Smith

by stewartgiles

SIXTY TWO

  DAVE

  Dave Lin drove home the long way. He had been a taxi driver for a few years now and he had a mental map of the whole of York in his head. He drove slowly. He was feeling anxious. The Police had nearly worked out what had happened on Christmas Eve and it had startled him. He decided he would do something he had not done since Vera Mae had died, he would go and get drunk. He parked his car outside his flat and stopped the engine. He reached under the passenger seat and groped around. He soon found what he was looking for. He smiled as he took out the hammer and placed it inside his coat. Those stupid Police, he thought, they had been inches away from a murder weapon on numerous occasions and they were none the wiser. He unplugged the GPS device from the dashboard and put it in the cubby hole out of sight. He got out of the car, locked the door and walked up the steps to his flat. Inside, he looked at the photograph of Mae Lin on the mantelpiece over the fire. She was so beautiful. He put the hammer in the sideboard next to the television and locked the door. He looked at the photograph again. “It’s all over,” he said to Mae Lin, “I’ve got away with it and its time to put it all behind me; I’m going out to get very drunk.”

  The Bag of Nails pub was a five minute walk from Dave’s flat. It was raining as he walked. Inside, they had a log fire burning. Dave approached the bar. He was not a drinker so he paused as he pondered what to have to drink.

  “Guinness please,” he said eventually; the Guinness looked good.

  The barman poured the drink and handed it to Dave. He took the first sip tentatively; it tasted bitter but it was very smooth. The second sip tasted much better. He took the drink and sat at a table in the corner. The bar was quite full; mostly with student looking types drinking lager. He was grateful he did not recognise anyone in the bar, this was his celebration and he was going to enjoy it on his own. He ordered another Guinness; the first one had gone down well and Dave was already starting to feel slightly tipsy. He thought about that night after he drove the Willow family home, it was still very clear in his head. It was when he picked them up outside their house for the first time that he had realised who Martin Willow was. That was when he had devised the plan. After he dropped them back at home just after midnight, he had driven off and parked round the corner. He had disconnected the GPS tracker. He had the hammer in the car for protection so he had put it inside his coat and walked the hundred yards or so to the Willow’s house. They had seemed very drunk when he had dropped them off so they would be in no state to put up much resistance. Dave had looked through the window to see Martin Willow slumped at the bottom of the stairs. He had put on the balaclava just in case, opened the door and gone inside. The wife had put up a bit of a fight but he had soon silenced her with the hammer. When he was sure she was dead, he had seen the daughter hiding under a table. Martin Willow was passed out by now. He did not know why but he had decided to take off the balaclava and show the daughter his face. Attacking the daughter had been hard but when he thought about Mae Lin and little Chuck he hit the girl again and again with the hammer. He had dragged Martin Willow over to his wife and covered him with her blood. He had then washed his hands in the kitchen, looked over to where the daughter was lying and left the house. The whole thing had lasted no longer than five minutes. He had walked back to the taxi, changed his clothes and put the blood stained ones in a bag he had brought. He had then put the hammer in the same bag, plugged the GPS back in and driven back to the house he had just come from. It was perfect; the whole thing had gone without a hitch. Martin Willow would wake up and wonder what had happened. The Police would automatically think that he had killed his family and they would look no further.

  As Dave sat down with his third drink, he suddenly felt a black anxiety sweeping over him. The daughter was still alive; they were keeping her alive on a machine. What if she wakes up? Dave thought. He sipped his drink and tried to dismiss the thought. I’m here to celebrate, he thought, nothing can ruin that. The bar was slowly filling up so Dave decided to carry on celebrating at home. He finished his drink and stood up; he was feeling very drunk now. He stopped at a corner shop and bought four more cans of Guinness. That would be enough, he thought. The rain was falling heavily as he staggered the last few yards to his flat. As he turned the corner his heart sank. There was a Police car parked outside the building where his flat was. He breathed deeply and tried to remain calm. A Policeman in uniform was standing by the car.

  “Hello,” Dave said to the Policeman, “what’s wrong?”

  “Domestic disturbance,” the man said, “all sorted out now. Do you live here?”

  “Flat 4,” Dave replied, “I bet it was the people in Flat 1, they’re always fighting.”

  Dave opened the door to his flat, closed it behind him and locked it. He opened the cupboard and took out the hammer. I need to get rid of this, he thought. He took the hammer and put it in the bin in the kitchen. Tomorrow when the bins get collected, I’ll be rid of this forever, he thought. He suddenly felt sick; it had been a long time since he had had a drink. He ran to the bathroom and emptied the contents of his stomach into the sink.