Free Switchback Stories by Iain Edward Henn Page A

building up the business to lose half to that lazy, mousy woman.’
    ‘The big question is – can you handle the cops?’ Anna asked. ‘You’ll be an obvious suspect. And the law has an uncanny way of digging up evidence when they’re searching for a corpse.
    ‘I don’t know,’ Brian shrugged. ‘I just don’t know.’
    Now he didn’t have to worry.
    When he arrived home, Michelle greeted him at the door, then pointed to the suitcase in the hall behind her. ‘Dad called. Mum’s taken a turn for the worse with this asthma of hers.
    I’m going to fly to New York to spend a little time with her. Just travelling light, with a carry-on bag. You don’t mind, do you, darling?’
    ‘Of course not,’ Brian said. He was delighted. ‘Are you all right though? You look a little pale.’
    ‘Just a headache.’
    After Michelle had left, Brian made some business calls, then went into the bathroom. He shaved. Then he ran a hot bath and sat in the steaming water for over an hour. His thoughts kept turning to Anna.
    I want to be with her all the time.
    When he stepped back into the living room, he saw Michelle sprawled on the sofa, watching “Gone With The Wind”.
    ‘What on earth are you doing back here?’ Brian asked.
    ‘You won’t believe it,’ Michelle replied. ‘I checked in at the departures counter, got my seat allocation and then the 7.30 flight to New York was delayed for over two hours. I’d developed one of my migraines and I couldn’t have handled waiting around the airport with my head thumping. I decided, since it’s a reasonable taxi run, to head back here, take my pills and do the trip later.’ She attempted a wry comment. ‘One of the benefits of living at East Boston, eh?’
    ‘Yeah,’ said Brian. A neighborhood of Boston, Massachusetts, East Boston was close to the harbor and an easy drive to the airport. ‘And now you’re watching TV.’
    ‘Yeah. Well, I was hoping it would help me unwind.’
    Brian smiled. ‘Of course. These old historical romances have always helped you relax. Quite odd.’
    ‘Beats smoking.’ Michelle attempted a smile but the ache in her temples was too strong. ‘It’s not working this time, though. I’ll have to go and lie down. I’ll log on, in the morning, and transfer to another flight.’
    She headed for the bedroom.
    Brian fixed himself a scotch and dry and sat down in front of the television.
    The movie was interrupted by a station news flash. The familiar face of the newsreader appeared on the screen. ‘News just to hand,’ he began, ‘A major disaster at Boston Logan International Airport has claimed the lives of all those on board the delayed 7.30 flight to New York. TPL’s Flight 475 caught fire on take-off and crashed on the main runway …’
    The glass slipped from Brian’s hand and he sat, open-mouthed, gazing at the scenes of carnage on the small screen.
    The chance to commit the perfect murder dawned on him quickly.
    He reached for Michelle’s handbag on the coffee table and checked the contents. The seat allocation docket was there: 27E.
    He was the only person in the world who knew for certain that Michelle Redding hadn’t taken her seat on the flight. He could see from the charred remnants of the disaster that an accurate body count could be ruled inconclusive.
    Brian looked in on Michelle. She was already asleep. A wisp of red hair trailed her cheekbone, shifting slowly to the rhythm of her breathing. He could try smothering her with a pillow, but there was a chance she’d wake and struggle.
    The steely blade of the carving knife was the swiftest, surest way.
    • • •
    Later, he wrapped the body in large, plastic garbage bags and dragged it across the backyard. The incinerator was a large, old-fashioned structure that had been on the property when they’d bought it.
    He remembered Anna’s words from earlier. ‘Never throw a body into the ocean. They get washed up. And don’t bury it. It can be dug up. Burn it. Then scatter