nothing from Tom. The detective had been and told them that the body belonged to a young woman who had decided she had nothing more to live for. Nick was in the kitchen making their supper. Her reading was suddenly interrupted by a knock on the door. She opened it and screamed. A figure stood motionless at the door, face smeared in blood. It was Tom.
As Jean stepped back Tom fell forward and landed face down on the floor. He was motionless.
Nick comes running in from the kitchen. 'Oh my God!' he cried seeing the body.
'It’s Tom.' Jean cried. 'He's dead.'
'We had better call the police.' said Tom.
'Not so fast my friend.' a male voice said behind him.
Nick spun round and found himself face to face with Tom.
'So you decided to kill me hey?' said Tom as he went to pour himself a drink. I knew all about your little scheme so I hatched one of my own.‟
'How did you get off the balcony?' Nick asked.
'Why don't you ask Jean? he said.
Nick turned to Jean and saw she was smiling. 'Remember as we were heading for the taxi and I told you I'd forgotten something? Well I returned to open the balcony doors. I knew Tom was alive all along.' she said. 'I also know you have a life insurance policy worth two million pounds.'
'What are you saying Jean?' Nick enquired.
'I did love you.' she said. 'But I love money more. With you dead I would inherit two million pounds plus all future royalties on your existing books.'
'That's right.' Tom said. 'She promised me a lump sum if I used my creative mind to find a way to kill you. Funny how you decided to use the same idea with me.'
'And I am going to use the same plan to kill you both.' Jean said producing a gun. 'Oh Tom did you really think I would share that money with a loser like you.'
'You mean you used me!' Tom said surprised.
'That's right.' Jean replied. She pointed the gun at them. 'Get onto that balcony.'
As they walked to the balcony with Jean right behind them Tom suddenly had an idea. Quick as a flash he grabbed the gun out of Jean's hand and pushed her out onto the balcony. Nick pushed Tom out onto the balcony and locked the door trapping them both outside.
As Nick went to leave he said: 'You were right Tom. This is the perfect murder.'
THE WALLET
Jack Waite, a small time crook, hid behind a large skip in the dark alley. The rain lashed down and he pulled his jacket tightly around him as he shivered in the cold. He threw the smouldering remains of his cigarette onto the damp ground and stamped it out with his heel. He trembled. Not only with the cold but also with fear. The fear that shook violently in his whole body as he recalled the evil deed he was about to commit.
He poked his head out from behind the skip and glanced into the bleak darkness of the alley. He could just make out a pub called the Rose and Crown at the end of it. The time was eleven-o-clock, and he knew that soon, a drunk from the pub would use the alley as a shortcut home. Jack had it all planned out. When the drunk passed the skip Jack would jump out, hit him with a brick, grab his wallet, and then run all the way back to his flat. And so he stayed hidden. Watching. Waiting for his victim.
Suddenly, a sound made him jump. The sound of an object clattering against the wall. He looked. Then he breathed a sigh of relief. It was only a cat in a bin looking for food.
With cold shaky hands Jack fumbled for a cigarette. Suddenly the sound of drunken roars made him jump. He looked up the alley again. In the dark shadows he could make out a shape. The shape of a man. A drunk. The drunk was staggering from side to side, obviously the worst for drink. His arms and body swayed as he sang a drunken ditty. Jack waited with baited breath. The drunk was getting closer. The tension in Jack's chest rose to bursting point. The drunk had passed the skip.
Jack grabbed hold of a brick and jumped out. He raised the brick above his head. The drunk stopped singing and his face locked in horror. Jack smashed the brick into the drunk's forhead and watched him collapse into a heap on the ground. Sweating feverishly Jack grabbed the drunk's wallet from his jacket and ran away from the alley.
Back in the safety of his small pokey flat Jack locked the door and leant against it breathing heavily. When he had caught his breath he opened the wallet and smiled. Inside were fifty pounds and an ID card which said “Harry Gorse”. Jack put the money in his back pocket and examined the wallet in the hope of finding more money. It was an old battered brown wallet with a zip at the side for loose change. Apart from the ID card it was completely empty so Jack threw it on the table, and went to the drinks cabinet to pour himself a large whiskey.
