I Murdered The Prime Minister

'I want to report a crime,' the lady said, stressing the urgency of her matter by pounding her fist on the wooden table. The brown locks of her hair fell off her shoulders and hung a few metres above the desk. Frustration was perceptible on her face because she had delivered the same sentence thrice and received no response.

The police officer finally decided to look up from the magazine he was reading. He eyed the lady standing in front of him. Dark eyes, but pale skin and soft. She was beautiful indeed, more beautiful than the models he was staring at in the magazine.

He tossed the magazine on his desk and stood up.

'You can report your crime at that desk,' he told her, pointing to the tiny table and chair in the corner of the police station where a lady police officer was sitting- knitting an abnormally large scarf.

'I want to meet the Inspector,' she demanded and looked the male officer right in the eye, probably in hopes of establishing some fear in his mind, but he wasn't scared.

Instead, he was busy admiring her looks and how good she looked in a beige trench coat with a red shirt peeking out from underneath it. The shirt was neatly tucked into her black trousers whose waistband accentuated her slim waist.

'All crimes against women are handled by her, ma'am,' he spoke, softly attempting to add some sweetness to his voice. Little did he know that he sounded like a fool when he spoke in a sugary tone.

'What about crimes committed by women?' the dark-eyed woman asked, leaning over the desk and the police officer did the same, 'What kind of crime could such a beautiful woman do.'

He tried to reach for a lock of her hair and tuck it behind her ear but she slapped his hand right away before it could be anywhere near her face.

'I murdered the Prime Minister,' she revealed and the whole room was plunged into silence.

***

'Maybe you could handle me with some respect?' the brown-haired woman spat the words at the lady cop who had dragged her into the Inspector's cabin and pushed her into a chair, opposite to him.

'She claims to have killed the Prime Minister,' the male officer from before, whispered in the ears of his superior but his voice was audible enough to reach the lady who was the subject of their short exchange.

The inspector whispered something back, discreetly which made the listener take a few steps back and straighten his posture.

'In the past hour, I don't recall the phone ringing to inform us of the death of our lovely Prime Minister. We would be the first ones to know since she is staying at the Imperial Hotel, close to our station. That phone would be ringing every second, like a maniac if it were ever to happen,' the Inspector said, pointing at the black telephone that lay undisturbed, in the corner of his desk.