Killer Plan

by Leigh Russell

  She smiled at him. ‘That’s sweet of you, but he’d never believe it. If you told him you fancied me he’d just laugh. He knows I’d never leave him. Not while the boys are around.’

  She didn’t add that she was afraid Dave simply wouldn’t care if she found someone else. He might jump at a chance to get rid of her so he could pursue every little tart that took his fancy, without fear of recrimination.

  ‘Tell you what,’ Brian went on, warming to his idea. ‘Let’s take a selfie together, and I’ll make sure he sees it. “This is the woman I’m looking for – do you know where she lives? I seem to have come to the wrong house.” That kind of thing.’ He grinned. ‘What’s he going to think when he sees a picture of me with my arm round you? He won’t carry on taking you for granted, that’s for sure. You can brush it off by explaining I’m just an old friend, we met in the park – all true. But he’ll always have that doubt in his mind to keep him on his toes.’

  She couldn’t help laughing at his childish enthusiasm. He had lost his hangdog air and looked quite attractive. He was a man, anyway. It could work.

  ‘Oh, go on then.’

  He put one arm round her shoulders, extended his other arm and took a few pictures.

  ‘You choose.’

  Wriggling out of his embrace, she scrolled through the images. They weren’t bad. She picked out one where they were both smiling, and wrote down her address on the back of an old receipt he had in his pocket.

  ‘Add a message,’ he urged her.

  ‘What sort of message?’

  ‘Nothing too incriminating. How about: “See you soon”, something along those lines, and sign it with a kiss.’

  He watched her writing, then tucked the slip of paper away in his pocket.

  ‘When will he be at home by himself? I’d better do it when you’re not there.’

  ‘You could come round tomorrow afternoon. I take the boys to football practice at two, and we’re gone all afternoon. They’re football crazy. We don’t get home until five at the earliest.’

  He nodded briskly and stood up with the air of a man who had concluded a satisfactory business transaction. She felt as though she had hired a hit man. In reality all she had done was arrange for an old school friend to go and have a talk to her husband. The innocent subterfuge gave her a guilty thrill. For so long she had been the victim with Dave. That was about to change. She started to thank Brian, but he was on his way to the exit and she would have had to shout. Watching his figure striding through the gate, she smiled, imagining Dave’s surprise when another man came to the house looking for her.

  2

  Geraldine glanced at her watch. It was only seven o’clock. There was no need for her to get up yet. As a detective inspector working in Serious Crime Command in London, she was prepared to work round the clock if necessary, but right now she wasn’t on a case. The paperwork for her previous investigation was finished, and she was on call waiting for the next job. Plumping up her pillow, she lay back in bed and gazed at the blind on her window. The slats were slightly open, allowing narrow shafts of bright sunlight to penetrate. That was what had woken her up. It was only May, but blue skies already held a promise of warm weather to come, heralding summer. She smiled and stretched out her legs, luxuriating in the knowledge that she could stay in bed all day if she wanted. For the first time in years, she felt at peace with her world.

  After dozing for another hour she got up and opened the blind. Dazzling light hit her. It was a beautiful day. She couldn’t decide whether to have breakfast in her flat or walk down the road and treat herself to a pastry and cappuccino in one of the smart cafes along Upper Street. Early promotion to the rank of inspector, together with a generous inheritance from her mother, had enabled her to buy a flat in Islington when she had relocated to London from the Home Counties. It was expensive living in Central London, but she loved the area. Added to the lively atmosphere, it suited her working hours that shops stayed open through the night. She didn’t miss the slower pace of life on the Kent constabulary at all.

  Half an hour later she was sauntering along Upper Street in bright sunshine, alone in a seething metropolis. Even at that hour the streets were busy with people hurrying by. Cafes had already put tables and chairs out on the pavements, in expectation of fine weather, although it was too chilly to sit outside that early. Only a few smokers were perched on the pavement, huddled in jackets, warming gloved hands on steaming mugs of coffee. Geraldine walked past them, enjoying the atmosphere. She had lived there for nearly two years, but walking along Upper Street still gave her a holiday feeling. In England’s capital city, all it took was a little sunshine to make her feel she could be in a Mediterranean town, with its cafe culture spilling out onto the street.

