The Shadow Killer

52

The jeep skidded on the gravel outside Vera’s laundry and came to a halt in a cloud of dust, a hair’s breadth from the wall. Thorson grabbed his gun and leapt out. He had never used it except for target practice and had always wondered when he would first have to fire it in earnest.

Holding the gun down by his side, he ran for the door behind the house. When he rounded the corner, he saw white washing hanging from the lines, billowing gently in the breeze. The door to the laundry was open as before and in the dim light that spilled out Thorson noticed that the washing wasn’t all clean, although it had been hung out to dry.

‘Vera!’ he called, pausing by the lines. ‘Vera, are you there?’

There was no answer.

‘Billy!’ he shouted. ‘Billy Wiggins!’

He gripped his gun more tightly and was about to start inching his way towards the house, unsure what might await him there, when his gaze fell on the rows of white sheets hanging on the lines. There was no question about it: they were soiled. Either the washing machine had failed to remove the stains or something had brushed up against the sheets after they were pegged out to dry.

Thorson edged closer and, taking hold of one of the sheets, saw that it was covered in dark smears. He ventured further into the rows of sheets and saw that something had definitely brushed up against them. He had already begun to fear the worst by the time he stumbled on Vera lying on the ground.

Tearing the washing aside, he saw that she had fallen against a sheet and brought it down with her as she fell. She lay there in a tangle of bloodied white linen. Blood trickled from her head. She appeared to have another wound in her arm and a third in her chest. Clearly, she had tried to flee but had got caught up in the washing until, in the end, she had sunk lifeless to the ground.

Thorson heard a noise behind him and turned to see Billy Wiggins emerging unsteadily from the laundry and staring in his direction with a gun in his hand. Thorson was unprepared. Their eyes met, and for a moment it looked as though Wiggins was going to raise his weapon, but then he flung it away in surrender.

‘I didn’t mean...’ he faltered, gazing towards the spot where Vera lay. ‘It was... she... I didn’t mean...’