensive as a professional job. But as Deidre was fond of say, “I shall stick to my guns”.

Her husband was such a happy person and so obliging. Deidre didn’t hate him, but she had had enough. She didn’t want him to die slowly. Seven years marriage was seven years. One can’t obliterate the memory of it with one bullet shot. Dear sentimental Deidre! She planned a final outing. They would go for a picnic to the lake.

It was while at the lake eating their tuna and lettuce sandwich that they stood next to the most beautiful waterfall. It hurtled down the cliff below them in a most dramatic manner.

“Such power!” declared Clive.

“Such a precipice!” declared Deidre.

She gave him a little push. It was free.

1805. Motherly advice

Look, I told my son. Look, I said. I told you how to do it but you wouldn’t listen. And now you’re in deep trouble. You’re just like your father was, I said, always acting before thinking things through.

I tried to warn you, but oh no! Young people always know better these days. Well in this case I knew better, from personal experience. You didn’t listen, so now you’ll have to pay for the consequences on your own. I’ve achieved what you’ve achieved I suppose a dozen times or so, but without any of the hassle.

I’ve come across so many like you. They all thought they knew better. They just ignored common sense advice. And now look at them.

You know I’ve been wanting you to do what you did for a long time, but not in the way you went about it. If you’d asked me I could have given you names to help. From now on it’s nothing to do with me. Just don’t involve me.

If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you twice: if you were going to murder your father you didn’t have to do it yourself. You hire a professional. I could have helped with the cost. Now look at the mess you’re in.

1525: A lucky strike

When Constantia murdered her husband she had no idea how expensive the funeral would be. Mondale’s departure was meant to be liberating for her. She would be free of the shackles of “the man of restriction” (as she liked to call him when she had had a wine or two). Now she was lumbered with an unnecessary expense because of the extravagant cost of the funeral. Not to give him a lavish funeral might well caste suspicion on the method of his demise. After all, they were rather rich.

It had been a well-planned murder. Constantia hadn’t personally murdered her husband; she had paid a hitman to do it for her. The hitman was a helicopter pilot. That too had cost the earth. However, Constantia, and her friend Barbara, had made a major contribution to the murderous methodology. Mondale had been decapitated by a helicopter rotary blade, slap bang on the back lawn. The most difficult part of the murder was trying not to sound excited when calling the emergency centre. Having starred in a high school musical many years earlier was certainly reaping dividends when it came to acting.

All that the hitman had done was to grab Mondale from behind as he was boarding his helicopter and hoist him high enough for his head to be chopped off. It was a bit messy, but was a simple idea simply executed. Why the hitman charged so much for doing practically nothing was beyond Constantia’s comprehension. Constantia referred to the incident as “a lucky strike”. She had watched and seen how simple the operation was.

And now the hurdle was to cope with the wretched expense of the funeral. Life was so unfair. Barbara, Constantia’s friend who knew everything, was willing to post online a Give-a-little-to-the-poor-widow-whose-husband-was-decapitated Fund. Constantia got thousands of dollars.

The next thing Barbara was demanding ten percent. It was such a relief when Barbara was accidentally decapitated by a rotating helicopter blade, slap bang on the back lawn.