kitchen. He wasn’t hungry. In fact, the only thing he would do before retiring to bed was this one simple task. He found the upright refrigerator, and placed one finger against the sheet of paper stuck to it, holding it in place while he reached with his other hand for the pen swinging below it on a piece of string. He gave the pen a shake to get the ink flowing to the nib, leaned close and scored out the fourth name on his list. He wasn’t even halfway through the list yet, but even he had to admit that having only started this thing a fortnight ago, he was well ahead of schedule.
He looked at the next names on the list, blinking away the weariness in order to bring the writing into focus. Who next? All three targets lived here in San Francisco, two of them in the same apartment block. Perhaps he should leave them until last, otherwise the connection might be made between his victims and bring the cops down on him before he was finished with the third. That wouldn’t do. He had to send every last one of them to the grave.
The thought settled him and he made his way up to the room he’d commandeered as his bedroom at the uppermost level. He could have used any of the larger rooms on the intervening floors, but this was as far away as he could get from the basement cellar. Ever since dealing with Tennant, and hearing the truth from the punk, entering basements had made him slightly uneasy.
He took off his jacket and boots, but that was all he had the energy for and he slumped back on the narrow cot he’d dragged up there. His fatigue was the effect of an adrenalin dump, and was not physical as such. In the morning he’d be fresh and ready to go again. When he woke up he would put himself through the rigorous exercise regime he’d set himself, pump himself full of energy and the desire to take the next step in his plan. For motivation he peered up at a profusion of photographs pinned to the wall over his head. They swam in and out of focus. His eyes were slipping shut, but he forced himself to lean over and hit the switch on his alarm clock. He hoped for a deep and dreamless slumber. There was no chance of that, though; as soon as his eyes fluttered closed the flames built behind their lids and the blood and screams soon followed.
Chapter 10
‘So where do we go from here?’ I asked.
‘Only one place I can think of,’ Rink said.
On the way back, Rink telephoned his mom and had her driven home by her friends. As we sat in the living room, Yukiko had gone to the kitchen and busied herself with preparing a meal. We could hear the clatter of pots and pans, and it was apparent that Yukiko was taking out her frustrations on a large metal utensil.
‘Maybe I should talk to her,’ I offered. ‘I still think she’s finding it difficult looking you in the face.’
The corners of Rink’s mouth jumped, but it wasn’t a smile. He dipped his head, and the way his hooded lids obscured his eyes made it difficult to see how my comment affected him. But that was obvious.
For all that Rink had inherited his mother’s Japanese looks and colouring, he was still very much his dad’s image. It had to be difficult for Yukiko to look at her son without experiencing another pang of loss for her husband. Before he could refuse, I stood up and headed for the kitchen. As an out for his mother’s emotions, I closed the door behind me, shutting Rink away so he could have his own privacy.
I found Yukiko leaning over the sink, both palms pressed tightly to the work counter, her elbows locked. If she didn’t support herself so I guessed her knees would have given way and pitched her to the floor. Her shoulders were shuddering, though I couldn’t hear her weeping. For a second I almost turned away, but didn’t. I brought a chair from the table and guided Yukiko into it. At first she resisted, her back forced ramrod straight, but as I placed a comforting arm around her she relented, and sat down. I found some tissues and handed her
He looked at the next names on the list, blinking away the weariness in order to bring the writing into focus. Who next? All three targets lived here in San Francisco, two of them in the same apartment block. Perhaps he should leave them until last, otherwise the connection might be made between his victims and bring the cops down on him before he was finished with the third. That wouldn’t do. He had to send every last one of them to the grave.
The thought settled him and he made his way up to the room he’d commandeered as his bedroom at the uppermost level. He could have used any of the larger rooms on the intervening floors, but this was as far away as he could get from the basement cellar. Ever since dealing with Tennant, and hearing the truth from the punk, entering basements had made him slightly uneasy.
He took off his jacket and boots, but that was all he had the energy for and he slumped back on the narrow cot he’d dragged up there. His fatigue was the effect of an adrenalin dump, and was not physical as such. In the morning he’d be fresh and ready to go again. When he woke up he would put himself through the rigorous exercise regime he’d set himself, pump himself full of energy and the desire to take the next step in his plan. For motivation he peered up at a profusion of photographs pinned to the wall over his head. They swam in and out of focus. His eyes were slipping shut, but he forced himself to lean over and hit the switch on his alarm clock. He hoped for a deep and dreamless slumber. There was no chance of that, though; as soon as his eyes fluttered closed the flames built behind their lids and the blood and screams soon followed.
Chapter 10
‘So where do we go from here?’ I asked.
‘Only one place I can think of,’ Rink said.
On the way back, Rink telephoned his mom and had her driven home by her friends. As we sat in the living room, Yukiko had gone to the kitchen and busied herself with preparing a meal. We could hear the clatter of pots and pans, and it was apparent that Yukiko was taking out her frustrations on a large metal utensil.
‘Maybe I should talk to her,’ I offered. ‘I still think she’s finding it difficult looking you in the face.’
The corners of Rink’s mouth jumped, but it wasn’t a smile. He dipped his head, and the way his hooded lids obscured his eyes made it difficult to see how my comment affected him. But that was obvious.
For all that Rink had inherited his mother’s Japanese looks and colouring, he was still very much his dad’s image. It had to be difficult for Yukiko to look at her son without experiencing another pang of loss for her husband. Before he could refuse, I stood up and headed for the kitchen. As an out for his mother’s emotions, I closed the door behind me, shutting Rink away so he could have his own privacy.
I found Yukiko leaning over the sink, both palms pressed tightly to the work counter, her elbows locked. If she didn’t support herself so I guessed her knees would have given way and pitched her to the floor. Her shoulders were shuddering, though I couldn’t hear her weeping. For a second I almost turned away, but didn’t. I brought a chair from the table and guided Yukiko into it. At first she resisted, her back forced ramrod straight, but as I placed a comforting arm around her she relented, and sat down. I found some tissues and handed her
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