Kim & The Hitman

by Sandie Baldry

  For a long while, I stood there, staring at the man dead on the kitchen floor.

  ‘Try coming back from that,’ I murmured. Now I could sleep at night. I dropped the gun to the table and fell on the chair.

  10

  I sat at the kitchen table in a trance, staring at the body, a puddle of blood forming around him. Mrs Brown had gone to make the call from the hall. Guessing she didn’t want to be in the same room as the dead man whose frozen eyes stared at me. Before leaving, she placed an arm around my shoulders.

  ‘Come with me, Kimberly,’ she whispered in my ear. ‘You don’t want to be looking at him. He’s gone and can’t hurt you anymore.’

  I shrugged her off, resisting her pull. I wasn’t going anywhere. She hovered at the door as if loathed to leave me. But she did—someone needed to call the police. Just then, I was incapable, my fingers moving over the gun. I had killed a man, taken a life, and was processing the information. Should I have been sorry? I wasn’t. I was glad he was dead. Did that make me a bad person? Was I no better than him? Why didn’t I feel anything?

  Within a few minutes, police sirens cut through the air—then vehicles squealed to a stop outside the house, followed by shouting. I found myself surrounded by armed police—a red dot piercing the kitchen window onto my chest. Which was funny since I tried to brush it off, confused before I realised they were marker dots. Then DI Handsome in a protected vest called me through the kitchen door to throw the gun, still on the table, away from me. I did as instructed. Then coming through the door, he took my hand, bending beside me, his eyes flickering over to Vincent. He held up a hand to the other officers.

  ‘All clear,’ he shouted.

  Gently, he pulled me to my feet, walking me through the hall and out the door where police cars parked. Mrs Brown’s eyes followed me from her side of the low garden wall.

  ‘Everything will be alright, I promise,’ she said. That was what my mother would say when I scraped my knee. Her soft words would soothe me, ‘The pain will soon go away.’

  I waited with two uniformed officers in the car while the house filled with forensic people in their white overalls. Mrs Brown was pacing on the path on her property, in between offering them cups of tea, voicing I had killed the wicked man in self-defence.

  DI Hampton took her aside and listened to what she had to say. I met her gaze and had to turn away for fear of crying. Then dad arrived from the pub and stood around, not quite taking it in until our neighbour explained what had happened. Giving me an unreadable look, he turned to the officers demanding to know when he could get back into his house. I knew dad kept his feelings to himself, and clearly, he didn’t know what to do. In the end, Mrs Brown ushered him into her house.

  DI Hampton came to the vehicle I waited in. Opening the door, he crouched so he could make direct eye contact with me, eyes that flashed with sympathy. His voice was soft, ignoring the uniformed officers beside me.

  ‘Can you tell me what happened?’ He paused. ‘Take your time.’

  ‘I killed him,’ I answered. ‘He came to kill dad and me,’ I said, staring ahead. I didn’t want to meet his eyes, afraid of breaking down.

  ‘I killed him, and I’m glad.’ I missed everything out in between. I didn’t want to talk.

  ‘Okay.’ He stood and closed the door again, then giving the roof a tap, I was driven away.

  ***

  Once I had provided a statement, I was allowed to leave the station. Since relieved of my clothes, I was lent some by a policewoman, so I didn’t have to continue wearing the paper suit. Home was out of bounds, the blue police tape covering the front entrance. Mrs Brown waited at her door to greet me with a warm embrace before leading me into her house. The smell of her perfume sweet, but after the interview room’s sterile scent, comforting.

  ‘They rang me to let me know you were coming. I told them you would stay here. Though I hope you don’t mind the sofa.’ As she closed the door behind us, she whispered, ‘I’ve put your father in the spare room. He’s flat out. He tried to stay awake. Poor love, it’s been all too much for him.’

  I nodded as she sat me on the sofa already made up.

  ‘Can I get you anything?’

