“Irene, I can’t do it!”
“You must, Harold. Write what I tell you so you won’t be blamed.”
‘I’m suffering and so are those around me. It’s better for everyone this way.’
“Now, bring me the gun, Harold. Put it into my hand.”
“Irene!”
“You must, Harold.”
A shot rings out; a body falls.
“I’m sorry for your loss, Mrs. Cramer.”
“It was the drinking, Officer. A cross we both had to bear for too long.”
“Will you have enough to live on?”
“Oh, yes, Officer. Harold was quite wealthy.”