It Wasn’t Me I Didn’t Do It!

I jumped at the loud rap on my front door.

Two policemen trussed-up in navy-blue uniforms with brass buttons glinting in the early morning light growled at me. The one with a ratty moustache introduced himself. I was in shock and didn’t quite catch the name but the second, shorter and bald, barked, ‘Constable Higgins!’

Where the hell was my husband? Probably hiding in a wardrobe upstairs. 

Moments later, they were sitting in my living room, asking for coffee. The cheek! While the kettle boiled, they started to grill me. After 15 minutes, my head was spinning. ‘Are you charging me with something?’ I pulled myself up straighter, but they both continued to stare at me as if I had urinated in their coffee. Damn it, that would’ve been a good idea. When opportunity knocks, my father used to say, grab it by the ears!’

‘That new, Book Two, of yours,’ said the tall cop. ‘How do you know so much about *salami slicing? 

I glanced nervously from one angry face to the other. ‘What do you mean?’

‘It’s almost a handbook on how to commit bank fraud!’ the bald cop shouted across the coffee table.

Did I tell you they forced me into a police car and took me down to the Central Police Station for interrogation? They called it “an interview” and one of them said it was an “informal conversation.’ Yeah right!

Another appeared, dressed in Black SWAT fatigues with his name badge and insignia removed. I knew then; I was in deeper than the average domestic hot water. Above the rattling of my beating heart, I tried to explain, but they all looked stony-faced and unimpressed with my flaccid excuses. ‘But Officer, (Note to self; it turns out they hate being called “Cop”), ‘it took me months to find the right source and a good journalist never reveals their sources,’ I said breathing deeply.

Another man dressed in a pale beige suit, to match his skin-colour, sneered, ‘Sounds like a load of codswallop’ he said, almost spitting in my cringing face. ‘Take her outside and beat the bullshit out of her!’

I didn’t have the reach, and my pathetic punch was as weak as weasel piss. I knew they were going to kill me, and I hadn’t even opened my Christmas presents yet! My clammy hands were trembling.

SUDDENLY I woke up in shock, with lingering heart-racing guilt and remorse, before realising my characters were taking over my life!

Read more amusing stories on https://nickywebber.com/blog

Wishing you a cop-free Christmas and outstanding 2020.

Nicky

* financial banking fraud – a clever technique of fractional theft, a Lover’s Revenge plot in In the Deep End – Book Two.