Perfect Murder

by Rebecca Bradley

  I was confused. ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Are you okay? How are you feeling? I was thinking about the accident and wondered how you were recovering.’

  He was a sweet old man to think of me even a couple of weeks after he had taken care of me.

  ‘I’m good, thank you, Hashim. My neck’s a lot better, it’s still a bit stiff but is better than it was.’

  ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘I am.’ I considered the call for a minute. ‘What about you, are you okay? Like you say, it was a tough day.’

  He was quiet for a moment. The silence dragged on.

  ‘Hashim?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, I’m here. I’m okay, love. Just thinking about the day made me think about you and what you had been through and how you must be dealing with it.’

  What a lovely gent. ‘Thank you, Hashim.’

  ‘Look,’ he said. ‘If you ever want to grab another cuppa and have a chat about it then do let me know, I’ll always make time for you.’

  I took a drink of my tea then put the mug down. ‘I will, thank you.’

  ‘Take care of yourself, love,’ he said.

  ‘You too.’ And we said our goodbyes.

  There was an elderly gentleman out there who had phoned me because he cared about me. The feeling was unusual. It had been a strange morning.

  29

  Incident book of DI Heidi Thomas

  Suffolk Police

  Ipswich

  Attended the PM of Christine Rice, DOB 27.09.1989 at Ipswich Hospital.

  In attendance Home Office Registered Forensic Pathologist Leela Mallick and DC Jackson Wade.

  DC Wade seized all exhibits.

  There were no visible signs of injury and Rice was otherwise fit and well. No obvious cause of death. Samples taken by Mallick and sent to the lab for analysis.

  Statements of witnesses at the coffee shop Lilly’s Coffee and Cream have been obtained. Rice was seen working on her computer and on her phone before she was taken ill. Nothing of note mentioned prior to the collapse.

  No CCTV on the premises.

  The investigation to remain open pending the results from the lab.

  30

  I put the phone on the table, leaned back in my chair and considered what had happened. Not just now, not the phone call, not kicking Seth out, but yesterday. I had stepped over a line and there was no going back. I had to be careful. Though thinking that now was a little too late, I had to be careful as I was doing it. What I had to consider was, had I been careful enough? Was there anything to link me back to the crime, to the woman or the location?

  I didn’t think so. Even if the baristas or other witnesses described another potential witness to events then the police would try to trace me but what did they have to go on? My description? It was a bit bland. It was a description that fit many women of my age or a little younger. There was nothing that stood out about me and I wasn’t from the area. No one would be able to identify me. And if the worst came to the worst and by some far-fetched possibility I was identified, I was a witness. To what though? I had left before she died. Of course I would have stayed at the scene had she died right in front of me. What sensible person runs off in a situation like that?

  After a shower and with my hair washed, I was somewhat more human. The thudding in my head had subsided and between the pep talk I had given myself and the feeling of cleanliness after the grime of a hangover, the world was a better place.

  I was ready to face it once again. Rather than closeting myself inside I wanted to get out and get some fresh air. Mingle with people, though engaging with them to any extent was not on the agenda, just being with them felt like the kind of day I needed.

  With a little over four weeks to finish the novel I was conscious of my current word count and how far away from the ending I was. I could do with going out to do some work, but wasn’t in the mood for sitting in a coffee shop today and yet I didn’t want to stay in the house. I shoved my purse in my bag and walked out of the door. It wasn’t my favourite pastime, but a little shopping might be in order. Maybe I should buy something for Beth to cheer her up and brighten her day.

  The day was bright, the sky overhead littered with clouds but they weren’t heavy or overcast, simply floating in the blue. I slipped a lightweight jacket on and decided a walk into town would be good for me this morning.

  There was a lightness to my step there hadn’t been for some time. I was ready for the day, as though I had a place in the world rather than the way I usually pushed my way through the hours as though I was trying to force my place, find my place. Today was different. I was as light and bright as the day itself.

  Beccles was thriving in the sun, residents and tourists mingling together. It wasn’t that we had a lot of tourists visit our small town, but we were what you would call a quaint market town close to several of the bigger towns and cities of Suffolk. If you wanted to get away from it all then you could come here for some peace.

  I pottered around the shops wondering what on earth I could buy for Beth when I spotted a teardrop-shaped silver coloured table lamp. It was a solid teardrop other than the cut-out pattern that the light shone through. I thought that, as Beth liked to sleep with a light on, this one would be beautiful for her should she wake.

  I bought the lamp. Watched as the cashier delicately wrapped it in paper before placing it in a box and a bag and handed it to me.

  ‘It’s rather lovely,’ she gushed.

  ‘It is. It’s a present,’ I said.

  She handed me my receipt. ‘They’ll love it.’

  ‘I do hope so, she means a lot.’

  I took the receipt and the lamp and left the shop, happy with my purchase and happy with the day. I couldn’t wait to show Beth her gift, watch her eyes light up. It wasn’t often I could do something special for her and I would treasure this.

  It was a pretty special day all round.

  I was happy, alive and fulfilled as I walked home with the gift swinging in its bag at the side of me.

