The Medical Certificate - Creative

The Medical Certificate - Creative
The pounding in my head is so familiar; I barely notice the effect of last night?s scotch. What isn?t familiar is the aroma of coffee. I open one eye, in case there is a body lying next to me. The bed is empty, but the bedside table shows proof of another existence; a half smoked cigarette is slowly disappearing in an ashtray. Oh Jesus, what did I get up to last night? I hate awkward morning after conversations. I drape on my clothes from yesterday, and hurry to make a quick exit. I can hear her in the kitchen, and to get out of the house, I have to pass her.
?Good morning stranger. Drink coffee, or is scotch your preferred drink of the morning?? Her full lipped smile and her husky nicotine voice remind me I still have an hour before I have to make an appearance in the office. But it?s best not to do a repeat, no need to hurt anyone.
?I?m running late as it is. Is my car out front??
?It?s parked in the driveway, I drove us here. Your keys are near the front door. Will I see you round??
Might as well let her down easy.
?Yeah, you?ll see me round.? I can?t remember her name.

My office is like my home. No other place is more welcoming. As I enter my floor of the building, my new personal assistant pants up to me.
?Sir, there?s a woman waiting for you in your office. She says she?s being accused of murder. I told her you wouldn?t be in till noon, but she insisted she wants you on the case. Quite a fox actually.?
?Thanks for the update George.?
I walk into my office, and the woman is sitting in front of my desk, back towards the door. As I sit down, I examine her without saying a word. I?ve been called intimidating many times, but she doesn?t even flinch. Hair in a bun, pinstriped skirt suit, and short heal black shoes. A fox? She looks like she?s preparing to become a nun. Too innocent to be capable of murder. Obviously, this is what she was aiming at.
?So, who did you kill??
?I?m being framed.?
?So you say.?
?Are you always so arrogant? I am being framed, and Bob Jones told me to come see you. Apparently your an ex-cop, pissed off at the justice system and its corruption, and the description perfectly fits you.?
?What?s with the innocent get up??
?Appearances are everything. Are we going to talk about the actual case, or do you want to discuss my shoe size??
?If you pay me for it, sure.? She looks frustrated. Better get on with actual questions.
?Ok I apologise. Do you mind if I pour myself a drink while you explain to me what?s happening??
?It?s ten-thirty. In the morning.?
?And I haven?t had breakfast.? She looks at me, not sure whether I?m being serious. To prove myself, I stand and head straight for my cabinet containing my Chivas Regal Scotch Whiskey. It ironic that my office is in such poor condition, looking as cheap as a ten dollar motel room, and yet I manage to buy one of the most expensive bottles of scotch every week. I suppose I have my priorities in order. While I pour myself a glass, I glance at her to make her begin.
?I worked as a nanny for the Welders. They have three children, all under the age of ten. I work from seven till five everyday except Sundays. Worked I mean. Anyway, yesterday, I came into the house and called out for the kids. I walked upstairs and found Mrs Wedler, hysterical, on the floor on the bathroom. In the bathtub was Mr Wedler, his throat had been cut. It looked like he?d been dead a while. I called the police immediately, and Mrs Wedler requested sleeping pills and went to bed before the police arrived. The police questioned me, but I couldn?t tell them much because I hadn?t worked on Sunday.?
?How did you get in the house??
?I have the key to the house and the garage.?
?And do you have an alibi for Sunday night??
?No, I was in my apartment all evening watching movies, but no one saw me.?
?Where were the children when you walked into the house on Monday morning??
?They were all asleep, which is odd, because they?re always up quiet early.?
?I see? and how do you know you?re being framed??
?When the cops were leaving, Mrs Wedler came downstairs in a fury and said I had killed him because I was having an affair with him and he wouldn?t leave his wife and children. She pointed out the obvious; the fact I have a key, I don?t have an alibi, and that they would definitely find my finger prints all over the bathroom. Of course they?ll find my finger prints; it?s where I bathe the children.?
?Is the accusation of the affair true??
?Absolutely not. Mr Wedler was a respected neurosurgeon, and a fantastic father and husband.?
?A wealthy man??
?You?ve never heard of him? He was a genius. He and his wife were the golden couple of the year. Of course he was wealthy.?
?And you think the wife is trying to land you in jail??
?Trying? She was always insanely jealous of my connection with her children, always had something against me. I have no alibi, no evidence has been found of an intruder? It doesn?t look good.?
?Ok, I?ll look into it. Miss??
?Julia Shucks. How much money are we talking about here??
?Didn?t realise we were talking about money.? If Bob Jones sent her to me, it means it?s payback time for the favour I owe him, and this work goes pro bono.
She looks at me with one eyebrow lifted, and I think I see a glimpse of the fox George mentioned. She picks up her handbag, and struts out of my haven.

