Here Comes Treble: Stranger Than Fiction
...Susan, carrying a litre bottle of cold drink. She lifted it, then used it to hammer down on the back of the younger woman’s head. As it shattered, showering them both with sticky, fizzy liquid, Susan grunted, crumpled slowly, then lay still, spread-eagled at the foot of the sheltering dune. In her fair hair blood blossomed and flowed to mix with the syrupy drink, forming a dark stain in the sand.'''
Isabel Bradley tells of murderous events in a small South African mining town.
For more of Isabel's wide-ranging thoughts and words please click on Here Comes Treble in the menu on his page.
The following story was told to us in a small mining town on the West Coast of Southern Africa by one of the protagonists. Names have been changed.
“Hallo, Susan, it’s such a lovely day, Marge and I thought we’d go to the beach. Do you want to come? It would be nice to have you with us.” The telephone was slippery in Anne’s hand and sweat sheened her top lip. Marge stared at her with an intensity that seemed inappropriate.
“You’ll come? Wonderful. We’ll fetch you at half past ten. See you then! ‘Bye.” Anne ended the call and smiled grimly at her friend.
When the three women arrived at the beach’s parking lot, the wind was blowing. Susan, carrying a heavy bag packed with food, sun lotion and towels, headed for the beach, slightly ahead of the others. “It’s so nice of you to ask me to join you,” she said, glancing over her shoulder as she struggled across the hard sand towards the gap in the dunes, through which the breakers of the Atlantic could be seen pounding the beach, spray flying.
“Oh, it’s a pleasure – we really wanted your company!” Marge glanced at Anne, took her bag from her and nodded. Anne walked close behind Susan, carrying a litre bottle of cold drink. She lifted it, then used it to hammer down on the back of the younger woman’s head. As it shattered, showering them both with sticky, fizzy liquid, Susan grunted, crumpled slowly, then lay still, spread-eagled at the foot of the sheltering dune. In her fair hair blood blossomed and flowed to mix with the syrupy drink, forming a dark stain in the sand.
In a silence heightened by the rush and suck of the waves and the hiss of the wind in the dunes, Anne and Marge looked at each other, not knowing whether to be horrified or triumphant.
“That will teach her to lay hands on my husband!” Anne declared. Taking a deep breath, she began to shake. “I don’t believe I actually did it,” she said, gazing down at the bleeding body. “It was harder than I thought. Did you hear the cracking sound when I hit her?” She dropped the blood-stained glass bottle-neck in the sand, bent over and vomited.
“Pull yourself together, Anne! She was a horrid little hussy,” Marge replied. “She deserved everything you gave her, ruining your marriage like that! Let’s pack our things and go.” The two friends picked up the bags they’d dropped and turned away.
From behind them, they heard a groan.
“I don’t believe it!” Marge turned, to see Susan struggling to sit up, holding her head in her hands. “You’d better bash her again, Anne, you didn’t finish her off!”
“I … I don’t think I can do it again, Marge. Besides, the bottle’s broken. I only brought one.” She paused, looking down at her quivering hands. “Shame, she’s bleeding so badly. Maybe we should take her to the hospital.”
Her friend looked at her, a strange glint in her eyes. Without further comment, she returned the bags and umbrellas to their large vehicle and spread a towel over the back seat. Then she walked back to the wounded girl. “Come, Anne, help me with her,” she said, her voice hard. They managed to help Susan to her feet, and half-dragged, half-carried her between them to the vehicle, where they laid her gently on the back seat.
“Susan, promise you won’t tell anyone we tried to kill you. Tell them you fell and hit your head on a rock,” Anne instructed. Susan groaned. In silence they drove their victim to the small town’s hospital.
Once she’d recovered a little, Susan told the nurses what Anne and Marge had done. The police were called. Excitement in the community grew to fever-pitch as the news spread. Within hours, the two women were arrested. A ferment of gossip erupted when it was learnt that they confessed not only to the attempted murder of Susan, but also to that of their husbands!
Anne and Marge both wanted to divorce their husbands, Anne because Kevin was having an affair with Susan and Marge because she didn’t love Pete any more – if she ever had. In the small, conservative mining town where they lived, however, divorce was seldom considered and both men had refused. The only escape from their marriages that the women could envisage was to kill their husbands.
Susan they would deal with personally. To get rid of their husbands, they hired a hit man. His services weren’t cheap: he required a rather large sum of money for the murders; he also wanted his travelling and accommodation costs, the total to be paid in advance. Marge and Anne, over a few weeks, emptied the bank accounts they held jointly with their husbands, and sent the money to the murderer.
He arrived in town, unnoticed, one blustery morning, prepared to begin work that night; it should have been a simple matter to make it seem that Kevin, guilty over his affair with Susan, would commit suicide by shooting himself after a few drinks too many while alone at home. Kevin was dozing over a glass of brandy mixed with Coca Cola in his armchair when the hit man crept into the house. As the stranger was about to shoot Kevin in the head, a child’s wail came from the back of the house. Kevin’ eyes flew open, and he called, “I’m coming, Klein Kevin!” He eased out of his chair and left the room without seeing the man crouched behind his chair. The hit man was patient – there would be other opportunities. He returned to his guest house to sleep. When news of the attempted murder of Susan spread around town next day, the hit man disappeared as unobtrusively as he had arrived.
Marge and Anne were tried, found guilty on three counts of attempted murder, and sentenced to long prison sentences. Under the circumstances it was acceptable for their husbands to divorce them, which they did.
Susan recovered from the mild concussion inflicted by Anne’s bottle, and soon she and Kevin were married.
Pete lived alone. When his ex-wife was released on parole, he confided to friends, “I know everyone tells me I should forgive and forget, but after thinking about it carefully – I don’t think I’ll take Marge back!”
Small mining towns are a microcosm of society. All the murder and mayhem, the passions and scandals of the outside world, are mirrored and magnified; gossip is everyone’s favourite pastime. Everyone knows everybody else; people who would never meet each other in larger towns and cities are forced to spend time in each other’s company, and in such concentrated communities – anything could happen! In fact, it frequently does.
Until next week, ‘here comes Treble'.
Copyright Reserved © by Isabel Bradley
