Me, I worried too much what people would think when I dressed myself, even when I bought clothes. Was I too old for this item, did I dress too old for my age? It was a minefield.
But this young guy. Comfort oozed from him.
The noise level was louder as people crammed in. Mums squeezed in with toddlers and prams. Paninis were warmed and drinks and sandwiches handed into chubby hands.
A woman in a wheelchair came in with her husband, and a couple of people tutted as they had to move for her to get to a space where there was room for her chair at a table. The woman’s face flushed and I’m not sure if it was out of embarrassment or annoyance. If it were me it would be out of pure rage. Others glared at the tutters. It was fascinating to watch the world go by. It’s one of the reasons I love to work in these places. You get to see human nature unfiltered.
I decided the place was too busy, that I couldn’t do what I needed to do and keep an eye on everyone to make sure they were not watching me. I had to stay here longer. Get some more work done and wait for the lunch time rush to slow down.
After an hour and a half I was more settled into the day. I settled into being here to work and the rest of it was background, not worth thinking about until it was time. If I sat here twitching about it I would draw attention to myself and people would remember me. But as someone with my head down working, then I’m unseen. No one notices you, you blend into the furniture.
The young guy on my left had been here longer than me and I was startled when he slammed his laptop shut. He picked it up from the table and shoved it into a leather satchel, then slurped back the remains of his drink and stood. He was about to leave. My participant was about to leave. I looked around. All the tables and chairs were taken. There was a queue at the counter. I wanted to speak to him. To stop him. He was a part of my story. In my mind he had already been written in. He had a starring role. He couldn’t get up and leave.
I’d left it too late. If I hadn’t stressed about the man who came in earlier I could have done this and been out. But it was too late.
I had to do something.
I had to stop him.
He was my participant.
He lifted his hand towards the counter. Caught the eye of one of the girls.
‘Thanks,’ he mouthed.
He must be a regular. Did that make him more or less perfect for this role? I didn’t know. But he was moving away from me and there was nothing I could do to stop him.
Five seconds later he was out of the door, satchel slung around his shoulder and across his body. My participant had had a very lucky escape.
What was I going to do now?
I left my laptop on the table, grabbed my bag and made my way over to the counter, joined the queue and tried to get my head into the game.
No one said it had to be him. Before I came this morning I didn’t know who it would be.
My stomach churned. I needed to rein myself back in a little.
This day was so stressful. I was going to need a stiff drink when it was all over, that was for certain. I would find the nearest bar and get a couple of drinks down me. I might have to find a hotel for the night but I thought I deserved it after what had happened so far today.
I righted myself and stretched. Pull yourself together, Alice. You can do this. Don’t wig out because the plan has changed a little. It was bound to happen. It’s fluid. Accept that.
With another coffee ordered I went back to my table and found a woman sitting at what had been the empty table next to me. She was older than I was, alone, dressed in a suit and was tapping away at a tablet. She looked as though she was a worker on her lunch break.
I reminded myself that my plan was fluid and not to bank on it being this woman. She might well leave before the shop emptied enough for me to be sufficiently comfortable to take action.
Regardless, I took her in a little more. Her short dark hair cropped to reveal petite features. Slim frame. Wedding ring.
I turned away so as to not be caught staring.
I hadn’t considered the people left behind and I wasn’t going to think about it now. The best way to deal with this was to partition everything off. Close it off and not think about the things I didn’t need to. I needed to deal with what was in front of me and right at this moment she was in front of me.
Her phone rang. She answered. Her voice was high-pitched and clipped. She was short with whomever she was talking to. She had little time for them.
‘I told you earlier, Johnson doesn’t like it. You’ll have to remove that clause.’ She wasn’t happy.
‘If I have to sort it myself I’ll make sure Saffron knows about it.’
She listened as the other person, I presumed, started to apologise or grovel or some other such thing as her mouth pursed and a hum came from her throat.
She turned and looked at me, her eyes cold and hard. I shot my attention back to my laptop and my manuscript. I had to be more discreet. She wouldn’t necessarily be the person involved in this because I wasn’t quite ready and she could up and leave like the young lad.
‘Sort it out or I’ll be having a word with HR, you’re obviously not up to the job.’
There was more silence as she listened to the response. Then she hung up the phone, glared at me again and went back to tapping at the tablet screen.
This woman unnerved me. There was something about her that I didn’t like, and that unsettled me. More or differently than I was already feeling unsettled. It was her manner. The way she carried herself. There was being confident and there was … her. She was something else.
Time ticked by and the shop started to empty. The chatter lessened and I started to relax. My shoulders, which I hadn’t realised until now were clamped to my ears, were now sliding back to where they were supposed to be. My breathing was even and calm. Not everyone who walked through the door was here to get me. They were here for a coffee. Like the rest of us.
Eventually I was happy that I could see everyone and could make an assessment about whether it was safe to drop the liquid into a drink without anyone noticing. There were a handful of people in the shop other than me; my neighbour, the awful curt woman with the phone, a couple in the middle with their backs to me and the two baristas who were serving another couple of customers at the counter. Things couldn’t be more perfect.