He sat on his battered old couch and looked around the room. The walls were bare, the carpet was ragged, and the little furniture he had was the couch, the drinks cabinet, and an old coffee table. His joy quickly turned to sadness as he remembered how his life used to be. He was married to a beautiful woman and had two healthy children. He also had a good job with prospects. But it all went wrong the day he stole that money from the till. He was caught on video camera and fired on the spot.
In his anguish he went to the nearest pub to drown his sorrows. Whilst there he met an attractive prostitute. He got completely drunk and spent the night with her. In the morning he felt so guilty he went home and told his wife everything. She was so upset she packed her bags and left him, taking the children with her. Life got worse. Jack couldn't find another job so he turned to a life of crime. Robbing people and selling drugs. Anyway he could get money. And now here he was, alone in a pokey little flat with no friends and no hope.
He polished off the rest of the whiskey and fell asleep on the couch.
The morning came and Jack was awoken by the clatter of the letter box. The morning paper had arrived. Jack picked it up and glanced through it as he walked back to the couch. A piece of news caught his eye and caused him to gasp in shock.
A man was found dead last night in an alley near the Rose and Crown. The man, identified as Harry Gorse, was killed by a blow to the forehead by a brick. A man was seen running from the area around about 11:10pm.
The flow of the shock hit Jack like a bullet. He couldn't believe it. He had killed that drunk. He had only meant to knock him down. But kill him! It was an accident! Jack's hands were trembling as he reached for a full bottle of whiskey and poured a large measure. He took a deep swig and looked at the table. The wallet was there. The wallet of a dead man. Jack cupped his hands over his head. He had to get rid of it. The police could come and find it. He opened the door, grabbed the wallet, and threw it in the nearest skip, making sure his fingerprints were wiped off it first.
As he emerged from the alley he saw a coffee shop and decided a hot cup of coffee would help him calm down. He ordered his coffee and sat down while he waited for someone to bring it. As he sat at the table trying to recollect his thoughts, his memory flashed a vision of last night. The horror of his victim's face as the brick crashed down on him. It was the last sight Harry Gorse would ever see. The reality of the horror hit Jack with force as he realised something about himself. He was a murderer. He had committed murder for the first time in his life.
Suddenly he noticed a presence before him. He gazed up slightly. His vision was lined up with someone's stomach. He allowed his eyes to trail slowly up the person's body before resting them on the face. Jack blinked. There was something familiar about this face. It supported a large black bushy beard and cold eyes. The forehead was caved in, with streams of blood dripping over the eyes. The mouth started to move. Slowly forming into an evil grin. The eyes narrowed and fixed themselves on Jack. Suddenly he recognised the face. It was the face of Harry Gorse.
Jack covered his eyes and screamed.
'Are you alright sir?' a voice said.
'Huh.' Jack looked up.
'Are you alright sir?' the voice repeated.
There stood the cafe owner holding a cup of coffee. He looked at Jack concerned.
'Oh Err, I'm fine, thanks.' said Jack
taking the coffee and cupping it in his hands.
With shaking hands Jack swiftly glanced around the room, and raised the coffee to his lips. He took a swig and stopped. This coffee tasted funny. He looked inside the cup. It was full of blood! He jumped up screaming and dropped the cup, which smashed all over the floor. He looked again to see not blood, but spilt coffee mixed with the shattered remains of the cup. He looked around to meet the gaze of the startled cafe owner and then quickly left.
Back home he reached for the whiskey and quickly sank two doubles. Leaning forward over the drinks cabinet he took a good long look at himself in the mirror. Trying to make sense of what just happened. After a third double he convinced himself that his mind was playing tricks on him. He glanced at the table and dropped his glass in fright. The wallet! it was back on the table. How could this be? He had thrown it into the skip in the alley. Now here it is back in the room.
Suddenly he heard a deep throaty laugh behind him. He spun round. The image in the mirror was transforming into something different. Jack gazed in terror as the grinning face of Harry looked back.
Jack rushed into the bedroom and locked himself in. He went to the window to close the curtains only to see Harry's face in the reflection. Grinning at him. Laughing at him. Then it spoke.
'I want my wallet, give me back my wallet.'
'No!' cried Jack. 'You’re dead, leave me alone.' The