My door opens, but I don?t look up from my papers.
?George, have you found all the information on the Welders I wanted??
?That won?t be necessary.? I pause at the sound of the woman voice.
?Mrs Wedler I presume?? How old is this woman? The black dress she?s wearing covers what would be an amazing cleavage, but barely conceals her lovely long legs. My pulse quickens. She?s no housewife.
?I?m here with a proposition. As you have been informed by Miss Shucks, she is being investigated by the police over the murder of my husband. He was well respected, and I will not have his memory soiled. Not by her. I ask you to please leave this to the police. I am offering you a cheque of $100 000. I?ll give you $25 000 now, the rest when the murderer is captured. Do we have a deal??
?Well, if you insist.? Hey, I?m working pro bono.

Soon after Mrs Wedler leaves, George comes in.
?Ok. I have birth certificates, marriage certificates, his will, newspaper articles from charity balls they attended, medical documents, photos, everything I could find.?
?That was Mrs Wedler. She just tried to bribe me out of the case.?
?Oh. What are you thinking??
?That the poor woman is going to suffer without her weekly manicure while she?s in jail.?

The marriage certificate reveals that Mr Wedler was seventeen years older then his wife. The will shows that everything is left to his immediate family. A picture perfect family. I shuffle through the papers once more, and something catches my eye, like it?s written in bold.
?George?? I call out to the waiting room, otherwise used as George?s office and the reception room. No answer. Why did I hire him?
?For Christ?s sake. George!?
He comes in huffing.
?Yes sir??
?Look at this.? I show him the medical certificate I?m holding. It was a very important document? The motive in writing.
?I don?t understand sir.?
?Get on the web and research Motor Neuron, now.?
?I know what that is, my distant aunty has it. Basically, the cells that control voluntary muscle activity like talking, walking, breathing and swallowing stop working. You slowly deteriorate away.?
?He was going to become a vegetable? Call Miss Shucks; tell her to come in immediately. Call Mrs Wedler, and tell her to be here in half an hour. Tell Bob Jones the same thing.?
?Bob Jones, sir??
?He was my partner while I was in the force, I?ll need a cop here.?

When Miss Shucks walks in my office door, I can?t believe it?s the same woman I saw two days ago. The prey has transformed into the predator. Her dark eyes and luscious lips make a killer combination with her uncontrolled dark brown hair and black high heels. I disguise my surprise well, like any gentlemen would.
?Miss Shucks. Would you like a scotch??
?No thank you. Have you found anything??
?I have?? As I begin my sentence, Mrs Wedler opens the door.

?What is she doing here? I asked you to stop working for her, did I not?? Bob Jones walks in.
?Once a womaniser, and you haven?t changed partner. You called me in to get jealous of you and these beautiful women??
?I didn?t plan on you all coming in at once. Jones, I called you in because you?re taking one of these ladies downtown, for the murder of Mr Wedler.? I turn to Mrs Wedler, and she?s still as calm as ever.
?Mrs Wedler, were you aware of your husbands medical condition? You knew he suffered from Motor Neuron disease??
?Of course I knew, I shared everything with my late husband.?
?Well, all I need from you now is your confession.?
?My confession to what? Knowing that my husband was ill??
?No, a confession to the murder of your husband, Mr Wedler. You cared much more about your social image and money then you did about your husband. You?re young, beautiful, and very rich. Finding out your husband will end up bedridden and in your care disgusted you. And you couldn?t leave him, what would people think of you if you left a sick husband to fend for himself? So you killed him, got all his money, and blamed the nanny.?
?I want my lawyer.?
?I?ll take it from here partner. Mrs Wedler, come with me. I?m taking you downtown for questioning on the murder of your husband.? Bob Jones drags Mrs Wedler out of my office, taking with him the medical file that I held out in my hand.
I?m left alone with the vixen.
?Shit. I worked for her for three years. How could she have killed her husband??
?Why don?t we discuss this over a scotch? Come on, I know a perfect bar, and your already dressed for the occasion.?
As I open the door of the car for her, I add:
?I think it?s time for a proper introduction. My name is Detective Jason Eagles.?

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