DCI Brendan Moran #5 – a taster

I’m going to kill myself.

I wanted to tell somebody, record something for posterity. Gives me something to do I suppose, while I wait.
I’m not frightened. It’s getting hotter. [Pause] I was expecting that. I’ve got a torch with plenty of batteries, just in case. I want to make sure I can see what I’m doing. Eventually I’ll stop talking, and you’ll just hear my breathing. [Faint movement]

I’m sorry if I make any horrible noises. [A sigh] I expect I might.

I know what you’re thinking. Is she crazy? Why is she doing this? Why did she do this? You found me by accident, right? – and this recording, of course. I’m sorry if it’s really gross in here by now.

But you want to know why, don’t you? No one did it to me; I did it to myself. But I got someone to help, obvs. No questions. No talking me out of it. That was part of the deal. Someone I didn’t know. Someone anonymous. You won’t know them either. Don’t bother looking. [More sounds of movement, a breath]

Anyway, no point in rabbiting on. I always talked too much. That was one of the big issues, he always said. Well then; bye for ever, and sorry about the hassle.

My name is Michelle LaCroix. I was twenty-nine years old. That’s it. [Stops abruptly]

DCI Brendan Moran stabbed the recording machine’s off button. ‘So the question is…?’ He turned to DC George McConnell, and cocked an eyebrow.

George pursed his lips. He’d rushed to get here and was out of breath; but less so than he would have been six months ago. The gym sessions were making a difference, as was the alcohol avoidance. Both disciplines were a challenge but so far he was on top of it. The guv, however, looked tired and drawn. The Irish business had clearly taken it out of him. Moran’s face had a greyness about it these days, and his clothes seems to hang on him a little more loosely.

But the eyes had lost none of their clarity, and they were looking straight into his, waiting for an answer.