  I shook my head. ‘No, thank you,’ I said, glancing around. Her living room was warm. The sofa with two matching armchairs, looking as if they had been shoehorned in. While on the walls, pictures of her grown-up children and husband. A flowery smell and what had been eaten for dinner lingered in the air. Her cat, Milly took one look at me and hid around the back of an armchair; we were never friends.

  I was so tired I just wanted to sleep, the sofa, the floor, I didn’t care. I rested my head on the pillow she provided. I couldn’t even undress, listening to her voice as she talked about what had happened. Guessing she needed to work through it, but my eyes closed.

  11

  Wide awake the following morning, a commotion was going on outside the house. I could hear Mrs Brown telling someone to go away. Still dressed in the clothes I’d slept in, I wandered up behind her at the front door.

  ‘Kimberly West, could you answer a few questions?’ came a shout from a man who was there wearing a press badge. Several others were behind him, some with cameras. Mrs Brown slammed the door screaming at them to go away and leave the girl alone.

  An agitated expression on her face, she puffed, her cheeks bright red.

  ‘I’m sorry I’ve brought this down on to you,’ I said. I was preparing myself for her to burst into tears.

  ‘My dear, this is not your fault. It was that evil man who tried to kill you who caused all this,’ she said. Grabbing my arm, she pulled me away from the door and back towards the sitting room. Coming down the stairs was dad. He nodded at me.

  ‘How are you?’

  ‘Fine,’ I murmured, getting my arm back from Mrs Brown.

  Both dad and I sat at the kitchen table, our neighbour doing her best to carry on as if nothing had happened. What would we like for breakfast? Did I prefer tea or coffee?

  We settled for tea and toast, trying our best to ignore the doorbell going off.

  ‘Have the police still got my phone?’

  ‘Afraid so, but you can borrow mine,’ said Mrs Brown, jumping up to snatch her phone from the worktop like it was urgent and placing it under my nose.

  I picked it up, and I was surprised it was an iPhone and not just an iPhone, but the latest. Mine was still a 7.

  I needed to let Emma know I wouldn’t be in for a bit. But pretty certain she might have realised that by now. As expected, Emma, who sounded harassed, tried to talk to me while dealing with a client, agreed I should take time off. In the background, I could hear Flossy shout, ‘Give her my best.’

  Next, I thought I’d text Linda, see if I couldn’t lend something to wear as I was not allowed back home. And she was about the same size as me. All I needed was a pair of jeans and a couple of tops. Mrs Brown glanced to my dad and winked, moving closer to him, she whispered, thinking I couldn’t hear her, ‘She is organising herself. That’s a good sign.’

  ***

  Linda arrived to pick me up outside Mrs Brown’s, deciding it would be a good idea to get out. First, having to run the gauntlet through the local press besieging the house, throwing questions to me, and answering them.

  ‘How do you feel this morning?’ and ‘Are you relieved?’ and so on. Linda had opened the passenger side door for me so I could slide in. I closed it behind me, shutting the shouts out while trying to hide my face from the cameras. It wasn’t just the local press anymore, a call from a figure in the crowd.

  ‘The Daily Echo readers would like to hear your story.’

  I covered my ears, trying to blank out the calls.

  Giving them a wave, Linda drove off.

  ‘Do you think my picture will be in the paper?’ She asked, checking herself out in the rear-view mirror. ‘If I’d known there was going to be cameras, I would have sorted out my hair. Bloody hair just won’t behave this morning. I m
ean, look at my fringe, all over the place.’

  ‘You look great,’ I murmured, trying hard not to roll my eyes.

  ‘You think?’

  ‘Yes, I see someone else has been doing it?’ And she blushes.

  ‘Well, didn’t like to put you to any trouble. The streaks needed touching up,‘ she said, flashing me a look.

  ‘Yeah, you’re probably right.’ The truth was I didn’t care and was asking myself why I even noticed.