It was then that the woman stood and made her way to the Ladies. This was it, time to make my move. This was what I had been sitting here and planning for.
I reached into my bag and retrieved the bottle, palmed it and took the lid off. I looked around. The baristas were still engaged with their customers.
My mouth went dry and I was lightheaded. I clutched the bottle tighter, the small glass vial fragile in my hand. I tried to relax my grip.
I could do this.
With the bottle in my left hand I slid out from behind the table, and stumbled slightly, putting my right hand out onto the next table where the woman had been sitting. Her coffee cup was half full, still warm and steaming. I made a slight show of using the table to push myself upright and, with my left hand moving over the mug, dropped the liquid into the drink and carried on moving forward towards the service counter. It was done and over as quickly as that. I wanted to throw up but I’d get a quick drink and leave before anything happened.
The bell that hung over the door tinkled as I shifted away from the table, indicating a new customer. Someone who could have been looking through the huge glass window as they walked to the door.
My heart leapt into my mouth.
23
My feet were sluggish and heavy as I made my way over to the counter for another drink. I wasn’t sure I had the strength to turn and look, but I had to. With a quick peek I took in the new customer; she was scanning the room and wasn’t looking at me at all. This didn’t make it likely that she had seen anything, did it? If she had seen me tip liquid into another mug then she would have been staring at me, surely.
We were both headin
g for the shop counter and the baristas anyway. I made it there first with her queuing behind me. I ordered an iced coffee so I could drink it at speed and leave. I didn’t want to hang around but neither could I have done what I did without moving in this direction.
The woman behind me ordered a tea and a piece of cake. She sounded happy enough, there was no mention of unusual behaviour, to either me or the staff who served her.
Back at the table I watched as the woman whose drink I had spiked returned. I leaned back against the cushioned wall, gripping my chilled coffee. Every nerve in my body singing out and on edge. I wanted to tear the skin off my bones.
I tried to look at my laptop, focus on what I had written. I looked at my word count. I had achieved a decent amount today while I had been sitting here, which surprised me. I had obviously settled into work mode during some points and this had helped me towards my target.
Leaning forward, I scrubbed at my face. What did I do now? I had done the difficult part. I twisted my head and watched as the woman took a drink of her contaminated coffee.
This was going to work. Did I stay here and watch or leave?
I had to leave. I couldn’t be around and be a witness if she went into insulin shock. Not that anyone would know they needed witnesses, they would think they needed an ambulance and would call one and deal with what they had in front of them.
After that, if the police investigated, the staff would try to recall who was here as she fell ill and it was then that I didn’t want to be remembered.
It wasn’t that I didn’t want to see this through because I did. I wanted to know that it had worked. But the whole point was that I wasn’t caught and that was the important bit. If it didn’t work I could try again but if I was picked up then it was all over.
I sipped on my coffee, laptop and work ignored. My attention, as much as it could be, on the woman at the side of me.
A couple of young women came into the shop, and laughter filled the air. It was incongruous with how I was feeling.
I slid my eyes left. The woman was starting to look flushed. She ran a couple of fingers around the neckline of her top.
It was time for me to leave.
24
I was desperate for an alcoholic drink but instead of staying in Ipswich I drove back to Beccles, parked the car at home, fed Lilac and walked into town and into The King’s Head, a large imposing hotel on New Market.
At least here I could stumble home when the mood took me.
I walked through the doors of The King’s Head and realised that I was choosing to do this rather than go to see Beth. It seemed that there were some things that Beth couldn’t be the salve for.
I ordered a bottle of beer and took it to one of the chairs outside. It was three in the afternoon and the town was still in bustling mode. There were people to watch and conversations to listen to. It was one of the perks of being a full-time writer, that I got to do this throughout the day – that I got to watch and listen to people and call it part of the job. How else was I to craft realistic characters if not by watching real people and taking some of their traits and foibles and implanting them in the people I wrote about?
Like the old man with the gentle but sorrowful eyes who had his dog as a companion a couple of tables down. A whole world was created inside my head for him as I watched him sup his half pint of beer. How he had lost his wife over a decade ago and had never looked at another woman. How his dog, who he had bought not long before his wife died, was all he had left of her and when the dog passed away the last link to her would be gone. How he sits here, like me, watching the world go by, but, unlike me, he would be happy for someone to stop by and say hello, to stop the monotony of his day, to break the ceaseless emptiness. It’s why he makes the walk here. You’d find him here at least three times a week. It’s the walk and exercise the dog gets, a little King Charles spaniel, ears flopped out wide either side of his head as he lies at the side of his master. Eyes closed, peaceful. Used to the routine the old man has created for him. This pair were perfect and would fit into one of the worlds I created.
I grabbed myself another beer and supped it as quickly as I had the first one. There was a need inside of me that couldn’t be quenched.
