Perfect Murder

by Rebecca Bradley

  With tea and toast made, I returned to bed. I shoved some toast in my mouth and washed it down with tea as I contemplated the thoughts that had been running around my head since last night. It would appear that I had made a decision.

  I sipped at my tea again and leaned back into my pillows. If I was going to do this it would be done properly. I couldn’t leave Lilac and I most certainly could not leave Beth on a permanent basis. No matter what, Beth must come first. So, that meant I had to take every precaution and every single thing I knew from writing factual articles and from researching for novels, and do this the right way. If I did it wrong then that meant arrest and leaving the two I loved most in the world.

  It could be done.

  Funny how once you have made a decision it steadies the mind, and that was how I felt. Steady and calm.

  Ready.

  Now the plan was to execute the perfect murder I had to commit to it fully. I couldn’t make such a decision and then jump in and get it over and done with without proper thought. That would be foolhardy and it would scupper my chances of getting the task completed safely.

  First I had to consider location. We were a country that was covered with CCTV and I didn’t want to be seen on camera and caught at the first hurdle. When I finally got out of bed I researched CCTV coverage in the UK. I had no idea where else to start. It wasn’t as though this was what I did on a daily basis. Yes, I wrote about it, but writing and doing are two different things. For instance, when you’re writing, there are very small things that you can skip over, that you don’t need to explain if it’s in the too difficult box. Readers will be swept up in the story and won’t notice what’s not there. Yes, they want it to be realistic, but they also want to be entertained, and you have to strike that balance. If you’re writing murder scenes, who are they to know if it’s possible? Not unless you have a secret killer reading your books.

  What I found about the CCTV query was that Woking was a place to avoid. It was the most watched place in the UK behind London. But, if I wanted to commit murder in London then Lambeth would be the place to do it because it only has 42 cameras compared to the 2,246 cameras in Hackney which has 50,000 fewer people. 2,246 cameras!

  It was fascinating stuff and I wondered how these decisions were made – the decisions to pop up the big poles with video surveillance cameras on them.

  It was while I was researching CCTV that I came to the decision that the best murder – the easiest way to get away with murder – was for it to not appear as though it was murder at all.

  I asked Google. Google has the answer to everything, you know. And Google suggested I push someone off a cliff.

  What a fabulous idea.

  And the perfect cliff was the Seven Sisters in Sussex. The website even had a warning about people getting too close to the edge and falling to their death and yet there still was not a fence up.

  It was as if it were made for me.

  Yes, I would be spotted on the motorway CCTV cameras when I headed there. It couldn’t be helped. We lived in a time when our every move was monitored. But, this task wasn’t impossible. I could actually commit the perfect murder. Kill someone and get away with it. I would at least be able to assess how it would make me feel. And a quick shove would be easy enough. I was capable of that.

  I looked at cliffs closer to home, Hunstanton for instance, but there was a fence running along the top and it would mean cutting it to do what I needed and that would mean another step in the plan. The fewer steps needed, the easier this would be and the less possibility I would shy away from it or be driven away by sheer fright. The more simple my day was, and the more simple the act itself, the more I believed I could carry this out.

  I looked across at Lilac who was playing with the laces of one of my trainers. Lying on her back as she swatted it around her and pulled the trainer over onto her stomach.

  I creaked my sore neck sideways, brought my hand up and rubbed.

  Lilac pushed the trainer off her with a forceful shove of her back legs and it flew sideways with a thud. I smiled. Lilac did whatever she wanted to do. She wasn’t confined by rules or perceptions. She flicked her tail then grabbed for the lace again. I could get away with this so I didn’t need to worry about leaving Lilac alone. I was a methodical person. If it wasn’t safe to do then I wouldn’t do it.

  I returned my attention to the planning.

  I pored over the internet. Made plans and notes in my other notepad – you’ll find it filed away with this one. It’s the scruffy looking one with random notes and scribbles. This one is the diary. The other one is for the preparation.

  One lucky victim would make it into this book and find themselves at the centre of a perfect murder that no one would ever know about.

  12

  I had a need to clear my head so I grabbed my swimming costume and a towel and walked to the Lido. Once there I showed my season ticket pass and entered the changing rooms, slipped out of my clothes and into my swimming costume. I immediately felt free. Being stripped of my everyday clothing helped loosen the tension that had been building up in my mind and my body.

  I walked out into the open air, the sun not quite as warm as it had been over recent days and there was a slight breeze blowing, but regardless I was ready to enter the water.

  Already the Lido was filling up with regulars. Some who were here to swim, others who were sitting around at the tables having a catch up with friends.

  Standing over the edge of the pool I anticipated the moment of entry, the moment I would become one with the water and would be free of the constraints of everyday life.

  I lifted my arms above my head, tipped my body forward and dived in. The water was cold against my skin. My scalp contracted over my skull and I felt alive. Raising my hands through the water I glided to the other end of the pool, touched the wall, spun in the water, pushed off and started towards the other end. I was free in the water. My mind was free. I wasn’t sure why I hadn’t brought myself here sooner. I had definitely needed it.

