| Pure
poison
by Ruth Stroud
After I’d had my annual appraisal with Melanie Whitaker,
I knew I would have to kill her. Early retirement indeed! How dare she
suggest it, when I still had so much to offer, and she got the job that
should have been mine.
All my years of hard work marked me out for promotion to head of the section.
When Mr Austen retired he had virtually promised I would get the job.
At my interview I had been calm and confident, secure in my record of
reliable and loyal service. I emerged feeling sure the position was mine,
but then I saw Melanie. There she was in a scarlet dress and jacket, high
heels, lots of makeup and tossing her long blonde hair. The complete opposite
to all that Matthews and Dickinson stands for. I could not believe the
news that she had been appointed. But what can you expect when the interviewing
panel was entirely male?
So they didn’t give me the job, but who did they expect to show
her how the department worked and introduce her to all the systems? I
devised most of them, and they had worked perfectly well. That is, until
Melanie decided they needed to be revised. She thought they were out of
date and should be discontinued. If only she knew how many hours I spent
setting them up! Shortcuts she called her new ideas, but I knew they wouldn’t
work. I found ways to show her that she was wrong – some of her
e-mails ‘disappeared’ from her computer, messages were ‘mislaid’,
papers were ‘misfiled’ until too late to be of use. I thought
the Board would realise that they had made a great mistake in appointing
her and get rid of her.
Couldn’t they see that, as a head of department, she ought to have
more decorum? She insisted that everyone – even the lowliest staff
– call her Melanie. She gossiped with the females and shared details
of their private lives, and she flirted with the male staff. One should
never bring one’s private life to the workplace: there should always
be a distance between the head and those beneath them. If I had been appointed
head – as I should have been – I should never have wanted
to know that Christine had had a blazing row with her boyfriend, or that
Sheila was arranging a surprise party for her parents’ anniversary.
It was totally inappropriate for her to come to work dressed as she did.
What I wear – neat blouses and skirts, sensible shoes, discreet
makeup – is right for Matthews and Dickinson, but in came Melanie,
flaunting herself as if for a night on the town. She even regularly joined
certain members of staff for drinks after work.
To think I overheard the Chairman of the Board saying he thought her arrival
at the company was ‘the best thing since sliced bread’. Such
a very vulgar expression, and a clear indication that my efforts were
not working. I haven’t had this problem in the past with getting
rid of people who displeased me; I have quite a talent that way. It started
at school. There was the maths teacher who put me in detention –
certain allegations resulted in his dismissal and inability to obtain
another teaching post. There was Pauline who was appointed head girl (when
it should have been me). A careful campaign and some anonymous letters
did for her. Over the years I have managed to arrange for the dismissal
of any member of staff that I considered unsuitable. Starting a rumour,
planting a little evidence, checking through people’s desks. This
gave me great satisfaction: I was simply doing my duty for the good of
the firm.
Somehow Melanie discovered that I had been failing to pass on information
to her, and rather than accepting this fact as her just punishment, she
outrageously suggested that I might be finding my position too much, and
that I should apply for early retirement! The Board would look favourably
on my application, apparently. I never felt so angry, but I was determined
not to show any emotion. I just left the room and stayed out of her way.
So that was why she had to die.
It was easy to decide on the method to use: it had to be poison, of course.
How I have enjoyed reading about famous poisoners of the past, how many
of them have been doctors! Pritchard, Palmer, Crippen… They were
caught, but I will not be – I have planned far too well. Not for
me buying poisons over the counter, when the countryside provides so many
possibilities. My weekend walks took on a new purpose. Whatever the weather,
there was so much to enjoy in the abundance of poisonous berries, flowers,
seeds and fungus. Then there were the regular visits to the reference
room at the Library, to help me make the right choice. Making the potion
was very pleasurable, and I took great care to remove all the evidence,
throwing all the utensils I had used into a local disused quarry for the
rain to wash away all traces. When I finished I became aware of an overwhelming
sense of power – having in my hands such a weapon.
First I tested the concoction on my neighbour’s cat. I hated the
beast, always coming through the hedge and digging up the bulbs. Just
a tiny drop in a saucer of milk, and it worked perfectly. After the corpse
had followed the utensils into the quarry, I heard my neighbour calling
for kitty to come in for her supper. How I laughed.
The dispatch of Melanie went beautifully according to my plan. She would
go in for fiery curries which she would eat at her desk, against all the
rules, but that made it easy for me to sprinkle the poison on to her food.
Everything was clearly going my way. Melanie had a very bad cold, so did
not notice any possible difference in taste.
She was quickly affected. Everyone thought it was gastric ’flu.
She was far too ill to drive herself, so the Chairman took her home in
his Mercedes and sent for a doctor. Melanie was soon transferred to hospital,
and the bulletins were grave. Her next of kin – a sister in Canada
– was notified.
Mother and father would have been proud of me; they always said ‘Angela,
you must always stand up for yourself, and not let yourself be put upon.’
After all, it was Melanie’s fault, for all she had done to me.
I took up a collection at work, and played my part admirably, apparently
deeply concerned – sniffing and dabbing my eyes.
I visited Melanie’s private room in the hospital, taking a beautiful
bouquet of lilies to convey the appropriate impression. A nurse approached
me to say that flowers were not allowed, and took them from me, suggesting
that I just sat with Melanie and talked to her. I was annoyed by her attitude,
and cut her off before she could say anything else.
I looked down at Melanie. This was the moment I had been waiting for.
Clearly she was conscious, but could no longer move or speak. At last,
I could tell her how much I had always hated her, and what I had done
about it; the state she was in was all my doing. I told her exactly how
I had worked out what to do, chosen the type of poison, and how I had
administered it. I could tell by a faint movement in her eyelids that
she had heard and understood what I was saying. This was the most triumphant
moment of my life.
Today I attended her funeral. Quite a turnout. Masses of flowers, and
sickening eulogies from various people. I found out that the sister in
Canada was in hospital herself, and unable to travel. That nurse from
the hospital was there, and came up to me, to hand me a letter. What impertinence!
What on earth could she have to say to me? I’ve not yet read the
letter; first I will treat myself to a large sherry and a piece of fruit
cake, to celebrate my triumph.
Dear Miss Lawson,
I hope you will not mind my writing to you. I tried to speak to you when
you visited Miss Whitaker in hospital. I wanted to explain to you about
the recordings. Since Miss Whitaker’s sister was unable to visit,
she was understandably extremely distressed. When Miss Whitaker herself
could no longer speak I had the idea that I could send her sister recordings
of the visitors who came, so that she could feel that she was there, and
hear how much her sister was loved. I obtained the permission of other
visitors, but you hurried to her bedside before I could ask you.
I now realise that what I did was very wrong and I am writing to apologise
to you. I got your name from the flowers you brought in and I am sure
I will see you at the funeral.
However I feel sure that you, who worked with Miss Whitaker, would be
glad to know that you will be bringing comfort to her sister at this sad
time. I have now sent the recordings to her.
Yours sincerely,
Mary Pierce.
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