Martha had left the office in a hurry after Farnicki's call, clutching a thick black filing folder with no labels except two white capital letters — A and G — scrawled in Tippex on the cardboard cover. She kept it hidden at the back of her low roller-door cabinet.
Each month Patrick from Accounting delivered a bank draft: three thousand five hundred euros from the Almain head office, marked AG PENSION 458879. Martha always insisted on handling those transactions herself. Patrick found it odd — bookkeeping fell outside her remit — but he had learned early not to argue with the deputy.
The money was meant to go in full to Agnes's account. For over twenty years, Martha had diverted seventy-five per cent to a secret account in her own name. The remainder reached Agnes. With the extra funds, Martha and her family enjoyed two luxury holidays a year, sent their daughters to the best colleges in Lechia, and bought each girl a car on her birthday. Now, that comfortable life hung in the balance.
The moment that blond inspector first walked into her office, Martha knew the game was up. She had suspected it earlier when Agnes's letter arrived in May. Somehow the wretched woman had discovered the tampering. Oliver must have planted the idea — Martha realised as much when Wojcik confronted him in his office, mentioning a witness who saw Oliver at Agnes's door a month earlier.
In her letter, Agnes demanded copies of all benefit records and court documents. If not, she would go to the police. She even set a deadline and noted that both letters had been sent by registered post; she held duplicates. At first Martha felt trapped. Exposure was inevitable — fraud charges loomed. But they soon found a way to silence Agnes.
Poisoning the cats had seemed the perfect intimidation. Agnes's pets were her entire world; the losses would make her see the consequences of pushing further. Yet Agnes proved slower to grasp the threat than expected. A month later, in June, another letter arrived — reminding Martha the deadline was nearing, reiterating the registered post and copies.
As Martha cast about for an escape, the next blow came from an unexpected quarter. On the Saturday of her murder, Dominique rang early in the morning.
Twenty years earlier, Dominique had been the first accountant Martha ordered to exclude Agnes's transactions and pass them to her. The old woman must have suspected something and eventually uncovered the theft. Martha never understood why Dominique stayed silent back then. Now, after two decades, she had decided to speak — first to Martha, then to the police. And before going to the authorities, she would tell Oliver. Martha would lose her job.
The final shock arrived when the two policemen appeared and announced that Agnes and Dominique were dead. Martha had braced for audits, investigations, lawyers — anything but murder. She barely held herself together. She knew who was responsible.
After the officers left, she was told Agnes's death had been a tragic accident. Dominique, however, had to be eliminated — she would expose the fraud. Martha wasn't directly culpable for Agnes's death, but she was complicit.
The message was clear: stay silent, obstruct the detectives, or face worse consequences.
Martha had no choice but to fight. Farnicki would return that day for Agnes's pension records and a list of everyone with access to hazardous chemicals over the past two months. The walls were closing in. She couldn't believe she had been stupid enough to sign her own evidence — she had personally obtained the cyanide and strychnine, thinking it was only for the cats. Deep down she had always known the real target was Agnes.
But that was her defence: she hated Agnes, yes, but she would never kill her. For twenty years she had profited from Agnes staying alive — preferably for decades. And she couldn't have killed Dominique — she had been at work, seen by everyone.
Martha gave Farnicki her home address and asked him to meet her there. He sounded surprised and asked why. She said the old bank statements were archived in her attic. A lie — she simply needed privacy. She would confess the fraud (better than a murder charge) and point to the real killer and mastermind. The scheme hadn't been her idea.
Farnicki said he would arrive in an hour. Martha felt nervous but relieved at the prospect of finally unburdening herself.
She pulled into her driveway. The electric gate opened automatically via motion sensors — her husband disliked the system, warning that any car could enter, but Martha had laughed it off. Their neighbourhood was the safest in Resovia; no one would dare.
She was surprised to find the door between garage and kitchen standing wide open. She assumed her husband had forgotten to close it when leaving for work. She stepped out, black folder in hand, and walked inside.
The conversation with Farnicki would take time; she needed him on her side. Good coffee and homemade cake should help. She took the cake from the fridge.
The living room seemed best for talking. As she filled the kettle, she heard the printer clatter in her husband's office. It had happened before, but this time paper fed through. She left the kettle half full and went to investigate.
The office door stood ajar. The computer was on, screen displaying a short paragraph. She had heard her husband mention remote commands to devices, but she knew he hadn't set that up on his phone. She took the sheet from the tray and read:
I regret what I have done to Agnes and Dominique. I can't live like this any more. Thank you for everything and please forgive me. Martha.
She stared in disbelief. She had never told her husband about Agnes or Dominique. He must have suspected the extra money wasn't entirely legal, but he had never asked. He couldn't have written this. It was no joke.
Behind her, the heavy curtain rustled. She had no time to turn. A sharp pain exploded at the back of her head. Darkness swallowed her as strong arms caught her falling body.