A Daddy's Dilemma

I was in complete shock. My darling little girl was a mass murderer. This realisation hit me like a thunderbolt. If I hadn't already been kneeling, I'd have dropped to the floor anyway. It felt as if all the breath had been knocked out of me by a sickening blow to the stomach and my mouth was suddenly very dry; so dry in fact that I couldn't speak. There were a million questions in my head, all clambering over eachother in a desparate bid to be asked but my mouth refused to function. It just hung open as I stared into the unblinking, bloodshot lifeless eyes of my daughter's latest victim.

"She's really quite lovely, isn't she! So very femine and ladylike" Linda's voice sounded so matter of fact, she could have been reviewing a wallpaper pattern. "I found her just as she was coming out of a house that's up for sale. She's an estate agent you see, dad, and her name's Laura. It took her ages to die, but she was a most rewarding kill. She's wearing pantihose and that tight fitting skirt of hers' **** her thickish upper thighs to rub together as she struggled, making a delightfully sexy swishing sound. But I'm getting ahead of myself here. I haven't told you the best part about how clever I've been, have I. You'll be so proud of me when I tell you, dad."

Not a trace of remorse for the abominable thing she's done. Just exultation and pride. She'd be locked away for life for sure, either in prison or in a mental institution. She needed to be, before she could kill anyone else. Then, just when I thought things couldn't possibly get any worse, I realised that it was all over for me too. Her Majesty's Civil Service would never brook this scale of scandal. Shagging my boss's wife and stealing the Crown Jewels, I might just get away with if I was discrete enough about it, on the grounds that at least I was showing both courage and initiative. But failing to prevent my homicidal daughter from bringing the Department into disrepute by association, this would be deemed unforgiveable. I'd be, as they'd most politely put it, "taking early retirement." Forcibly retired would be a more accurate description, with a vastly reduced pension pot to survive on in consequence. I felt myself sinking into a deep, dark pit of despair of biblical dimentions. As far as I was concerned, Job had it easy. Even as I was thinking thus, Linda's voice continued in the background. I'd stopped actively listening by this time but some of her words registered. It seems she'd told this young woman that we wished to sell our house but as yet had not put the matter in the hands of an agency. Laura had positively jumped at the chance of securing this bit of business for her company and agreed to come and evaluate the property straight away. Linda was able to keep Laura engaged in general chit-chat as they walked to the house, thus denying her the opportunity to phone her office to let them know what she was doing. I think this was the "clever" thing she'd been boasting about.

"The thing is, dad; I haven't thought this through too well and I need a spot of help disposing of the body."

"W . . . WH . . . WHAT?!"

"Ah, come on dad, you don't want me to get caught, do you?" This question from my, in every sense, femme-fatale of an offspring, brought the whole thing to a head, because the protective father in me didn’t want her to get caught. He wanted her to come to her senses and hand herself into the police in a state of high contrition over what she had done, but in my heart of hearts, I knew this was never going to happen. All I could think to do now was asked the obvious question . . .