The perfect murder weapon – an icicle?
The perfect crime – robbery? fraud? Kidnapping?
What is the perfect crime?
Perhaps the reason why no one can think of the perfect crime is because there is always a trail. Someone could be seen.
At night – what about the woman next door breastfeeding in the dark gazing out the window with boredom.
During the day – the Taxi driver waiting for a fare.
Dinner time – the kids walking back to their house with their takeaway.
What time would you perform the perfect crime? What would you target? Monets, Money, Medicines?
There was a time when I thought there was a perfect crime. I’d supposedly performed it. Now, I wonder. It is perpetually cold and there is no escape. Even outside I can not run. I can not hide.
The plan was formed and I just had to wait for the right timing. It would take all my skill and much patience. But nothing good comes to those who wait. So wait I would
It was bitterly cold on the corner. I had a black cauldron beside me, bell in hand and my words rang out. “Hark the Herald Angel sings glory to …” The words of the carol imprinted into my soul. A sign at my feet pleaded successfully for donations to those less fortunate at Christmas time.
It took me twenty years worth of Christmas’ to save enough of the penny donations to launch Phase Two of my perfect crime. My workers had done well, standing on their corners singing songs and collecting donations for the less fortunate.
I was ready, dressed in dark clothing. A window slid open for me and I entered the house. I crept to the dull glow of the fireplace to work out where to leave them. There was a stocking hanging from the mantle and I dropped something golden inside it. I headed to the next house, this one, a child had been rude to me, her brother nice. I left a sweet gift on his bed and something useful for the whole family on hers.
Revisiting last year’s residences had been profitable. There were milk and cake waiting for me in all but 3 houses, more stockings hung up by the fireside. My previous experience had allowed me to speed up my break and enters. I added another ten places to my round. I lucked into an obnoxiously wealthy place and found some silver hidden as I bumped through the chimney stack.
I had so many people working for me now, standing on corners, collecting money, buying gifts for the houses I was to enter. I even had assistance with the breaking and entering, occasionally taking from those wealthy enough to afford it, stealing things that would not be noticed. I was going to launch a new business model, I was going to charge people a fee and let them do the break and enter for me.
It was time for Phase Three to officially start. The franchise was so incredibly successful that I had long ago moved my base. Not one of the franchisees knew my identity. My workers communicated via messages. They were pestering me to get Email.
In all the hype about Y2K, I sat back and did nothing, hidden in my hideout, loot from all over the world, treasures impossible to hold. I had completed the perfect crime. No one could prove if I existed or not. I had people perpetuating my myth, the legend I had created, stolen from Nicholas of Patara. I had the souls of billions of children in my hands but at the same time imprisoned myself – Unable to tell anyone about my perfect crime. It is perpetuating itself and the words of a song I hated looped around in my head. The quest for the perfect crime, to enter any space and if caught no one would believe I meant them harm, it was accomplished, but in doing so, I could not die.
You better watch out, you better not cry, you better not shout I’m telling you why. Santa Clause is coming to town. I know when you are sleeping, I know when you’re awake. I know if you’ve been bad or good so be good for goodness sake.