With a third beer in front of me I was a little more settled. It was a beautiful June day to be sitting outside. The sun gently toasted the skin on my arms and I relaxed into the chair. There would be no point in browsing the news site – nothing would have been reported yet – but I couldn’t help it, I opened my phone, clicked through to the news page and scrolled. Of course I didn’t find anything. Even if she had a reaction, even if the reaction had been fatal, even if the police had been involved, there would have been no post-mortem, no toxicology results to tell them it was poison. Unless the police thought it suspicious straight away, it was unlikely to make the news.
I was in for the long haul with this one and it was something I wasn’t used to.
The air cooled and I took my drink inside. I wasn’t ready to leave yet. To go to an empty home.
I ordered another beer and perched myself on a bar stool at one of the high square tables opposite the bar. I didn’t know what to do with myself. How was I supposed to get through the next few days or week as an investigation progressed, or it didn’t and I waited to figure it out? This was my life and I needed to know.
I also needed to know if I had been successful.
The not knowing was awful.
‘Another beer please,’ I lifted my arm at the barman and he nodded. I’d lost count of how many I’d had. What was I on now, four, five?
All I had about life was questions.
Did you notice that?
As I took a sup on the new beer, the condensation of the glass bottle damp against my fingers, a group of men pushed their way through the door of the pub. It was a restaurant as well as a bar. More room for the eaters than the drinkers, but I liked the place. I looked at the men, five of them, dressed casually, all smiles, teeth and sparkly eyes. About my age, lots of hair, a couple of beards. One pair of glasses. They approached the bar, raucous but happy, and ordered a round. It seemed that they were celebrating the birth of a baby. One of them was a new dad. Glasses was the new dad. His smile stretched over his face. The light in his eyes was bright and he shone. He was lighting up the room.
Something dark inside of me shrivelled and curled. Nausea swept my stomach.
I tipped back my bottle and drank. As I did I looked again at the group and my eye caught on one of the other males. His hair was dark, thick, cut short and messy on top of his head. A dark looking five o’clock shadow pasted on his face. His eyes not glinting like his friends, but dark pools that seemed to look into my soul.
I turned away from his stare.
I didn’t need anyone to see into my soul. Whatever was in there was for no one but me.
I turned and checked again. This time he was engrossed in raising a glass to his friend and to the new baby girl, Agatha.
What a beautiful name.
I liked old names. Better than the trend for names like Tiffany and Courtney. Agatha was classy. She would grow up to be a lady, with an exclusive job and do well in life.
I rubbed at an eye, tired of the day.
The group laughed, loud, uncaring who heard their joy. I gulped down the rest of my drink, feeding the shrivelled part of me that needed it, then slammed down the bottle harder than I had intended. It clattered. The group were oblivious.
Only he wasn’t.
He watched me again and this time there was a slight smile on the corner of his mouth. A twist.
I turned away and ordered another beer. I would have this one then make my way home. I didn’t think I could stand to be here now this group were here. I couldn’t stand to be around their baby revelry.
A waitress moved past me, a tray balanced on her hand with two plates atop. Meals for hungry customers. A burger and a steak. Both with a side of chips. The meaty greasy smell of meat tickled at
my nose and reminded me that I hadn’t eaten for a few hours. I’d had a snack in the coffee shop but that had been when I was first in there this morning. Now I was drinking I should have something to soak up the beer, but I was too tired to be bothered with food. Common sense spoke on my shoulder, counteracting my lazy side, telling me to at least grab a bowl of chips. Soak up some of this booze I was downing.
I waved for the bartender again. Asked for the chips and another beer to go with them. Paid him and decided this would be my last drink. I would leave after this one.
The chips were soon dumped in front of me. Hot and steamy. I took a bite, realising how hungry I was.
‘How much for one of those?’ A voice came over my shoulder.
I turned to see who was cheeky enough to try a cheap chat-up line on a lone woman in the bar to be faced by the dark haired, five o’clock shadow guy who had caught my eye earlier.
25
Suffolk police incident report
Date: 20th June
Time: 14:05 hours
Caller ID: Suffolk ambulance service
Incident reported: Woman reported ill in Lilly’s Coffee and Cream. Ambulance BR42 in attendance. Unable to resuscitate woman. Death announced at scene. Police asked to attend as no obvious cause of death and woman is young.
Officer attending: DI Heidi Thomas, Major Crime, Ipswich.
Arrival at scene: 14:17 hours
Report: Ambulance already in attendance. Life extinct. Witnesses said the woman was fine and then she wasn’t. Death was very sudden but not consistent with a heart attack. Paramedics confirm no signs of heart attack on their ECG. Woman identified as Christine Rice DOB 27.09.1989 Post-mortem needed to ascertain further. Witness details obtained. Request home address from driving licence and Voters check to see who lives at the address with Ms Rice. Then home visit to be conducted and death message to be issued. Investigation opened. SIO is DI Thomas.
Leave scene: 15:10 hours
Perfect Murder Page 10