very successfully, his thoughts were blurred and unfocused. Had he imagined the whole thing? Surely if the killer had been in his house, in his bedroom, pointing a gun at him, he would not be sipping coffee several hours later.
By the time he was showered, dressed and at his desk at work, Matt had convinced himself that none of it was real.
Chapter Seventeen
It had been a long and difficult shift. Liz parked her car on the drive and climbed out. Seeing her mother had really rattled her and she hadn’t been able to concentrate all day. The only good thing was that focusing on her mother meant she’d been able to block Matt from her thoughts. How had everything become so muddled?
Her neighbours were in the front garden. Liz had mostly managed to avoid them, despite them spending a lot of time in the outside. Since it was already immaculate, Liz had come to the conclusion they liked to watch the street life unfurling. The man was middle aged and wore a long suffering expression; he was mowing a lawn that didn’t need mowing. His wife was weeding, or at least was pretending to be engaged in the task while spying on the street life.
The woman waved, and Liz smiled and waved back, desperately hoping that she wouldn’t have to stop and talk. All she wanted was a strong cup of tea and a long soak in a hot bath.
The young teenage daughter of the couple hurried out of the house. She was dressed for fun – short skirt, skimpy top, bare midriff, hair newly straightened and her face made up. She was a pretty girl with a wide sunny smile.
The smile however wasn’t shared by her mother. Liz watched as the woman stood up and scowled at her daughter.
‘You can’t go out looking like that. You’re asking for trouble...’
The teenagers smile disappeared.
A car with windows down, music pumping, pulled up. The daughter ran for the car, climbed in and it shot off at speed.
Liz was flooded by memories. She was fifteen, her sister Melissa two years older. They were dressed to impress. Just like in the pictures on the wall at the place she had dinner with Matt, short RaRa skirts, big big hair, high heels and great glittery make up. Liz had been particularly proud of the makeup, Mary Quant; she’d spent all her Saturday job wages from Woolworths on buying it. They were laughing and joking together, happy and excited, until their mother followed them out of the house wagging her finger.
‘You look like a pair of cheap tarts. Don’t come crying to me when you get into trouble.’
Liz gritted her teeth against the unwanted memory and watched the car drive away. She walked across to the fence and looked directly at the woman.
‘Nobody asks for trouble, but sometimes it finds you anyway.’ She said, then without waiting for an answer she turned around and headed quickly for her front door.
Once safely inside she couldn’t hold the tears back any longer.
Matt, her mother, memories, it was all too much.
Chapter Eighteen
I knew that this hit would be successful. No more mistakes. I had to up the pace, I was already behind schedule. And now I had the added problem of dealing with James Tate.
Getting close to him a second time wouldn’t be easy. I had been weak. But I knew what I had to do and nothing was going to stop me.
I would leave him to last. Or maybe second to last. Let him get complacent, catch him with his guard down. Right now I had to concentrate on this job.
The house was dark. That suited me fine, I knew the layout, I had memorised it. The street was quiet, a nice suburban house with neatly trimmed hedge and perfect lawns. Brian Chard had done well for himself. I knew he was divorced, he had a daughter who lived with his ex and he ran a small but profitable estate agency. He’d managed to remain independent, mainly because he’d cornered the lucrative lettings market. Even now with house prices plummeting and the recession biting, he was doing alright.
I’d watched him, closely and frequently for
By the time he was showered, dressed and at his desk at work, Matt had convinced himself that none of it was real.
Chapter Seventeen
It had been a long and difficult shift. Liz parked her car on the drive and climbed out. Seeing her mother had really rattled her and she hadn’t been able to concentrate all day. The only good thing was that focusing on her mother meant she’d been able to block Matt from her thoughts. How had everything become so muddled?
Her neighbours were in the front garden. Liz had mostly managed to avoid them, despite them spending a lot of time in the outside. Since it was already immaculate, Liz had come to the conclusion they liked to watch the street life unfurling. The man was middle aged and wore a long suffering expression; he was mowing a lawn that didn’t need mowing. His wife was weeding, or at least was pretending to be engaged in the task while spying on the street life.
The woman waved, and Liz smiled and waved back, desperately hoping that she wouldn’t have to stop and talk. All she wanted was a strong cup of tea and a long soak in a hot bath.
The young teenage daughter of the couple hurried out of the house. She was dressed for fun – short skirt, skimpy top, bare midriff, hair newly straightened and her face made up. She was a pretty girl with a wide sunny smile.
The smile however wasn’t shared by her mother. Liz watched as the woman stood up and scowled at her daughter.
‘You can’t go out looking like that. You’re asking for trouble...’
The teenagers smile disappeared.
A car with windows down, music pumping, pulled up. The daughter ran for the car, climbed in and it shot off at speed.
Liz was flooded by memories. She was fifteen, her sister Melissa two years older. They were dressed to impress. Just like in the pictures on the wall at the place she had dinner with Matt, short RaRa skirts, big big hair, high heels and great glittery make up. Liz had been particularly proud of the makeup, Mary Quant; she’d spent all her Saturday job wages from Woolworths on buying it. They were laughing and joking together, happy and excited, until their mother followed them out of the house wagging her finger.
‘You look like a pair of cheap tarts. Don’t come crying to me when you get into trouble.’
Liz gritted her teeth against the unwanted memory and watched the car drive away. She walked across to the fence and looked directly at the woman.
‘Nobody asks for trouble, but sometimes it finds you anyway.’ She said, then without waiting for an answer she turned around and headed quickly for her front door.
Once safely inside she couldn’t hold the tears back any longer.
Matt, her mother, memories, it was all too much.
Chapter Eighteen
I knew that this hit would be successful. No more mistakes. I had to up the pace, I was already behind schedule. And now I had the added problem of dealing with James Tate.
Getting close to him a second time wouldn’t be easy. I had been weak. But I knew what I had to do and nothing was going to stop me.
I would leave him to last. Or maybe second to last. Let him get complacent, catch him with his guard down. Right now I had to concentrate on this job.
The house was dark. That suited me fine, I knew the layout, I had memorised it. The street was quiet, a nice suburban house with neatly trimmed hedge and perfect lawns. Brian Chard had done well for himself. I knew he was divorced, he had a daughter who lived with his ex and he ran a small but profitable estate agency. He’d managed to remain independent, mainly because he’d cornered the lucrative lettings market. Even now with house prices plummeting and the recession biting, he was doing alright.
I’d watched him, closely and frequently for
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