  We arrived at Alex’s flat as Linda was under strict instructions to take me there first. I noticed a bag in the back of her car, hoping it contained a few things for me to wear. I wasn’t comfortable still wearing the clothes I had slept in, and to be honest, pencil skirts weren’t my thing. I was in the mood for jeans. Ripped blue jeans and a tee-shirt, Sunday morning clothes as I call them.

  Alex no longer shared her flat with her ex and his boyfriend since they had moved into their own place. The second-floor flat was in an old Victorian house. Converted by developers some years back and a few minutes’ walk from Felixstowe front. Not self-contained since it shared stairs, but nice all the same. Much as I would have expected an Alex flat to be. Wooden flooring, plain walls littered by framed black and white pictures from the nineties film scene. The seating arrangements were a corner unit. And everything was spotless. The kitchenette shone, the worktops polished.

  Linda sat me on a stool at the breakfast bar as if I were helpless while Alex fiddled with her coffee machine. Paula had stood by the bay window, having watched us approached and parked out front.

  ‘What kind of coffee do you prefer?’ asked Alex, boasting the machine could produce five different types.

  Not wanting to burst her bubble, ‘Flat white,’ I said, more of a tea drinker. The only time I drank coffee was at our coffee session every other Thursday. I didn’t want to look uncool. Which I’ve missed, so surprised to find myself surrounded by the girls and touched, fighting back the emotion filling my chest. Paula had come up behind me and placed an arm around my waist.

  ‘You poor thing, what a drama to go through, it’s all over the news you shot the man trying to kill you. Your neighbour has been telling everyone how you saved her life.’

  ‘I don’t think she’s allowed to do that,’ I answered.

  It went silent, stretching out—the sound of a clock on the seafront chiming out the time. I counted; it was eleven o’clock. I might have missed a chime.

  I sensed the girls wanted to ask me questions about the event but were tiptoeing around it instead. So, we all watched Alex trying to work out how to use the coffee machine. Flashing an embarrassed smile, she told us the boys worked the thing.

  ‘Tea would be good,’ I suggested.

  ‘Excellent idea. Tea all round,’ said Alex, abandoning the coffee machine in favour of the kettle.

  ‘How are you?’ she asked, kettle on and positioned the other side of the breakfast bar. I was now surrounded by the three girls. Three pairs of eyes staring at me. And there it was, I burst into tears, and arms were fighting to comfort me.

  I sniffed myself free.

  ‘I’m okay.’

  ‘You’re in shock,’ said Paula, stroking my arm. Linda and Alex nodded in agreement.

  ‘Are you staying with your neighbours?’ Asked Alex.

  I nodded.

  ‘You can stay here until they release your house,’ she offered, moving over to the boiled kettle, and pouring the boiling water into the cups. I shuddered, remembering the kettle I had thrown at Vincent.

  ‘Or with me,’ volunteered Paula while Linda shrugged.

  ‘I live with mum and dad, so no room.’

  As nice as the offers were, on balance, I had decided I’d rather stay with Mrs Brown. It might have sounded stupid since I wasn’t sure why myself, maybe because she knew what had happened. Which had the advantage I wouldn’t have to keep repeating it over. Although dad had said little since he was deep, keeping his feelings to himself, I wanted to keep an eye on him. I remembered how he was when Mum died. He isolated himself for months and wouldn’t talk to anyone. At nineteen, I arranged the funeral, trying to get out of him whether Mum wanted a cremation or burial. In the end, I opted for the cremation as he kept saying, ‘She’s gone. What does it matter?’ He retired two years later from the Post Office and since then occupied himself with the garden and trips down to the pub where he belonged to the darts team. I wondered how Mrs Brown had managed to open him up.

  I shook my head. ‘Thanks, but I’ll stay with dad. He needs me.’ It was an excuse in part. If anything, I needed him. His routine, the sound of his voice. The way he would look at me when he thought I hadn’t noticed. On balance, maybe all he needed was in Mrs Brown.

  A minute later, a cup of tea between my hands, I had dried my tears. The conversation ranged from the latest soap storylines to asking my advice on hair products. I liked they were trying to draw me out. But not in the mood, realising it was a mistake coming there.