  After a leisurely breakfast in one of the cafes, she walked briskly back to her flat. When she had finished a few household chores, she planned to catch up on a DVD box set she had been given for Christmas that she had not yet got round to watching. That, and a takeaway, would complete her lazy day.

  The breeze had picked up and she wished she had worn a warmer jacket. She rounded the corner into Waterloo Gardens and her building came into view. The ground floor was occupied by offices, closed at the weekend. The first and second floors of the block were private flats, accessible only through electronically controlled metal gates. For a detective working on murder investigations it was perfect, discreetly tucked away in a side street, yet central, and, above all, secure.

  Reaching her building she hesitated, and her good intentions vanished. She couldn’t bear the thought of a case being opened while she was at home messing around. It would be different if she had something useful to do with her time off. It was shameful to hanker after the challenge of a murder investigation, but she sometimes felt that her work was all that stood between her and despair about the futility of her life. In another era she might have become a missionary, or a suffragette. As it was, she dedicated herself to the pursuit of justice in an attempt to find purpose in her existence. It was ironic that she felt most alive when investigating the circumstances of someone else’s death.

  Twenty minutes later, instead of loafing around at home, she was sitting in traffic on her way to work. By mid-morning she was gazing despondently at a pile of claim forms piled neatly on her tidy desk, regretting her decision to go into her office. No new case had turned up demanding her attention. She had merely exchanged her chores at home for mundane tasks at work. As she turned to stare out of the window, she heard the door to her office open and a voice broke into her reverie.

  ‘You’re looking thoughtful today.’

  Geraldine recognised the drawling voice of Nick Williams, the detective inspector who shared an office with her. She looked round to see him smiling at her, his eyes fixed on hers.

  ‘Penny for your thoughts,’ he said softly.

  ‘I’m busy,’ she fibbed, resenting the intimacy his tone seemed to imply.

  ‘I can see that.’ Nick heaved an exaggerated sigh. ‘I just thought you might be ready for a little distraction.’

  ‘I don’t like being distracted when I’m working.’

  He laughed. ‘Your powers of concentration are enviable. You know, I’m just the opposite. I find it almost impossible not to be distracted when you’re in the same room as me.’

  She laughed, trying to quell her irritation at his flirting. She knew his reputation for womanising. Out of the corner of her eye she watched him meticulously arrange papers on his desk into neat piles. It looked as though he had forgotten all about her. So much for him finding her impossibly distracting. They worked in silence, side by side for a while.

  ‘Geraldine.’ He spoke so quietly she could barely hear him. ‘You haven’t heard anything about a white van on an undercover op?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Or seen a white van hanging around outside?’

  ‘I haven’t seen a white van, or heard anything about a white van. Why?’

  ‘It’s nothi
ng. Oh shit, I nearly forgot. Reg asked if you were in today. I said I’d let you know he was asking for you when I saw you.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  It couldn’t be important or Reg would have sent a formal summons rather than passing a casual message via Nick. All the same, she was apprehensive about going to see the detective chief inspector. She hoped she wasn’t in trouble.

  ‘Ah, Geraldine, I thought you’d be in at some point today,’ Reg greeted her.

  He knew it was her day off but had assumed she would turn up anyway. She wasn’t sure if he considered that was to her credit. Being unable to switch off from work wasn’t healthy. They all knew of cases where officers had suffered burnout from overwork. She hoped he wasn’t about to suggest she take some time off.

  ‘I want you to meet Max Grey,’ Reg continued affably, ‘drafted in from West London to cover for Samantha Haley while she’s out of action. He’s in his early twenties, a graduate on the fast track, a bright young lad, should go far. Take care of him, won’t you?’

  Geraldine nodded. The sergeant she had been working with, Sam Haley, was recovering from an injury she had suffered on their last case.

