The Suspicious Brown Paper Package Murder.

Anastasia Gault was a gullible young lady. She was the sort of trusting soul who made life profitable for conmen, charlatans, and snake-oil salesmen. There was no extended warranty she wouldn’t buy. No sob story that didn’t break her heart. And no plea for alms she wouldn’t honor with a few dollars. Although, in fairness, she had yet to send any money to a Nigerian Prince with cash flow problems. And for this, she congratulated herself on her common sense and perspicacity.

One day, on a gardening blog she followed, a pop-up ad promised a possible windfall for no upfront cost. It piqued Anastasia’s interest. She was curious to know the details. So she filled out the form and clicked the button. And waited to see what might result.

Within an hour, a reply arrived in her email. It said that she was eligible to enter a short story writing contest. It outlined the conditions. She had to describe a perfect murder. She must incorporate a suspicious package wrapped in brown paper. The piece had to be between 600 and 2,000 words long. It must conform to the community guidelines. And she had seven days to submit it. Within these confines, she was free to write what she pleased. The grand prize was $5,000.

Anastasia was intrigued. Although she hadn’t written much since university, her mother had told her, more than once, she would be good at it. So Anastasia pondered. And after a few false starts, she wrote a story that she thought showed some promise. In it, a young woman named Rachel Wilde receives a suspicious package wrapped in brown paper. In the package is a box containing a vial, a note, a picture of a man, and $5,000.

The note gave the man’s name and offered details about where he lived and worked. It said he liked to drink at a local bar that catered to ambitious young professionals. In the story, Rachel is told that if she went to this bar, found the man in the picture, and poured the contents of the vial into his drink, she would receive another $15,000.

Anastasia liked the idea of a murder committed by a stranger. She suspected that most killers are caught because they have some connection to the victim; or they are robbing him; or there is a fight, and the commotion causes people to look. But if the murderer has no connection to the victim, isn’t robbing him or getting into a fight and they can avoid drawing attention to themselves, then their chances of getting caught would be small, she imagined.

At least that was Anastasia’s calculation. And it was only a story. And there should be some artistic license. So she described Rachel as going to the busy bar and seeing the man in the picture. Anastasia has her heroine wearing a wide-brimmed hat and sunglasses, ordering an unremarkable drink, and paying in cash.

When Rachel sees her target is in a particularly boisterous conversation and not paying much attention to his drink, she gets up and walks toward the lady’s room. Standing next to her target’s drink at the bar, stuck behind the scrum of people blocking her progress to the bathroom, Rachel quickly tips the contents of the vial into the glass. She then pushes her way through the jam of bodies and reaches her destination.

She enters, glances briefly at her hatted and sunglassed reflection in the mirror, before exiting. She goes back to her spot at the bar. Finishes the dregs of her drink. Puts the empty glass down on a tip. And leaves. Initially, Rachel walks away from her home and hails a cab. She has the cab take her to an address across town. She takes out her keys and pretends to be trying to gain entry into a small apartment house as the cab drives off.

She then takes the subway back home, confident that, if there is a video camera in the bar, or if she were caught on CCTV exiting the establishment, she would be too disguised, and her trail too confusing, to render to the authorities sufficient clues to find her.

The next day the local news reported on the suspicious death of a man who had been drinking at the bar. It seems that, as he was leaving with some friends to go to dinner, he collapsed on the sidewalk and died. A few days later Rachel receives $15,000 in another package wrapped in brown paper.

Anastasia was quite pleased with her effort and, following instructions, she submitted her story. The site announced it had received her submission and informed her the judges would give it their consideration.

And that was that. Until a few days later, when Anastasia was sorting through the stack of boxes addressed to the residents of the four-story walk-up where she rented a one-bedroom apartment. In the pile was a package wrapped in brown paper, addressed to her.

She took the package upstairs and opened it. In it were a letter and a smaller box. The letter informed Anastasia that her perfect murder story was one of the finalists for the grand prize. It also said that the editors had found her story quite fascinating, but weren’t sure if it was too incredible. They said that, if Anastasia wanted to ensure its verisimilitude, they had given her the opportunity to take a practice run. If she were interested she should open the smaller box. Anastasia did.

