Pseudocrime

He had a suspect.  No evidence yet but he was sure that he knew who it was, it was just a matter of proof and he knew that that would only be possible if he caught her red handed.  So he waited.  She’d be back.

It was the quiet that had first tipped him off.  He’d heard it before, and it always meant trouble, less like the calm before the storm, more like that moment of complete silence at a demolition just before the building crumbles in on itself and all that is left is a pile of rubble.  A worrying lack of noise then, but not enough to get him out of bed.  It had been a rough night, and that was just his throat, these late nights and early mornings were not agreeing with him, but he knew it was what he had signed up for, and that it would not last forever.  Would it?


The silence had been punctuated by a small thud, not unlike if you had dropped a golf ball into a knob of butter.  That puzzled him as there were no golf balls in the house, and the butter was all in the kitchen, at least he hoped so, rule number 38 was ‘no butter upstairs’. So far he had a 100% record of abiding by it and that was something he would like to keep intact if he could.  Whether or not rule 38 was still inviolate, that thud had been something, and he really should go and have a look, but his bed was comfortable, and how bad could it be really?  Although he may have to apologise to whoever she had pinched the golf ball from.

That sounded like the tap.  How could it be the tap?  What was happening out there?   Why would the tap have been turned on?  She wasn’t noted for her cleanliness.  In fact, out of everyone that he knew, she would have been one of the last people he would have put forward for an Olympic keeping clean for as long as possible competition.  Although there might be some fame in having the world’s worst keeping clean competitor, and he would be quite happy to put money on her winning that one.  So her use of a tap did not really fit the profile.  She was certainly not likely to be washing away any evidence.  He’d never known a criminal more likely to be caught.  She didn’t clean up after herself, and would quite happily show you the scene of the crime, and try to give you a blow by blow account of exactly what had happened.  Sometimes she would even peer at you expectantly as though she wanted you to join in with her.

This was it.  He could hear the footsteps coming down the hall, padding excitedly.  Soon all would become clear.  He tensed up, each time something like this happened he thought he could not be surprised again, and each time he was wrong, now he was taking nothing for granted.  But what he saw still shocked him.  It was his daughter, he was sure of that, but she was white, all over, especially her hands.  It was only when she dived into the clean washing basket that he made his move.  Whisking her away he examined her hands, although little examination was necessary as she exultantly presented him with a tub of Sudocrem clasped in her extremely white and sticky hands.

Just add child for instant ghost

It turns out N had found the Sudocrem, squidged her hands into it, smeared that around the tap, clearly in an attempt to wash it off, and then come into the bedroom to wipe it on the clothes she had already spotted in the basket.  Once I had her, then daddy became the cloth and I was covered in the stuff until we managed to get back to the bathroom.  We got all cleaned up and the Sudocrem was replaced where it should have been put the night before. 

Lesson learned then, but at least I don’t have to apologise to anyone about their golf ball, and happily the butter didn’t make it up the stairs.