  ‘You’ll find him,’ Reg added with a nod at the door.

  Geraldine understood she was being dismissed. Relieved, she left the room and went to search for Max Grey. She eventually found him in the canteen, where he was chatting to another young officer over coffee.

  ‘That’s Geraldine,’ she heard his companion say as she approached their table.

  Max leaped to his feet. Small and wiry, he had closely cropped dark hair and sharp pointed features.

  ‘Hello, I’m Max Grey,’ he announced. ‘Fast track graduate, DS, and posted here to work with you. Reg told me to look out for you, and here you are.’

  Geraldine was impressed, but at the same time wary. Max carried himself with an air of confidence that bordered on arrogance. Knowing that Reg would have told her about him, there was no need for him to boast about his rapid promotion to sergeant. She had met youngsters like him before, clever young men who thought they knew it all. Resisting the temptation to introduce herself as, ‘Geraldine Steel, experienced DI, and your superior officer,’ she sat down as Max’s companion left.

  ‘Hello. Would you like to get me a coffee, and then you can tell me all about yourself.’

  Without a word he turned and went to join the queue at the canteen. She didn’t particularly want a coffee, but it was important to assert her authority right from the start. Watching Max move slowly along the counter, she hoped he would live up to Reg’s description.

  3

  ‘Are you going to come and give me a hand with the shopping?’ Caroline called out again, with growing exasperation.

  No one answered. She could hear thumping through the ceiling. Putting down the bags she was holding, she crossed the hall.

  ‘It’s not a trampoline up there!’ she yelled from the foot of the stairs.

  The dull thuds continued, beating out a regular rhythm. The boys were jumping on their beds again, oblivious to her return.

  ‘Dave! Come out here and give us a hand, will you?’

  Her husband didn’t answer. He was probably asleep, if he was still at home. It would be typical of him to go out, leaving their two ten-year-old boys alone in the house while she was spending her Saturday morning at Tesco.

  ‘Mum’ll be home soon,’ he would have warned them as he left, ‘so don’t go making a mess.’

  Fuming, she carted the shopping bags into the kitchen and went back for the next load. Just as she had finished putting the last of the shopping away, Dave sauntered into the kitchen.

  ‘Hello, love.’

  ‘Bloody hell, Dave, where have you been?’

  ‘In the shed.’

  ‘You could have helped me bring the shopping in. Why the hell didn’t you answer when I called you?’

  She knew the answer to that. He was a lazy sod.

  ‘I told you, I was out in the shed. I didn’t know you were back. You should’ve come to get me.’

  ‘You could have listened out. You knew I’d be back with the shopping.’

  Heaving a noisy sigh, she put the kettle on and followed him into the living room. Sprawling in his armchair, frowning at his phone, he didn’t even look at her when she spoke to him. She wondered which young floozy he was thinking about this time. If he noticed her disapproving scowl he paid no attention. There might as well have been a wall between them. If it hadn’t been for the twins, she would have sent him packing a long time ago, if she had married him in the first place. She suspected he felt the same. She watched him scrolling down his screen, muttering under his breath.

  ‘Are we going to see anything of you this weekend?’

  He didn’t answer.

  ‘Dave, I’m out of cash.’

  He shrugged.

  ‘If we got back all the money you’ve wasted, we’d be out of debt by now.’

  He grunted without looking up. It was a familiar gripe. Above their heads voices rose in shrill anger as the boys began squabbling. Yelling up at them to behave, Caroline went to fetch the ironing board. Dave glanced up as she dragged it into the living room.

  ‘Do you have to do that here?’

  ‘Where do want me to do it?’

  Annoyed, he jumped up out of his chair. It was typical of him to vent his irritation on their ten-year-old sons.

  ‘Shut up! You’re doing my head in,’ he bawled up the stairs.

  She glanced at her watch. It was nearly time for the boys to change into their football kit. She had only ironed a couple of Dave’s shirts, not that she would get any thanks for it. Grumbling, she shouted up to the boys to get ready. They began clattering about overhead. A few moments later they charged downstairs. She could hear them in the hall, swiping at each other and shouting cheerfully.