  The silence stretched out again, then Paula, who had been checking her phone, cried, ‘Your beauty blog has an extra thousand subscribers. You’re famous,’ she said, placing her phone under my nose with my blog on the screen.

  ‘Would you like me to do a couple of blogs for you while you’re recovering?’

  I nodded with a glance to the screen. Though not sure Paula, being a doctor’s receptionist, was the right person for the job. And I wondered when it would be polite to ask Linda to take me back to my neighbour.

  ‘Are you sure you’re okay?’ This was Alex picking up my cup, ‘More tea?’ She didn’t wait for an answer.

  ‘Yes, I’m fine.’

  ‘Just… you’re not saying much. It’s like the time you lost your voice,’ said Linda, causing a titter. Even I had to laugh, feeling the heat rush to my face.

  After another hour, Alex insisted she would take me back. Collecting my stuff from Linda’s car, I didn’t argue. Linda looked none too pleased. But it was clear Alex was the leader of our little band. Not me, as I had always thought.

  In the car, Alex glanced at me. ‘You know where I am if you need a bolt hole. And I didn’t want to say in front of Linda so to give you the first refusal. I’m going to need to get someone to share the flat now the boys have left. The rent is a bit much for me,’ she said, stopping at a set of lights turning red, allowing her to pin me under her dark eyes. While mine was on her new nose piercing, deciding against commenting on it since it could lead to another ten minutes in the car. The lights turned green, and we were on the move again.

  ‘How much?’ I was interested. Her place was nice, and I would have my own bedroom. Yes, I’d end up listening to her bed rocking, and she was always telling us about her conquests. Which I imagine was the reason the boys might have left for their place. Then again, I would be free to bring someone back, be independent.

  ‘Three hundred and fifty a month plus normal running expense.’

  ‘I’m in. Deposit?’

  ‘Same, but will need it soon as the boys took theirs out, leaving me in the red.’

  ‘Can you give me a week?’ I shot a look at the police tape as we stopped outside my neighbour’s house. I went to continue; she was holding up a hand.

  ‘No problem.’

  I got out and watched her drive away before I knocked on the door, forgetting Mrs Brown had given me a key.

  I sat at a kitchen table as Mrs Brown hovered over me.

  ‘How was it with your friends? Did they cheer you up?’

  I nodded, ‘Yes,’ I agreed. I didn’t tell her I had felt uncomfortable, awkward. Like all the emotions of the last few months had sucked the energy from my body.

  ‘I noticed the press have gone.’

  ‘I told them you were staying with friends, so there was no point in them hanging around.’

  ‘Oh, I thought...’

  ‘Don’t you worry. You can stay here as long as you like.’ She stooped and whispered, ‘Just a little white lie, so the newspaper people would l
eave you alone. Now can I get you something to eat, or have you eaten?’ The sudden thought creased her brow. And I knew she had been waiting to feed me. I shook my head, and her face lit up. So far, I couldn’t see any signs of trauma in her. Then, to be honest, I didn’t know her well enough to recognise it even though she had lived next door all my life.

  Fussing around me, she placed a fish salad on the table.

  ‘I hope you don’t mind cold; I didn’t know what time you would be back. I could always fry a few chips.’ She let that hang, and I realised she was waiting for a response.

  ‘Nah, be fine, thank you.’

  ‘I hope the fish is alright. Your dad didn’t seem to know if you were veggie, and he didn’t know what a vegan was,’ she grinned. ‘He thought it was a religion.’

  I laughed; it sounded about right.

  ‘I told your dad you saved my life,’ she said. ‘Though, I didn’t say that awful man was waiting for him. I hope you don’t mind; thought I’d leave it to you.’

  ‘Best not tell him at all,’ I said.

  ‘My lips are sealed,’ she agreed. ‘The police shouldn’t have taken you off like that. I told them you had to shoot that man to stop him from killing your family. It’s in my statement, every word.’