Harper opened his office door.
‘That must have been some lunch, Henry,’ Clarke said, without turning. ‘We need to talk about Gina.’
Harper dropped into his chair and opened a desk drawer.
‘She’s dead.’
‘And she didn’t beat herself to death.’
The gun was in Harper’s mouth before Clarke could react.
As the trigger clicked Clarke opened his hand to reveal the bullets.
Harper dashed for the window, smashing through it.
Clarke ambled over and gazed down.
Fifty feet below two cops were wrestling with Harper on a slowly deflating crashpad.
The Doc would be delighted at his murder-suicide assessment.
A drabble is a story of exactly 100 words.
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