Book Club

‘How would you kill someone?’

It was early evening. The late autumn sun was still shining through the vertical blinds. There was tea and digestive biscuits on the table for the four men and five women who were sitting round it.

Man or a woman? 

Someone you know?

How old?

What’s the motive?

There was an intense discussion as each recounted a newspaper story or fictional account of murderers and murdered.

The question was repeated, but this time with an added appeal.

‘How would you kill someone……and get away with it?’

‘Well’, Marjorie paused to sip her tea, ‘there are nearly three thousand unsolved murders in the country. So that’s a lot of people who have got away with it, or at least not been caught yet.’

‘And most murderers are men’, added Dorothea, ‘so you have an advantage already’.

‘Most people die around eleven o’clock in the morning’, said Jonathan. ‘If you are going to make it look like an accident, that’s a good time.’

‘The most common murder weapon is a knife’, added Elizabeth, somewhat appropriately spreading butter on her digestive. ‘The second most popular method being strangulation.’ She gave a slight cough as a crumb caught in her throat. ‘So, be imaginative. Don’t make it look like murder.’

‘There’s usually a family or friendship connection’, added Michaela. ‘Better to kill a stranger or at least make sure there’s no obvious connection with your victim’.

‘Look normal, blend in.’ That was Gareth, the only member of the book club who actually had any police experience, although admittedly that was in administration. ‘You’ll have no problem. You wouldn’t stand out in a crowd and people trust you’.

‘Darling’, said Alistair, ‘I do hope you don’t have your nearest and dearest in mind. If I was to pop off suddenly someone would remember this conversation’.

They all laughed at that.

‘Take your time. Don’t rush it. Plan it. Get to know their routines and look for the opportunity. It might be a push under a bus, a slip, a trip or a fall. Or a car accident – that would be my favourite. Or you might just go for a knife in the back in that dark alley they use as a shortcut.’ Jacob’s contribution had them all reaching for more tea.

Marjorie was the first.

Her horse ‘was spooked’ (the police said) and she was thrown from the saddle, breaking her neck. She had been out on her usual early morning ride along the bridle path at the far end of the village. She lay there for a couple of hours before a cyclist discovered her body.

Gareth was next.

He did not return from walking his dog, something he did every night around ten o’clock. He had tripped on his dog lead, bashing his head as he fell to the ground. He was found with the lead wrapped round his legs and the dog asleep at his feet.

Then it was Dorothea’s turn.

She had a heart attack. Everyone knew she had heart problems. She lived on her own. There was no one at home to call an ambulance.

Alistair was next in line.

He committed suicide. She found his body swinging from a rope in the garage. A note describing his money, gambling and debt problems.

There was a gap of a few months before Michaela.

Accidental overdose was the coroners verdict. Friends agreed that she was forgetful and had difficulty remembering when to take her medicine. 

Elizabeth was found dead in bed. Natural causes was recorded on her death certificate.

Jonathan drowned. He had taken his usual Friday night shortcut home from a drinking session in The Black Bull, slipping on the crossing stones as he made  his way across the river.

She and Jacob kept the book club going. It still meets monthly, with tea and digestives, and they have recruited lots of new members. They go on holiday together and plan to get married.