‘Doctor, can you explain how to commit the perfect murder?’

Clearing his throat, pushing his glasses along his nose, seated opposite the young woman. ‘Why do you insist discussing this every week?’

She glanced around the room of couches and wandering lost mental souls. ‘Here’s the best place to talk about characters and do my research.’

‘You’re a…writer this month,’ referring to the notebook cradled in his lap. ‘Writing about the perfect murder?’

‘Sure. Why not.’ Shrugging her shoulders. ‘You nearly succeeded didn’t you, Doctor?’

‘Excuse me?’ Looking over the rim of his glasses.

‘Your wife-’

‘Young lady…’ Lifting his pen in the air, then halted mid thought. ‘Okay.’ Crossing his legs, leaning back. ‘I’ll allow you to indulge with this illusion. So tell me then, how did I commit this near perfect murder?’

She leaned forward. ‘Start with a hallucinogenic, slipped into the coffee, then let your wife drive you to work.’

‘Wouldn’t I be risking my life being contained within the same vehicle?’

‘You were safe at work when you sent her on an errand all the way across town. That’s when the drug took hold, resulting in your wife’s fatal accident and killing two others.’

‘Why would I kill my wife?’

‘For the insurance claim. The type of drug used, normally, would’ve gone undetected. They’d assume it was her diagnosed phobia of driving on the freeway, driving an unfamiliar larger car, yours, while her smaller car was conveniently at the garage.’ Hands clasped in her lap, she sat back. ‘Where did you get that hallucinogenic and how long does it take to work? Is there some specific weight ratio – ’

‘Why would you want to know?’

She looked around as she leaned forwards.‘I want to commit the perfect murder by learning from your mistakes.’

‘What mistakes,’ shaking his head, frowning.

‘At the coffee shop the Barista spotted you adding white powder into a takeaway coffee cup, rambling about your wife’s preference to a certain type of artificial sweetener – captured on camera. And you purposely sent your phobic wife onto a busy highway?’

‘I can assure you, my wife is alive and well. Remember, I’m the Doctor here. But why would you want to commit a murder?’

Leaning back in her chair, smoothing out her skirt, she looked at him. ‘I don’t love my husband anymore. This way I’ll get a nice insurance payout. I’ll sell everything. Go lie on some beach, drinking cocktails out of coconuts in Thailand, living like a pampered queen for the rest of my life.’

‘What about your family Julie, what would they think?’ He glanced at his notes. ‘There’s your Father to consider?’

‘My dad wouldn’t care.’

‘Why not?’

‘He’s got memory issues and currently serving a life sentence for murdering his wife.’ She stood up, placed her hand on his shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze, ‘see-ya next week, Dad.’