  The water slipped over my head as my movements aimed to get me from one end of the pool to the other in the best and smoothest time possible. The air fresh above me and the water holding me and securing me. You knew where you were with the water. You had to respect it and always remember where you were and who was in control. That was what I enjoyed about the swim. You controlled yourself, but ultimately, the water, it kept you honest.

  This honesty was what I needed. Could I go out into the world and do what I was suggesting I do? If I did, there would be no going back. I would be in control of myself, but afterwards, it was mostly out of my hands. I had to be honest to myself if I was to survive this.

  I pushed against the wall again and turned. Pushed against the clean blue water holding me up.

  If I did this…

  Of course I was going to do this. I had to prove to myself that I could do it and now I had made my mind up I couldn’t dwell on it, I had to sort it out, I had to get my head into gear and go and do it straight away. I think first thing in the morning would be the ideal time. It was Sunday. Not that I ever had plans on a Sunday because I worked from home, but it felt like a good day to take a trip to the coast.

  As I lifted my head out of the water I could hear the chatter of the people at the side of the pool. Lively and happy and carefree. I dipped my head back down and into my own world. I loved to swim, to feel the silence of my world beneath the water as the world above continued. It was freeing for my mind as well as my body, and with bilateral breathing I could keep an eye on the pool sides around me as well as those in the water with me. The Lido was my place and I succumbed to it.

  13

  The rest of the day was spent working at the side of the pool. The Lido was a calming place and I felt at peace there. When I finished I walked home. I had a vague plan for the following day, but it was one I was determined to stick to now it was fixed in my mind.

  I woke the next day having had a strange night’s sleep
. I had slept on and off and when I had been asleep there had been dreams of faceless people clambering from the depths of the Lido, water dripping from empty eye sockets along with sand and seaweed.

  The Seven Sisters were a good three, three and a half hours’ drive away. I dressed for the nice weather but put plenty of layers on the back seat of the car. As it was late May and the weather was generally kind I was happy in a t-shirt, but it couldn’t be guaranteed, especially on cliffs, so I had a cardigan, a jumper and a thick jacket if I was going to be out late. I even had a woollen hat and a baseball cap thrown in with the rest of the clothes.

  I stopped at a cash machine and drew out a hundred pounds. This would give me enough should I need petrol and to feed myself. Plus some for extras that I couldn’t think of. I didn’t want to leave a trail that could be followed by an electronic cash card.

  I was quite surprised how organised and plan orientated I felt considering this idea had only come about yesterday. But then again I was one of those types of people who thinks of an idea and gets on with it rather than dwelling on it for weeks at a time. This was serious though. Maybe I would be better off dwelling on it for a while longer before acting on it, but it was too late, I was up and running.

  The day was a bright one. Brilliant white clouds hung in the sky but behind them you could see the blue breaking through and the sun leaking between them as they drifted. I didn’t have a definite plan other than making sure the area was empty but for me and whomever I chose, and an idea of how to get them to the cliff edge. My stomach twisted at the thought of what it was I was heading out to do. There were nerves running through me, but I still wanted to go and see if I could do it. I didn’t want to cause anyone pain, I simply wanted them to disappear over the side of the cliff and that be it, done. It was the best way I could think of to do this.

  The DJ on the radio chattered on about a festival that was due to play later that month and how excited she was about it. I kept the radio low. I needed it to play so I didn’t feel alone and isolated, but I couldn’t cope with it blasting out. My nerves jangled and I needed them to relax as I drove the distance.

  I didn’t know what to expect. This was an ad-hoc plan and I was somewhere between calm and anxious. Calm because I believed this was something I could achieve as far as step-by-step actions went and anxious through to my very core. My body vibrated with nerves as I travelled, my mind working at what it was I was intending to do as I headed closer and closer towards the cliffs. A heat spread through my body and up towards my head. I was overwhelmed. I opened the window and let some air in. Allowed it to swirl around my face. I bit at my lip. I needed to calm down. I was nowhere near yet. I had to get myself under control.

  What I couldn’t believe was that cliff murders didn’t happen more often. That more people didn’t kill just to see if it could be done. But, then again, if they did it this way or similar, then we would never know about it. The cliff deaths I read about as I researched, how many of them were accidents and how many were murder?

  It was gone midday when I parked in the South Hill Barn car park. There was no CCTV so I was clear for that. My neck was tight from the long drive and it throbbed, causing my headache to deepen behind my eye. I had to take some painkillers and was grateful I had packed some. The car park was some way from the cliffs and after a half-an-hour walk I was where I needed to be, on top of the highest section of the Seven Sisters.

  The view was amazing. All I could see was two different shades of blue as the sea met the sky and as I turned my head, the rest of the chalky white cliffs climbing up at the sides of me. The air was fresh and, ironically, I felt truly alive up here, with the breeze in my face, breathing it in and expanding into my lungs. The world looked vast from my spot on the cliffs and I was aware of how small we were compared to the natural world around us.