  This was how life was supposed to feel. If so, I liked it. I wanted more of it. I wanted to stay in this feeling. I enjoyed it here, whole and at peace.

  As I approached my door I could see something on the doorstep. At first I couldn’t make out what it was, I was too far away. But as I moved closer I could see they were flowers.

  Someone had left flowers at my door.

  I bent down and picked them up. They were small, wrapped in plastic, the kind you buy at a supermarket or service station, which meant there was no card with them.

  Pinks and reds and purples with wisps of green sprang from the plastic. They were pretty but with no card I could only guess who they were from and I didn’t like where that guess was taking me.

  31

  The book I was writing was moving along well. My killer was getting into his stride. Three weeks to deadline and everything was going his way. My protagonist, the failed-to-pass-her-promotion-twice-and-pissed-off-about-it detective inspector was up against it. The bosses were on her case, because she was going against everything she should be doing in an attempt to get the killer, and she knew if she didn’t stop this guy he would kill again in the next twenty-four hours. He was meticulous that way, killing to a timetable, and with four dead the clock was ticking.

  I rubbed my hands together in excitement. I loved it when a manuscript was working for me. I hated the days when it was a hard slog, when the words wouldn’t come and I stared at the blank page or even worse, avoided the page altogether. The more I avoided it the more the story slid away from me. I had to tune in to it every day or I would lose momentum.

  I read the last couple of sentences again then sat my fingers over the keyboard and started to type. DI Chloe King was getting more and more erratic in an attempt to stop the killer before he struck again. She was risking her job but she was also risking her life. She was taunting the killer. There was a dialogue of sorts going on between them that the bosses didn’t know about. Max didn�
�t even know the full extent of it. She wanted to end it, and end it before he ended someone else. The sentences flowed. Corey and Poppy would be pleased. I might even make the deadline.

  A knock at the door broke me out of my flow. I wasn’t expecting anyone. The post had been and I hadn’t ordered an online delivery. I looked at Lilac, who swished her tail at me in response.

  ‘Some help you are,’ I said as I moved to the door. She rolled onto her back and showed me her tummy.

  ‘In your dreams, I’m busy.’

  I opened the door, not sure who I was expecting, surprised to see the dark hair, stubble and deep eyes of Seth. There was a fluttering in my stomach and I didn’t speak.

  ‘Hey,’ he said.

  I looked at him, the fluttering expanding to cause my skin to tingle.

  ‘Are you going to invite me in?’

  I was dumbstruck. What was he doing here? My brain function had left me, automation kicked in and I found myself moving backwards and opening the door wider allowing him access. Seth stepped forward into the gap and into my home.

  He looked good and as he moved past me I could smell the fresh scent of a shower, clean pine and the softest hint of damp around the edge of his neck. He wore boots and they thudded on the hardwood floor as he stepped inside.

  Once in he turned and looked at me. I was still standing with the open door in my hand.

  ‘Are you expecting someone else?’ he smiled, eyeing the open doorway.

  I shook myself. ‘No.’ I closed the door, mentally shaking myself. I needed to get a grip. I needed to keep control.

  He was still smiling.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ I finally asked.

  ‘Did you get my flowers?’ He moved towards the table and grabbed himself a seat, making himself at home. ‘You’re working.’ He nodded towards the open laptop.

  I’d been right about the flowers, though I hadn’t wanted to be. It had been a one-night stand. I thought I had made myself clear, I didn’t have space in my life for Seth right now, especially with what I was doing.

  ‘Yeah, I have a deadline,’ I said looking at my open laptop.

  ‘I didn’t mean to disturb you. I wanted to make sure you got the flowers as you weren’t in when I came around last time and I had to leave them on the doorstep. Didn’t know if someone else had whisked them away.’

  Another smile. He was trying to disarm me. Another place, another time, it might work, but there was too much going on and I couldn’t drag him into it.

  ‘I got them. You shouldn’t have.’ He really shouldn’t.

  ‘I wanted to. After such a great night, I wanted to say… something.’

  He stood and moved towards me. I was still some distance away from him, having not followed him to the table.

  ‘But there was no need,’ I said, a heaviness settled in my stomach. How did I get through this? Why was I in this position?

  He stopped. ‘I thought you’d like them.’

  I rubbed very gently at the dull ache at the back of my neck.

  ‘They were nice, but, well, you know…’

  ‘What? I can’t buy you flowers after a great evening and night?’

  ‘I wasn’t expecting them.’

  ‘Then it was a surprise.’

  He wasn’t getting it. I didn’t want to be this cold towards him.

  He took another step forward.

  ‘Can I take you out one night? I’d love to see you again. It seemed rather rushed that morning.’

  He wasn’t getting it.

  ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea.’

  His shoulders sagged.

  ‘Don’t tell me I was imagining that night, the vibe, the way we clicked?’

  He still wasn’t getting it.

  ‘It’s not about that, Seth. It’s me and where my life is at the minute. I don’t have the space for a relationship of any kind.’

  ‘We were good together. Come on, one more night. Give it a try, what have you got to lose?’

