One Lie

“You always do this! You always have to have the last shot!”

“Chill out.” The man removed the empty magazine from the gun and placed it gently down in the storage locker. “If you yell any louder, the neighbours won't have to report us, the police will be able to bloody hear us from here.”

“I was in position. I could have taken the shot.” 

“That wasn’t in the plan. We discussed it, how about next time, you can be the first shooter?”

“That’s a shit compromise.”

She began undressing, placing the bloody clothes in a plastic bag and removing the rubber surgical gloved from her hands. She showered first, scrubbing her skin, her hair and her hands under the boiling, sanitising, water. 

Shampooing her hair, removing the thick gel layer that kept very hair in place. She watched as the dark burgundy run off, the water circling the metal drain, it would need to be taken apart and bleached after they both had showered. She scrubbed under her nails, removing all dark specs and any possible residual evidence that could be used against them.

She wrapped herself in a fluffy grey towel, pinning her hair up and just stood in the warmth of the steamy bathroom. She remembered fondly the events of the day, allowing the happy memories to flood her body with dopamine.

“Are you almost finished? This shit is beginning to dry and itch.”

The peace crumbled around her.

***

“So how was your weekend?”

“It was lovely, John and I spent the day together on Saturday, watching old films and eating popcorn. On Sunday, we spend the day going through the spare room.”

“Getting an early start on Spring cleaning?”

“The mess we need too clean, we thought we’d start now before it turns into spring, summer and autumn cleaning.” Emma laughs, not personal and instead forced. The kind of laugh you hear in an HR meeting right before you get fired.

“Did you hear about the robbery this weekend?”

“I try to avoid that kind of news, makes me so sad to think about the people involved.”

“I’d avoid all news then. Worst one yet, they think it’s the same couple as with the other three, this time four dead. They made off with just over a hundred thousand.”

“Four lives… just so two people could be a little bit richer. It does make you worry about the morality of people these days.”

“I don’t think many would shoot and stab four people.”

“I suppose. If you don’t mind, I must get back to my work and stop thinking about something so morbid.”

Four people? John shot the girl with the blond hair, and Emma stabbed the man and woman who attempted to stop her from leaving. Who the hell was the fourth?

***

“Have you seen the news?” Emma asked panicked, feeling an unnatural amount of anxiety consider the precautions she takes.

“The dead man? The fourth person? I didn’t recognise him from his photo but, they did say the photo was an old school picture.”

“I remember everyone in the room. He wasn’t there. He was also the only person both shot and stabbed.” 

“This might be a good thing. Whoever killed that guy, might take the blame for all of it.”

Emma didn’t know what to think, but there was a pit in her stomach, an anxiety she hadn’t felt it before.

***

With this murder, it meant they had a small window to do what they want until the police capture the third criminal. They needed to act soon. 

They gathered supplies, all cash, each different shops, not buying in bulk. 

She pulled her hair back, braiding it and tying it into a low bun. She slathered a thick layer of gel, holding each of her hairs in place and used the hair dryer to set it hard.

She carefully put on her gloves, having john tape them to her arms and doing the same for him. They got lucky, the tape just ran out as she applied it to his, having to cut off the excess cardboard covered end. 

They had picked their next target, a bank two cities away. It was a hell of a drive, but it couldn’t be tied back to them. 

They rented a car, generic and cheap, switched the plates and packed the spare. 

Everything was routine, precise and carefully planned out. This was going to be their biggest robbery yet; they were going to be set for life once this was over.

“We don’t want to kill, but we will. Employees, staff and others, please move to this side of the room, facing outward towards the window. Stay shoulder to shoulder, do not turn to look at us, do not try to stop us and you will see your family, your home and your friends once again.”

Not everyone does what they’re told, which is why she carries a knife and him a gun. She thought guns were too impersonal, if you want to scare, to hurt and to harm someone, do it yourself. Don’t cop out and make a machine do it for you. 

Emma walked around the marble counter. Their target was the vault however sometimes the workers were careless. Leaving sensitive information, they could use lying around. 

The agony of a blade slicing across her thigh was instantaneous. They hadn’t seen the man hide underneath, even if they had, how would they have known he was armed. 

With a scream, John rushed over and promptly shot the man and point-blank range in the head. 