  The area was filled with day trippers. It was a Sunday, I supposed this was a bad day to come, but because I had made the decision, I hadn’t wanted to put it off and talk myself out of it. It all felt entangled with Beth’s request somehow. There were people milling about. Proper walkers in hiking boots and with walking sticks or poles or whatever they were called. In pairs and groups and even with children. I stood close to the edge of the cliff and looked out at the view, at the sea below and out to the horizon, to the edge of the world. I could taste the salt on the tip of my tongue as the sea rolled onto the beach below. The sand wafted about beneath my feet and up to my fingertips leaving a gritty layer wherever it had made contact. Seagulls wheeled above my head and cawed down at their visitors below. It was stunning. When I breathed in it was as though I was taking in the whole world. The salt air and breeze and vastness, the openness of being up here. My skin tingled and prickled.

  I was alive.

  14

  I found a clean spot on the ground, threw down a blanket, pulled my small laptop and my flask out of my bag and started to do some work. I didn’t know how long I would be here so I needed to make the most of the time because of that deadline.

  As I worked I kept an eye on the people who walked past. Some were friendly and warm like the weather, and said hello. Most kept to themselves. Saw me working and probably didn’t want to disturb someone so involved in what they were doing.

  As I kept one eye peeled watching the people come and go I was surprised when I saw an elderly couple stroll up to the edge. They clung to each other through linked arms. Faces wrinkled, a map of where they had been throughout their lives. Whitened hair gently lifting in the breeze. She curled herself into him a little more and he looked into her face and laughed. They were happy together. No matter what they had been through during their lives, they had made it and were happy. They had survived everything and had each other. I watched as her hand tightened around his arm as they looked out at the horizon, and his free hand came up and patted her with reassurance. Her head leaned onto his arm.

  If I was going to do this today this couple would be perfect. They had lived their lives. I wasn’t taking much away from them. I closed the lid of my laptop and placed it on the grass. I could hear them talking to each other, their voices soft and spoken only to each other. Also, they were together. I would not be leaving one at home to pine for the other. I had to be quick to do them both at once. Even though there were two of them they were elderly and would not put up a fight.

  The irony was not lost on me in relation to the article I had written about pensioners and violence against them.

  The man pointed out at something in the distance, skyward. She lifted her head from his arm then lifted her free hand up to her eyes to shield them from the sun. If I was going to do this I had to do it now.

  I turned and looked around me, pushed my hands onto the grass to heave myself up from the blanket. I’d been here an hour and I hadn’t had long to wait. But, as I looked around, I saw a family of three coming up the steep incline. I turned back towards the couple, arms still interlinked, perfectly placed for a quick drop off the edge. I looked back at the approaching family.

  They were too close.

  I dropped back down to my arse.

  The pensioners were safe.

  My body complained at sitting curled up on the ground. My joints started to seize up – it had only been a matter of days since the accident, after all. My muscles tightened. I stood and stretched myself out. Lifted my arms to the sky and stood on my tiptoes, pulling at every muscle I could get to. Then I walked to the ledge and peered down.

  It was a sheer, long drop. My eyes crossed as I stared at the ground beneath me and I jerked back, standing still; peering downwards over the cliff was vertiginous. I didn’t want to get dizzy staring down there. I didn’t want to be the one to be called an accident later on today. That was not the plan. It would probably be sweet justice. However, you know from the fact that I’m writing this that it didn’t happen so let’s not stretch that moment out any longer than we have to.

  I was tired. It’s hard work waiting. Yes, I had work to do,
but I wasn’t in the best position to be doing it, curled up on the ground. There were no wooden tables for visitors to rest up at so I made do with the floor.

  The breeze from the sea was brisk and cooling and I pulled on my jumper over my cardigan. Sitting still for a period of time, even if the sun was breaking through the clouds, didn’t do much for my body temperature. Neither did it do much for my neck injury. I rolled my head and neck in an attempt to ease it off. Massaged it with both hands as I watched people come and go. On such a pleasant weekend day the Seven Sisters appeared to be a popular tourist attraction. Maybe I had chosen the wrong day to come here, maybe a week day would have been better, more people would have been at work and at school.

  I decided it was time to get something to eat. There would be potential opportunities to identify a participant later, staying put in the same position for the entirety of the day would draw attention to myself, and the break would do me good. There was plenty of the day left yet.

  I made my way to The Cuckmere Inn, a welcoming looking pub up a flight of concrete steps. Outside a few people were making the most of the sun and were having their drinks at the seating that had been provided. I could have done with some of these out on the cliff tops.

  I walked inside and found it was busy. This was where all the walkers had come for their respite, to grab a drink and a bite to eat. But, even so, I managed to find myself a table. I checked out the menu and went to the bar, ordering lunch from a tiny barmaid.

  She grinned at me. ‘We sell so many of those chicken dinners at the weekend. They’re popular. You’ll love it. In fact, you’ll take up walking so you can come and have your lunch here.’ She laughed at her own joke, a tinkle of a sound in the raucous bar.

  ‘What about me stands out as not being a serious walker?’ I asked.

  She looked me up and down. ‘You’re not exactly kitted out as a walker. You don’t need to spend a fortune, but you need a decent pair of boots.’ She looked down at my trainers.