Need You Dead

18 Wednesday 20 April

As the BMW headed east along the Old Shoreham Road, the showers had stopped. With the cruise control set at 30 mph, he was taking no chances of being pinged by a speed camera or being clocked in a radar trap. A short distance along he turned left, threaded around the side of Hangleton and joined the A27, where he reset the cruise control to 70 mph.

He stayed on the dual carriageway to the Hollingbury turn-off at the northern extremity of the city. Then he drove round a long crescent, past a parade of shops — a newsagent, an off-licence, a community centre — and up a hill.

He knew were Lorna lived, he’d been there a few times in their early days, when they had first met. It was before they’d got the flat, and had risky lunchtime meetings here while her husband was at work, and on a couple of occasions in the evening, when Corin had been away on business. But that had been a while ago and he sometimes lost his bearings in this complex network of streets.

Each of the houses he passed had rubbish bins pushed out to the front, many of them bulging, their lids partially raised. Good. Very good. That meant, to his relief, that the bin men had not been today. Tomorrow probably. Perfect timing. Please.

Then he recognized exactly where he was. The house was to his right, set back from the road behind two brick pillars, each topped with a stone ball, giving it the pretentious grandeur of a miniature faux-stately home. It used to make him smile, it looked so ridiculous. Lorna told him the pillars embarrassed her but Corin had insisted on them.

Their bin had, dutifully, been put out.

Good girl! Or perhaps, Good, diligent Corin!

He drove a short distance on, pulled into a space between a plumber’s van and an elderly Shogun, switched off the engine and killed the lights. He sat in silence for some moments, checking all around him. It was completely dark now, and there was no sign of anyone. He raised his hand and deactivated the dome light, pulled on a pair of gloves, then opened the door and climbed out.

His sodden shirt, under his coat, felt cold on his skin and he shivered as he looked around. Closed curtains. Flickers of televisions behind some. He strode quickly back towards Lorna’s house and stopped when he reached the bin. Again he looked all around him, furtively, then he switched on the torch on his phone, opened up the lid of the stuffed bin and shone the light in. Thinking. Thinking. What would fool the police?

Sitting on the top was a copy of yesterday’s Sun newspaper. Beneath was what appeared to be a tiny printed circuit board from the inside of an electronic device. Perfect. From out of his pocket he tugged an empty plastic bin bag he’d taken from the flat, shook it open and dropped in the newspaper and the circuit board.

Underneath that the bin was rammed with empty tins of dog food, cartons of fish food and oxygenating tablets. Chinese takeaway cartons. He rummaged through them and came across a set of hair curling tongs.

He glanced around again, checking the coast was still clear, then delved further. The stench was vile. Fish bones. Prawn shells. The rotting remnants of a chicken. An empty tin of Brasso. What else?

He found a scooped-out tin of tuna but ignored it. Then, nestling in what looked like vacuum cleaner fluff, near the bottom, he saw an empty cigarette pack, and dropped that in the bag. Rummaging further, he found an assortment of cigarette butts and two Carlsberg beer cans. They went in as well.

Continuing to look around vigilantly, he reached right down, checking all the items in the bin. But he decided he had enough now.

He walked swiftly back to his car, climbed in and drove away.

It was going to be fine, he thought. Fine. Everything was going to be fine.

It had to be. Nothing else was an option. It was all going to fall into his lap. He’d get through this. Think; plan; one step at a time. Just keep calm. And right now, that’s how he felt. Calm.

It would be fine.

Really.

He headed off to his next destination, continuing to watch his speed like a hawk. Killers often got caught by the most stupid mistakes. Panic clouded their brains. Red mist. He wasn’t panicking any more. He was thinking clearly, perhaps more clearly than ever before in his life.

Maybe that was because he had more at stake than ever before.

But that was fine.

He knew how to handle this.

He really did. And, just possibly, Lady Luck might hitch a ride alongside with him.