In it, she found a vial of liquid, a note, and a picture of a man. The note said his name was Dennis Hibbertson. That he worked in the financial district but lived on the Upper East Side. And that on Friday evenings, he was fond of a cocktail or two at PJ Reilly’s.

It said she should go to PJ Reilly’s and sneak the contents of the vial into his drink. Just to see if it could be done.

The letter added that she would have to be very cunning as Hibbertson was in on the gag and would be watching like a hawk for anything untoward. Also, she shouldn’t worry, there was only water in the vial.

Anastasia was excited by the game. And the following Friday put on her disguise - although she changed it to a baseball cap on top of a wig she bought at a Halloween store. She added a pair of readers, figuring that sunglasses might be a giveaway. She then walked over to PJ Reilly’s. She recognized Hibbertson from the photo. And proceeded to reenact what she had had Rachel do in her story.

Hibbertson didn’t seem to notice a thing. And she didn’t bother with trying to throw the police off her trail as there were going to be no police involved. As soon as she got back home she relaxed, smiled at the thought of committing the perfect crime - even if it were only a fantasy - and poured herself a glass of wine.

When she woke up the next morning the local news gushed over the man who had collapsed and died on the sidewalk outside PJ Reilly’s. Anastasia felt a chill catch her breath. And then her phone rang. It was an unknown caller. She answered.

“Is this Ms. Gault?” a man asked evenly.

“It is.”

“Ms. Gault, we need to meet.”

“Why? And who is this?”

“Who this is, is not important. And the reason we need to meet is so that you can give me $50,000.”

“What are you talking about?” Anastasia asked perplexedly.

“Here’s the thing,” said the man, “I have video of you entering PJ Reilly’s last night. It shows you going to the bar and ordering a drink. Later it shows you stopping and pouring something into someone else’s glass. You then go to the bathroom and exit almost immediately - certainly without enough time to even wash your hands. And then you run back to your drink and flee out the door.”

He added, “I think the police would be interested in the video, especially in light of what happened soon after. Don’t you? They would probably be very curious to know why you were wearing an obvious wig - and glasses when you don’t normally wear glasses.”

Anastasia couldn’t think of anything to say. And the voice continued,

“Today is Saturday. I would start making arrangements with your bank to withdraw the $50,000 you have in your savings account. Meet me at 5 pm Monday at the South Gate of the Central Park Zoo. Don’t worry,” he added.”I know exactly what you look like.”

The phone went dead.

Anastasia was motionless. Her mind raced like a fully revved engine in neutral. And it dawned on her that the simplest choice is no choice. She had killed a man. And even though there might be extenuating circumstances there would have to be jail time involved.

She felt both angry and terrified. And then she went to the bank and made arrangements to have her inheritance from her Grandmother converted to cash. She had closer to $100,000 but she took only the amount the stranger had demanded.

At 5 pm on Monday, with the money wrapped in the brown paper from the package, she waited at the South Gate of the Zoo. Soon she was approached by a man in a hat and sunglasses. He waved at her like they were old friends.

“It’s good to see you again, Anastasia,” he said

“Again?” she bleated

“Yes, again,” he said. And took off his hat and sunglasses. Anastasia found herself staring into the smiling eyes of Dennis Hibbertson.

“I thought I killed you”

“Oh no. I saw you coming. I had ordered the same thing as the man next to me. And when you poured out the poison, I switched glasses with him. It’s a poison that takes an hour or so to do the job. So both of us were long gone by the time the murder came to pass if you will.”

“But how did you know I would describe a murder that I could then commit?”

“I didn’t. That’s why I have these contests. Writers are so creative and from the hundreds of entries I get, there are always some workable perfect murders. And to me, that’s the perfect blackmail.”

“But how did you know I had any money”

“I didn’t. I took a chance. And here you are.”

“But what if I hadn’t had any money?”

“I play the odds. Do enough of these things and statistically, out of all the entries, you are bound to find some people with cash.”

“You mean you have done this before?”

“Of course. I do these contests at least once a month.”