“He’s cut through my trousers, I’m bleeding. Grab the knife, we can’t leave it here.” 

Sirens surrounded the old building, practically deafening everyone inside. 

They had planned for this. 

John opened his jacket placing down several explosive packages, they weren’t real. Simply designed to look like they were, carefully constructed and designed to show no evidence of the person who made them. They were wrapped in plastic, which john then removed and placed back in his jacket. The plastic was designed to stop sweat and bodily transference. 

“We have a remote detonator; we are going to walk out of here. We are not to be followed; we are not to be recorded.”

Pulling the young couple out of line, they slid their spare hoods onto them, even putting their jackets around the pair's shoulders. 

“We are coming out, are hands are up and we are unarmed.”

The police radio, bought online, called out “All units to north side, suspects are in view.”

It was go time.

They forced the two out the front doors and began running to the back exit. Watch enough tv shows and this shit gets predictable. They made it to the back exit, into the alley way, escaping the camera by hiding behind the bins.

Now precautions. 

They turned their backpacks inside out, a genius bit of sewing by Emma, they removed their suits, gloves and masks, and now dressed like everyone else. All they needed to do was join the hustle and bustle of the crowd.

***

Emma had never felt so sick with anxiety. They were a plastic bag short, and they couldn’t find the knife.

That means, the police will find evidence of both their DNA. 

Both John and Emma came from big families, one of Emma’s older brothers was arrested, charged and convicted with manslaughter in 2003. 

John has so many siblings, too many. His mother has four children with four different fathers and his father…his father had at least six. The bastard died before John could get a definite answer. 

The only hope was that there wasn’t enough DNA that would link them to siblings which could possible link back to them. 

The escape plan also wasn’t perfect. 

For the first time ever, they didn’t know if they were going to get away with it.

***

The police were quiet and polite. They showed up at Emmas work, they asked questions regarding her whereabouts, her knowledge of the situation.

They let her walk out of the office, didn’t even handcuff her until she reached the police car. When she arrived at the station, there was her husband, sitting in a holding cell. 

They placed her in a cold, white room, metal chairs that were bolted down along with the table. She was offered a cup tea and some food or however politely declined, instead she sat silently opposite the two detectives.

“We have reason to believe, based on what we call ‘predictive geography’, that the two criminals involved, lived in this area.” She was presenting a map with a red circular shape showing the village where her and John lived.

“So, we started matching cars seen in the vicinity with recently reported stolen cars, car rentals, a lot actually. It took some time, but once we know where look, all we had to do was plug in our software to ‘ALEN’S CAR RENTALS’ software and there you were.”

“You paid all cash, no security cameras and even gave a fake name. You drove the cars to an allotment, under a different fake name which was again paid with cash, and we watched you do this, using the security footage recoded by the salon opposite the car rental and recorded by… neighbours of the allotment.”

“Mrs William, we have presented you with some of our evidence to ensure that you understand, we know exactly what you did. So, make it easy for everyone, tell the truth.”

“Emma, did you commit these crimes?”

“No.”

***

The questioning had lasted 39 hours on and off. Neither asked for a lawyer, neither asked for a break, neither broke, neither told the truth.

On hour 39, they got the warrant for each person's DNA and the system lit up like a Christmas tree. 

John Williams DNA showed 31 times in 18 years. 31 murders, ransacking of homes associated with drugs and organised crimes. 

“Mrs Williams, you’ve committed 8 bank robberies, you’ve done nothing else. So why? We have proof that your husband committed 34 murders in 31 different crime scenes. He brutally and unforgivingly murdered 34 people.”

“No, he didn’t.” For the first time in 39 hours, Emma’s inflection was angry. 

“So that makes you angry? Well, you’re going to hate this.” 31 A5 photos of horrific crime scenes, murdered men and women with ranging injuries and brutality. “DNA and eye whiteness accounts prove it was him.”

“You’re lying. I want a lawyer.”

***

The new interrogation tactic was to place Emma and John together, watch the relationship implode and hope one of them turns on the other.

“You lied to me… was any of it real?”

“I never, shut your mouth now before one of us says something we regret.”

“You lied. I want to make a deal.”

The two guards had to hold John back, his screams varied from, “One lie, one fucking lie!” To “That is all if fucking did! You did everything else!”

“Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth?”

“I do.”