What could go wrong? 

By Len Morgan

She was a staff nurse, so taking his life was easy, she slipped him a mild sedative at breakfast. Sat him in his favourite chair, with a glass of fine whisky. When he succumbed she injected 25cc of potassium chloride into a melanoma, on his neck, using a fine 'double awt' needle. 
She watched him convulse, checked his pulse, then went to visit her sister for the weekend.
Monday morning the doctor would pronounce him dead of a heart attack, the potassium chloride would be undetectable after 72 hours. She would discard the needle and syringe in the cloakroom at Victoria station, and continue on to her sisters as planned and, she would be free...

It was a good plan, what could go wrong?

                                            .-…-.

She entered the restroom, took the syringe and vial of Potassium from her purse and heading straight for the overflowing rubbish bin.

"What's yer poison Missus?"

She turned, a reflex action, "What the fuck..."

"Come on Missus, you can spare some of yer stash for a fellow user, watcha got, snow, smack, hash, stardust, pills?"

She looked closer at the filthy young man with dust in his straw-coloured hair sitting on a threadbare pile of grey blankets. He rose and looked down at her menacingly. He held out his hand. She handed him the syringe and vial. "And the Bag!" he said.

She looked into his swarthy face, mesmerized by his dark brown eyes. She turned to run but he grabbed her bag, pulling her off balance. "Help me!" she yelled. "Help, heeelp!" She could hear passers' by, but nobody came to her aid.

"Watcha got in ere then?" He put the syringe and vial beside a half-empty bottle of vodka, opened her bag and tipped the contents out on the ground. He brushed things aside lippy, compact, lighter, ID card, mobile phone... He opened her purse and put her cash and credit cards in his pocket. She tried to run again but he grabbed her coat and dragged her roughly to the ground, "Yer lookin for a bit of rough ain't yer? Give us a kiss." He grabbed her hair and drew her face towards him.

"Leave me alone she screamed," hitting out, headbutting him in the face. His blood sprayed her clothes her face and her shoes.

"Bitch!" he screamed pummelling her with blows to her head and torso continuing his frenzied attack long after she'd lost consciousness.
                                          

                                                   .-…-.

A crowd gathered at the restroom door, attracted by the presence of railway police.  One officer surveyed the scene and took charge, he called out "Is there a doctor here?"

"I'm a doctor, let me through." The small crowd parted to let him into the restroom.

"Hello Doctor, I'm John Carpenter, railway police. I was the first responder. He's dead I'm afraid, it could be murder or an OD. Looks as if he gave her quite a beating, she's been unconscious since we arrived about five minutes ago."

"Well she's still alive, have you called an ambulance John?"

"They're on the way."

"Your right, he's dead, there's a syringe in his arm, whatever he took knocked him out cold. There's a vial of something under his arm," he produced gloves and a plastic bag, and carefully lifted the bottle, "There are some letters on the base 'KCl' could just be the manufacturers mark or it could..." The penny dropped, "Potassium chloride! Harmless if taken orally, fatal if injected."

"The ambulance has arrived! Let them through," the crowd parted and two green-clad paramedics entered,

"Are they alive Doctor?"

"She is pretty beaten up but alive, he's gone I'm afraid, tell them to check for potassium specifically."

"Her purse is empty, ah there's an ID card on the floor here." John picked it up carefully, by its edges. "Name: Margaret Graham, Address: 11 Watery Lane, Hullbridge, Essex. NOK: Harry Graham husband."

"Does she have a mobile?" John cast around careful not to disturb the scene. "No luck. I'll try his pockets. Yes, he has a pink iPhone, not his style I would guess." So, all we can do now is wait for the Crime scene investigator,"

A man dressed in white coveralls carrying a white case came in.

"Winston Dawes, CSI, what have we got John?" He knelt to check Margaret's vitals,

"I'll call her husband, Doc. She'll need his support when she regains consciousness."

John dialled, he tried several times, "there's no reply on the home number or from his mobile. I'd say he's either asleep or at work.  I'll get on to the nearest station; Rayleigh I think. Get a PC round to roust him out, or maybe speak to a neighbour, we need to know his place of work."

WPC Jackie Martin knocked and rang several times before peeking through a side window. She saw him slumped in his armchair. "Hello? Mr Graham," she rapped on the window "Hello! Mr Graham, come to the door please." No reply, he didn't move but a whisky tumbler fell from his hand and smashed on the tiled floor. He still didn't move. "Mister Graham!" she yelled and rapped on the window with her knuckles. She checked all the windows and doors, they were all secured.

"Yoo hoo constable, I'm their neighbour, can I help?"

"Yes, I need to get into the house, do you have something I could use to break a window?"

"I can do better than that I've got a spare key.  For emergencies you understand."

"Well, I would definitely call this an emergency."

"I'll get it for you right away."

"Can you also call an ambulance please?"

The neighbour returned in minutes. "Here's the key, and an ambulance is on its way."

Jackie went directly to Harry and checked his pulse, there was none, and he wasn't breathing. He was pale and cold to the touch, he was dead.

Jackie accompanied his body in the ambulance.  At the hospital, the cause of death was confirmed to be poisoning. 

One week later, still in her hospital bed, Margaret Graham was formally charged with premeditated murder, procuring and supplying a lethal injection to a second party.

Copyright Len Morgan