The construction company boss has an accident or is it something more sinister? A ten minute read, dialogue driven, no chapters, no indents or page breaks (courtesy of unwieldy formatting) and I originally wrote it for writing group. Certainly an interesting result.

Erica Brook of Brook Constructions looked across the messy building site and was not happy. Work progress was slow, money was tight. And she’d been doing some thinking. She parked the Tesla and fastened the velcro on her hi-vis jacket. Time to ditch the altruistic ideals and read the riot act to the tradies, most of whom she’d known for years.
As Erica crossed the site, the right boot of her R.M. Williams caught on unfinished paving and she sprawled sideways across half-finished brickwork which crumbled under her weight and sent her down onto an exposed foundation spike.
“Erica!” shouted bricklayer Joan Campbell. “You all right, boss?”
Erica’s stricken look betrayed her pain. Blood was leaking through the leg of her jeans, white bone jutting through the fabric. She passed out and came back to reality in the ambulance.
“Don’t worry,” Joan’s face mirrored the white of her hard-hat. “Things’ll be okay.”
Erica rasped through the oxygen mask. “Not likely, Joanie.”
She grabbed Joan’s hand firmly. “Want to become a partner in the business?”
Joan winced. “I think you’re a bit delirious.”
As the ambulance swung into the Emergency bay, Joan made a quick decision.
“Okay, I’m in.”
Outside the hospital ward, Joan diligently phoned everyone to advise of Erica’s impending leg operation.
Post surgery, she returned and sat beside Erica’s bed in a screened off cubicle, nervously twisting her hard-hat in her hands. Opposite her sat Erica’s wafer-thin wife Michelle who trilled “Trieste needs the vet for a nail clip.”
Erica managed a groan through her swollen jaw.
A light-footed nurse in a blue Covid mask entered holding a glass of water and medication. The charged glance the nurse shot Joan took her breath away.
Michelle sat stiffly, gazing out the window, while the nurse neatly administered pills to Erica then left the cubicle.
“Erica,” Joan asked, “Want anything to eat? Chiko Roll from the cafeteria?”
Erica’s glazed eyes managed to look hopeful.
“No,” snapped Michelle, “she’s on a diet.” 
Disconcerted, Joan muttered “Okay, the site manager should phone soon, I’ll be off then.”
She scrambled to leave ahead of Michelle. At the nurses station she leaned over the counter towards Erica’s nurse and read her name tag. “Annalise”.
Keeping a blank face she asked Annalise if Erica was going to be okay.
Annalise replied in a low voice “She’s suffering from external symptoms.”
Realisation dawned on Joan. “Oh, her wife, I get it…”
Annalise put a finger to her lips to shush Joan and pointed towards the lift doors.
Already wearing sunglasses, Michelle prodded furiously at the buttons, saw a plaque on the wall, and almost tripped through the opening doors.
Joan broke the silence “I’m going down to the cafeteria, want anything?”
“No thanks.” Annalise grimaced. Joan wondered if that was directed at her or the food.
Over lunch Joan checked the news reports and came back thirty minutes later to ask Annalise if she’d seen her hard-hat. “Under the chair where you sat, silly.”
Joan walked the squeaky linoleum floor, entered the ward and stopped at the wrong cubical. “Sorry,” she said, backing out.
She found her hard-hat and bid poor Erica’s taped and tubed body a sombre goodbye.
At home, Joan Campbell was detained by police and told that she and nurse Annalise would be taken to Central police headquarters to be interviewed separately regarding the unexpected death of construction billionaire Erica Brook.
Their second interview was together, without legal representation, in a windowless room at a police detention centre. Joan wanted answers but the only response from a tall uniformed constable was a paper cup of water and his advice to wait patiently.
Drumming her fingers, Annalise stared blankly at the pockmarked white wall until finally it was confirmed that Erica had been murdered.
“Murdered!” Joan stared at Patricia Ruben, the incumbent Senior Detective with small yet stunning earrings no doubt frowned upon by her boss.
“How?” asked Annalise.
Detective Ruben sat down and glanced at her papers. “Death from suffocation.”
She turned to Joan. “Ms Campbell, tell me your movements from when you arrived to when you left the hospital.”
“Well, there was the site accident, an ambulance ride, a chat around Erica’s bedside, I spoke to Annalise, had lunch, went back to get my hard-hat, and left.”
Annalise shrugged. “Standard treatment. The patient was stable and resting.”
Ruben turned again to Joan. “Ms Campbell, I must warn you that building on past events, your return to the cubicle makes you a suspect.
Joan flared up. “No way.”
“And,” Ruben held up a long straight finger, “you inherit the Brook Constructions company.”
“Totally not right.” Joan felt weak and slouched back in the chair.
Ruben passed her the water cup. “You had a discussion in the ambulance.”
