It was hot and dry. But that didn't stop the humidity from hanging in the air like a damp towel thrown over a curtain rod.
Every living thing oozed moisture. What wasn't living had a thin layer of sweat sitting on it or running off it.
It hadn't rained in several weeks
But it scarcely needed too. The humidity hung in the air was like a raincloud.
The oppressive heat and humidity had made his life miserable
Actually, it hadn’t: It only greatly contributed to it.
Cramer Forrester had been contemplating several things. None of them good.
Today he made up his mind on the least offensive thing. Killing his wife.
Actually killing her would be the easy part.
The day came. It was time to do what was to be done. Cramer Forrester administered the drug as planned. It was to be a quiet peaceful death. More than she deserved. But it also solved a lot of questions. As he didn’t have to be there at the time. He’d had switched her medication several weeks ago. Being careful not to leave any prints on the bottle or any pills he doctored to double their medications. He had held the bottle of doctored pills back for several weeks. Finally, the time was right. He went in and said good morning to her and did the usual things one did with a bedbound person. But this would be the last time. He was going away later that day for a business trip and would be out of the country for several weeks. When she was indisposed, to took the chance and poured the good medication down the drain. And filled the current bottle with the doctored pills. Hiding the old bottle he had brought in the doctored pills in he calmly left the current bottle by the bed, along with the rest of her medications.
Cramer Forrester kissed his wife goodbye and left. Knowing full well, by the time he got back from his trip abroad, she would be dead. And there was no way to connect him to the pills. He had been careful. Only taking a couple of pills at a time, Just enough not to be missed. When he had collected enough pills. He doctored about a dozen pills. Along with the regular pills. They all looked the same and would be impossible to tell a doctored pill form a regular one. Of this, he had been most careful. He had been careful not to touch any of the pills with his bare hands, for fear of leaving trace DNA, or worst yet a partial print on the bottle or pills. He knew his prints would be all over the house and her room. He was there every day, and he'd touched many things. But he had always been careful not to touch her medications. Always making a point that if he didn’t touch it, he couldn’t screw it up. Thus letting the nurse and other caregivers handle the medications. The part of about not wanting to touch the medications was true. He had always said that long before he decided that she must die.
Stepping outside was like stepping into a steam room. Cramer Forrester felt the heat and humidity the second he left his wife’s house. The hour he’d spent there had been the longest hour he’d lived through in a long time. But now it was done.
He got into his car, immediately turning on the air conditioner, as soon as he started it. But even the air conditioner of the expense foreign car was working hard on conditioning the air in the cabin. Soon it was at least tolerable.
He arrived at the airport. Collecting his suitcase, and carry on the bag, which was ridiculously small, he entered the main concourse of the airport. Checking his tickets he found the gate number he needed and made his way to the gate. Soon he was in the line to check his bag and process his ticket.
“Cramer, Cramer Forester.” a quiet calm voice called his name from behind him. Cramer stopped in his tracks and turned around. Several men greeted him.
“I’m Detective Lewis Sinclair. I’m arresting you for the attempted murder of your wife, Gloria Forrester.” He explained calmly. Cramer stood still in shock. How could anyone know about his plans, and what he'd did that morning?
One of the other detectives slid over from where he was standing. There behind them was his wife. She was standing on her own two feet. Completely dressed and looking better then he’d seen her in a very long time.
He was at a loss for words. The detectives came over and collected his bags and handcuffed him. The ride in the police car a was a blur. It didn’t seem real. Here he was locked up in the back of a police car. Once that the station the dream continued. Questioning, booking, fingerprinting searching and finally a holding cell.
Later that day he found himself in a small interview room. The kind of the one-way glass mirror. And a camera or two propped up in the corners of the room. Recording everything said and done.
Cramer Forrester never imagined that he could or would get caught.
But yet here he was. Detective Lewis Sinclair came into the room along with one of the other arresting detectives. He never got his name.
“Mr. Forrester, we are charging you with the attempted murder of your wife Gloria Forrester, and the murder of your mother in law, Dorothy Evans,” he said flatly and with no hint of emotion. The detective plopped a large file in front of him. Loudly. The thud of the file hitting the table was deafening in the small room.
Sitting down he continued.
“Mr. Forrester. You Need money don’t you?” he asked.
“Who doesn't?” came the replied.
“But you need a lot and you need it in a hurry. If your wife died you’d inherit her fortune, which would pay off your gambling debts, and other outstanding bills”
“We’ve been watching you for a long time. We suspected that the death of Dorothy Evans was suspicious but we couldn’t prove it. We thought it probably happened like you planned for your wife. So we waited and watched. The accident your wife was in was staged to put you in a position to have to do something. Which you finally did.”
It all came to him. The accident, and the sudden drain on his cash flow from her. It was calculated to make do something. And he fell for it hook line and sinker.
Well, there was one good thing from it all he resigned himself to his fate.
At least he was rid of his wife.