  He was standing right in front of me. Close enough to touch. No matter how much that night had given me, it was a drunken encounter and a relationship that could go nowhere.

  ‘I’m sorry, Seth. I can’t.’ I turned away from him towards the door.

  ‘Okay, I’m too much of a man to beg. You’re right, it was only one night. I’m sorry to have taken up your time. I hope I haven’t distracted you too much from your writing.’

  This time it was I who smiled. He sounded so sincere.

  I opened the door for him.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said.

  I furrowed my eyebrows.

  ‘For a great night.’

  He was halfway out of the door now and I reached out and touched his arm. His head shot around and he looked at me.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said and closed the door on him.

  32

  I grabbed a glass of wine and sank down on the sofa. I needed to relax for half an hour or so. To wind down and let my mind loosen up a little. I was tense and stressed. I drank half the glass down and lay back on the arm, looking up at the cracks on the ceiling. It could also do with a lick of paint. I wasn’t sure when it had last had one. Maybe when Matt had been here. I wasn’t good at the upkeep stuff.

  I allowed my eyes to close. Thought of my manuscript and where I was with that. Where it was going next. Quiet time was as important in the writing of a novel as sitting down and writing. Then my mind wandered to Beth and what she had asked of me. How I had been preparing for it with the killing. Preparation was something I’d used as an excuse but really I’d wanted to see if I could do it.

  Thinking back to the two murders I had attempted, I realised I had failed with both of them. The first one hadn’t even looked like a murder which was why I had gone out and done the second one.

  The second – though I’d used a more obvious method – hadn’t been classed as murder yet.

  I finished the glass of wine and continued with my examination of the ceiling.

  I needed to commit a murder that the police were going to call murder from the outset. I wasn’t going to wait for the toxicology results of the second one because they could be weeks, even months, and Beth might need me before then. This killing lark was a mix of practising for Beth and the simple need to now see if I could do it.

  With that decision made, I had to decide how to choose a participant and also decide on an MO. I needed it to be different from events one and two so that they wouldn’t be linked, even though event one hadn’t been classed as a murder and therefore didn’t have an MO for the police to link to in the first place, and as yet the second one was only in the investigative phase. That was part of the reason I was so stressed. I liked to know where I stood. But once they did classify it as a murder then they would have one MO to work with. Police presumed killers kept to the same MO. I’m not sure why this fact was true, but it was something they did. A sense of routine and familiarity maybe.

  After two quite clean events I realised that this time it was likely to be a lot different. I would have to get more hands-on. Was I ready for this? Could I do that?

  The possibilities were endless. There was electrocution and drowning, stabbing and strangulation, which I didn’t think I was strong enough for unless it was a much smaller woman, and even then she was likely to put up a fight. And I had to be realistic. I didn’t want to run the risk of a DNA swap during the encounter. The same went for a forced drowning now I thought about it. There would be a battle of wills as the participant fought for their life.

  I didn’t know how to get my hands on a gun. Yes, it was easy enough to write it up and get hold of one for my characters, but in the real world it was a different matter. Anyway, firearms could be traced to past crimes they had been involved in.

  Wow, this was more difficult than I had imagined it would be.

  My phone rang. I looked at the caller ID; it was Beth. I couldn’t take the call while my mind was in this dark place. I let the call ring out.
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  The simplest way to do this would be a stab wound in the right place. I’d need to consider my clothing and DNA transfer, where and who this would be, but I was sure this was something I could do. This way there would be no confusion that this was a murder. No messing about and waiting for tests. This would be a straight up and down murder and I would walk away from it.

  Mind made up, I pushed myself upright. My laptop was open on the table. I had to do some research to make sure this all went according to plan.

  As I sat down in front of the screen, I felt alive again. As though someone had plugged me in. The room appeared brighter, more colourful, as though the contrast buttons on a remote control had been switched up.

  I liked this feeling and could live my life better if I felt like this more often.

  It only took me twenty minutes of Googling and reading some very bizarre question and answer sessions on websites for me to find the places I needed to target if I was going to head out and use a knife on someone. Luckily we were in June, the weather was nice and people were not wearing a lot of clothing. This meant the target areas were not protected by thick coats and jumpers, and I would be able to get to them. I had come away with two areas that I thought I could easily reach, which would also disable my participant quickly and have them bleed out at speed. These were their underarm, because their axillary artery was there, and behind their knee, because their popliteal artery was there. If I hit either of these then my job was done. The knee artery interested me because it meant they wouldn’t be running off for help either. They’d be felled on the spot. All I had to do was find a location where I could do my business without being seen but at the same time have someone walk there for me to carry this out.

  My next stop on the internet was to order some plain black jogging bottoms and a plain black t-shirt, bra and knickers. I ordered a couple of sets of everything. It would be better to wear an over suit like the police wear at crime scenes but that would draw attention to me so instead I would wear clothes, including my underwear, that I could take off and destroy afterwards. I would tie my hair back and wear a hat to prevent losing any strands onto the other person involved in this. Under the hat I’d wear a hairnet to make doubly sure there was no transfer. I’d watched enough crime dramas as research for my writing to know everything I needed to be worried about.