A sombre reflection as International Women’s Day draws to a close. I wrote this last year (during NaPo) after the news that four men had been arrested in connection with this case. Today I read that they will not be charged.
you took your chef’s whites with you,
an early morning start,
perhaps a lift to work carried you to an untimely death.
By whose hand? We somehow guessed it wasn’t a stranger’s–
and whoever it was, switched you off at midday.
How the Daily Mail, along with other amateur sleuths speculated
and gossip was rife–a string of lovers,
middle-aged married men who regarded you as something to
hide under a polished chafing dish–
it all sounds as juicy as any plot served up by Midsomer Murders.
They haven’t found you, yet—there was a fancy
you’d fled to Cyprus,
as if you’d picked up your chef’s knife
and in one clean strike,
cut yourself loose from that sticky web to start afresh–
yet they now know from resources left
untouched you no longer walk this earth
and your family is left grieving
by an empty plinth, wondering–why?