Barely A Splash
Her lithe body barely caused a splash as it entered the water, dappled sunlight criss-crossed her tanned skin and the white material of her two-piece swimsuit as the momentum of her dive sped her across the pool. Before she even needed to kick out with one of her long legs she’d reached the ladder and begun to pull herself out,
“I’m sorry to keep you waiting Mr?”
“Monaghan,” he replied
“Do you have a first name Mr. Monaghan?” she smiled,
“Detective.” He said flatly, he wasn’t in the mood for this. He’d had hundreds of meetings in this town with trophy wives who thought that showing a bit of skin and flashing a smile was going to get them some sort of special treatment. It was hot as hell today and this dark haired girl, barely half his age, draping herself across the sun lounger in front of him was no different to any of the others.
“You’ll have to forgive me, I’m in training for a charity swimming gala,” Of course she was, he thought, “The proceeds are going to help drought victims in Africa.”
The nerve of these people, he thought, what was next? A wine-tasting in aid of Alcoholics Anonymous? A buffet for victims of famine?
“Can we get to the reason you called me Mrs. Whitaker?”
“Sorry, yes… I imagine you must be a very busy man, only…” She stiffled a sniff and Detective Monaghan sighed, “It’s about my husband you see; he’s a stock broker but recently I’m worried he’s fallen in with a bad crowd.”
“A bad crowd?” He parrotted back to her skeptically, “What makes you think that, ma’am?”
She sat bolt upright and glared at him, a strand of damp hair falling past tear-filled eyes to settle on her cheek,
“Now you listen to me!” Her voice was now shrill with anger at the middle aged man and his mocking tone, “My husband is missing and every minute you humour me while staring at my chest is another minute that he’s in danger! Now are you going to do something or not?”
The sound of a muffled gunshot and the bullet tearing into her abdomen served as the detective’s reply.
She fell backwards onto the slick tiled surface surrounding the pool. Turning onto her stomach was agony but she had to escape!
“So here’s the thing ma’am,” the detective said calmly as he nonchalantly stepped forward, avoiding the trail of blood his victim was leaving with each desperate movement,
“I know all about you and your husband Mrs. Whitacker, who do you think sent me?”
Her eyes grew wide and her mouth moved to say something but her angry tirade was replaced with a short rasping gurgle. The detective sighed,
“If it’s any consolation I’d sooner have done this to him but hey, I’m a professional.” He stepped forward again, placing a heavy, booted foot on the small of her now blood-soaked back. He raised his pistol again,
“Nothing personal sweetheart, just business.”
The second shot entered the back of her skull and ended her agonising crawl to freedom. The man shifted his weight and used his foot to shove her into the pool.
Her lithe body barely caused a splash as it entered the water, dappled sunlight criss-crossed her tanned skin and the dark red material of her two-piece swimsuit as she sunk from view.
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