You wouldn’t notice Eileen unless she wanted to be noticed.  She rarely wanted to be noticed.  She preferred blending into the background. She was 40 years old, unmarried, and not looking for anyone.  She only wore a little makeup and usually the kind that would detract, rather than add, from her natural looks.  Just a little of the right makeup and most men would consider her beautiful.  Even without makeup some men and women considered her beautiful.  She didn’t want to be considered beautiful; that got her into trouble.  She carried a Ruger LCP 380 Ultra Compact pistol in her purse.  That didn’t help.

She worked as a librarian at the main branch of the New York Public Library on Fifth Avenue and 42nd Street.  That’s the branch with the two famous marble lions in front.  She had been working there for 15 years.  She loved her job and her co-workers.  Salary, benefits and vacation time was great.  She started as a junior reference librarian. In  college she majored  in the medieval history with a heavy emphasis on Spain. As a junior employee  Eileen was expected to be  a jane-of-all-trades at the library.  Whenever an inquiry came to the library on the medieval period or Spain, it was referred to Eileen. She became the acknowledged expert.   Like most of her co-workers, she was a left liberal feminist.  Unlike many, she was not particularly strident in her views.  She had never voted Republican but neither had anyone she knew.

Eileen  killed her first man when she was 25 years old.  There had been a Christmas party after work.  She had been at her job for six months, starting at the library right after she graduated from Columbia University.  Her boss, Mr. Shafner, or Harry, as he told Eileen to call him, invited her back to his apartment for more drinks as the party broke up.  Eileen already had a martini, her first ever, and 3 glasses of wine at the party.  Her judgment and inhibitions were gone.  She went back with Harry to his apartment in a high rise on East 72nd street and the East River.  Eileen  thought she would have one or two drinks, that Harry would make a pass at her, she might let him get to second base, and she would treat herself to a cab ride home back to her apartment in the Flatbush section of Brooklyn.  Harry might even give her the money for the cab ride home.  She didn’t know that Harry had already sexually assaulted six co-workers and she would be the seventh.  After the assault they were standing on Harry’s balcony.  He was trying to calm her, apologizing, saying he was really a good guy and she had given him some powerful positive signals.  He turned his back away from her to light a cigarette.  She put her right hand in a small heavy, empty, metal urn that was standing on the floor of the balcony.  Eileen quickly raised it and struck him at the side of his head just above his right ear, instantly killing him.

He fell on the open chaise lounge on the balcony. The right side of his head lay on the chaise so his wound couldn’t be seen.  He had on an ankle length plush velour robe, plush leopard animal slippers  and boxer shorts which contained pictures of racing cars.  The weather was a warm 60 degrees.  His penis was hanging out of the opening in his shorts.  Eileen rested his left hand on  the opening of his boxer shorts.  He looked like he was masturbating in his sleep.  Eileen went into the bedroom and found his wallet on the dresser.  She took out two $20 bills for cab fare.  She found the condom he used in the trash can in the bathroom and flushed it down the toilet.  She got dressed,  put on her overcoat and left the apartment, first making  certain there was no one in the hallway who would see her leave.  Eileen walked down the stairway two flights to the fifth floor.  She took the elevator from the fifth floor to the lobby, walked three blocks to East 69th street and hailed a cab to take her home to her apartment in the Flatbush section of Brooklyn.

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