Trace


Trace

She bumped into him, or he into her.  She didn’t notice that one of her long blonde hairs had clung to his sleeve as they eased apart.

As he apologised he realised that his expensive watch had caught on the sleeve of her coat.  As she helped him release it she caught his hand with one of her freshly manicured nails.  Minute traces of his skin cells were now underneath her nails just as her cells were lingering on his skin.   They untangled but not before more damage was done, a broken fingernail she’d only notice later and the scratch on his wrist watch that would match against the scarring on the plastic button on her coat.

Her perfume, made unique by her body’s own natural odour, would linger on him. The make-up she was wearing would leave traces as her head brushed against his sleeve.    Everything would be matched back to her, compared with what she was wearing, with what she had in her house.  Catalogued and contrasted.  The evidence would build up until she couldn’t refute it.

They’d never seen each other before despite the shared commute every morning. He was a banker working in the tallest building in London and she was a secretary, although she preferred to be called an Executive Assistant.  That day they exchanged pleasantries for the first and incidentally the last time, by day’s end she would lose the job she loved and be cast out as though she was nothing although something far more dramatic was heading his way.

They said she used gloves when she shot him and later discarded them.  CCTV footage taken later that day would see her placing ‘something’ in the rubbish bin outside one of the many tube stations she frequented on her trip to work and back.  A forensic team would arrive too late to determine what she threw away and her solicitor would use that in her defence.

She claimed that it was merely an empty sandwich container, she’d  too busy to eat earlier in the day regardless of buying her lunch at her usual time, the very same sandwich place that had seen him visiting for his usual shot of coffee.  More cameras had caught them together, a  selfie taken by an excited tourist and placed on social media had seen the both of them in the background.   More proof of their connected and intertwined life coming out in the courtroom.

The evidence although circumstantial was building.  On trial for her life she couldn’t understand why she was being targeted like this. She’d never even had a parking ticket before.  Her life was scrutinised and examined by a group of strangers and her control was shattered.  That’s why when the guilty verdict was read out in court she stood up and threatened to kill everyone.  Her own demeanour was now damning her.

The real killer sat in the back of the room and smiled at how easy it had been to frame someone.

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