“Erica was emotional with pain. It wasn’t some high-powered business transaction.”
“From her hospital bed Ms Brook had informed her wife Michelle of company changes, best to check with her.” Ruben shuffled documents. “Meanwhile did you notice anything odd?”
Joan sighed.
Annalise gazed at the ceiling, arms folded across her pale blue uniform.
“The whole day was screwed,” she said and continued when the detective tilted her head. “There were patients, visitors, couriers, cleaners, florists and maybe small Paul.”
At that name, Ruben frowned. “Elaborate.”
“He’s short and gets mistaken for a child.”
Joan straightened up. “Just remembered! I went to the wrong cubicle, there was a youngster in the bed.”
“Nobody was in there all day,” snapped Annalise dismissively.
“There was, I saw him.” Joan was adamant.  
Detective Ruben scribbled furiously. “Is he likely to still be there?”
“Check the discharge papers at the hospital,” drawled Annalise.
Overlooking this remark, Ruben asked if anything else had occurred.
“Michelle, er, Mrs Brook certainly left in a hurry,” said Joan.
Annalise jabbed her finger in recollection. “She was pushing the lift buttons as if her life depended on it.”
Ruben made another quick file notation.
“I went back for my hard-hat,” Joan mused. “My work clothes had left dust on the chair seat. I noticed a shoe print.”
“Describe the imprint.” The expensive midnight blue pen scrawled across the page.
“Smallish, not a boot, more casual.”
“I’ll be right back.” Ruben left the solid door ajar.
The constable closed the door and blocked it with his looming presence.
Joan crushed the empty paper cup without thinking. The warm interview room thrummed, making her sweat uncomfortably. She missed her phone and became mesmerised by Annalise finger-grooming her balayage hair but the seductive gestures were spoiled by a what-are-you-looking-at scowl.
Joan leaned forward when a paper-rustling Ruben and the constable regrouped.
“Forensics are still checking,” Ruben advised, “but nobody had seen or heard a youngster.”
She opened a spiral bound notepad, wrote quickly, ripped out the page and showed it to Annalise and then Joan.
Turning it around, she read “One of you is lying.” She scrunched the paper. “And what are you going to do about it?”
Annalise stood up. “I’m not speaking any further.”
Joan felt a stab of despair. How could she have been so blind? She launched herself out of the chair and grabbed Annalise by the shoulders.
The alert constable stepped forward but Detective Ruben raised her palm. 
“Why?” shouted Joan, shaking Annalise who flinched and twisted away.
“Enjoy your broken building company.”
“You killed a good friend!” shrieked Joan.
“She used you like she used everyone,” mocked Annalise.
Ruben checked that she had left the audio recorder running. She gestured Joan to sit and pinned Annalise with a glare.
“Tell me how you knew Ms Brook?”
“By her lousy reputation. Brook and brainless here never cleaned up their work place, never fixed broken equipment or fences or filled deep holes even though council specified it.”
“That’s not right.” Joan squirmed at her lie. “What harm did she cause you?”
Annalise clenched her fists, eyes glazed. “It was a case of sooner or later. I waited until she eventually came into Emergency.”
She refocussed. “Remember the child who got run over by one of your site vehicles?”
“Y-yes,” Joan hesitated. “I had just started, but I did see a plaque near the hospital lift.”
Detective Ruben obviously knew where this was going. She wrote quickly, documenting a nightmare as Annalise marked off items on her fingers.
“No security, no hazard warning signs, no site training, no first aid post.”
Joan’s stomach lurched again. “That plaque. Your child.”
Raising her folder, Ruben read “Legal wrangles dragged on. Erica offered no settlement or financial assistance although she was the mother of Annalise’s adopted son.”  
“Her workplace negligence killed my boy Paul,” Annalise screamed. “She blamed me but I got even.”
Joan’s thoughts were spinning as Detective Ruben read out the arresting procedure. Another uniformed officer arrived and Annalise was steered out of the interview room.
She was held by both arms and lead down the corridor, her piercing shrieks echoing back to them. “Erica Brook was easy to smother, I’m glad the bitch is dead!”
A heavy door slammed shut.
“Off to be processed.” Ruben stacked paperwork and glanced at her phone before noticing Joan’s stunned expression. “Forensics already had a match on the shoe print. Maybe she checked for witnesses.”
“There was a child in the next bed.” Joan was quite sure of that.
“Hospital staff didn’t see anyone.” Ruben slowly capped her pen. “That memorial plaque isn’t detailed but allegedly her son used to detour through the worksite on his way to visit the hospital.”
“Poor kid,” thought Joan feeling light-headed, “he saw her retribution.”
Guilt gnawed at her stomach. Instead of confronting Erica about the construction site mess, her obstacle course prank had backfired and caused another deadly outcome.

© Gretchen Bernet-Ward 2024
© GBW2024