  ‘You’re dead!’

  ‘Well, I’m a zombie, so you’re dead!’

  ‘I’ll get you!’

  ‘You can’t kill a zombie.’

  She had to raise her voice to be heard above their clamour.

  ‘Stop making all that racket and get your boots. It’s nearly time to go.’

  Dave leaned back in his chair and stretched his legs. His eyes were closed. Seemingly oblivious to her attempts to calm the boys down, and the din that signalled her lack of influence, he could have been lying on a lounger on the beach.

  ‘Don’t go to sleep, Dave. Aren’t you taking the boys to football practice?’

  ‘Can’t you take them?’

  ‘I went last week.’ And the week before. And the week before that.

  ‘I would, only I need to stay here and cut the grass. It’s going to rain later.’

  ‘Oh, all right. I’ll take them again.’

  Dave knew her grumbling was put on. She liked taking the twins to football.

  ‘See you later then.’

  He sprang to his feet and ruffled the boys’ hair so it stood up in spikes.

  ‘I’ll get the grass cut so we can have a kick around out there later,’ he said, and the boys cheered.

  Caroline couldn’t help smiling. For all his faults, Dave was a good father. The boys adored him.

  ‘See you later then, love. And don’t fall asleep before you’ve cut the grass.’

  He leaned forward and pecked her on the cheek. ‘You’re not a bad old girl.’

  4

  In the shed, a man was struggling to untangle the cable of a lawnmower from the legs of a garden chair. Absorbed in his task, he was unaware of Brian’s arrival. Stepping over a bright green hose coiled loosely by the entrance, Brian stole towards him. The other man had cheated on his wife. He deserved what was coming to him.

  With trembling hands, Brian reached for a large garden spade. Using a weapon that was already there meant it couldn’t be traced back to him. Gripping the handle, he imagined the racket that would ensue if he disturbed the shelf it was leaning against; dirty tins of creosote and flower pot
s crashing to the ground in a cascade of broken opportunity. Breathing silently, eyes stretched wide with the fear of discovery, he raised the spade. Even slamming it down with all his strength, he wasn’t confident the blow would be enough to knock the other man out cold. His arms shook. Intending to hit his target with the flat of the spade, he watched in horror as the handle twisted in his gloved hands. The spade slid from his grasp, its edge slicing into the side of the other man’s head as it fell.

  His victim let out a grunt. His legs gave way and he sank to the floor, hitting his head on the lawnmower with a loud thud. The impact disturbed some blades of dry grass. A few came to rest on a dark pool of blood that was oozing across the floor. The felled man began to moan and his arm twitched in a convulsive movement. Brian swallowed a mouthful of sour vomit. If he threw up in the shed, he would never get away with it. The spade felt heavy when he picked it up a second time. Blood on the handle made it slippery, as the man rolled over before he finished the job.

  Arms aching, he dropped the spade. It hit the floor with a startling clatter. As he backed away, his elbow knocked a tin off the shelf. The lid must have been loose. Thick black creosote oozed out, mingling with the pool of blood. With a whimper he turned and darted out of the shed, pushing the door shut with his elbow. The stench of creosote followed him as he sprinted away, wiping his shoes on the grass as he ran. His chest was burning but he kept running until he reached his car. He peeled off his gloves, taking care not to touch the outer surfaces, and kicked off his shoes.

  Tearing off his jacket, he laid it on the passenger seat beside him, inside out, and rolled it up with his blood-spattered shoes inside it. He wasn’t so worried about being seen now. In the darkness blood stains didn’t show up against the black fabric of his trousers. As far as he could tell, his jumper was clean. He hoped there were no bloody smears on his face. A trace of his own blood near the scene of the crime could be enough to land him in the nick. But he had been careful. No one had seen him. All he had to do now was get home, shower, and dispose of the incriminating clothes, and it would be over.