Dead Like You

95

Saturday 17 January

He had come early in the afternoon, to ensure he got a parking space in one of the pay-and-display bays close to her flat. One that she would have to walk past on her way back from her kick-boxing class.

But every damned one of them was taken when he arrived. So he had waited, at the end of the road, on a yellow line.

This area to the south of Eastern Road was a warren of narrow streets of two- and three-storey Victorian terraced houses, popular with students and singles, and in the heart of the gay community. There were several estate agent’s hoardings, advertising properties for sale or to let. Cars, mostly small and grimy, and a few vans were parked along both sides.

He’d had to wait over an hour, to almost 3.30 p.m. before, to his relief, a rusty old Land Cruiser had driven off, leaving behind a space big enough for him. It was just thirty feet from the front door of the pale blue house, with bay windows, where Jessie Sheldon had the upstairs flat. The gods were smiling on him!

It was perfect. He had put sufficient coins in to cover him until 6.30 p.m., when the parking restrictions expired. It was now just past that time.

An hour and ten minutes ago, Jessie had come out of her front door in her tracksuit and trainers, and walked straight past him on her way to her kick-boxing class – the one she attended every Saturday afternoon, and which she had chattered about on Facebook. He could have taken her then, but it wasn’t quite dark enough, and there had been people around.

But now it was dark and, for the moment, the street was deserted.

She would have to hurry home, he knew. She had informed the world that she was going to have to rush in order to get changed into her finery, to take Benedict to meet her parents for the first time.

I am soooooooooo nervous about that meeting! she had put on Facebook.

What if they don’t like him?

She added that she was sooooooooo excited about the Anya Hindmarch shoes she had bought!

He was sooooooooo excited about the pair of Anya Hindmarch shoes he had bought too. They were lying on the floor right behind him, waiting for her! And he was soooooooooo nervous also. But nervous in a nice, excited, tingly-all-over way.

Where are you tonight, Detective Superintendent Big-Swinging-Dick Detective Superintendent Roy Grace?

Not here, are you? You haven’t a clue! Again!

He had parked so that he could watch her approaching through the crack in the rear window curtains, although these were hardly necessary. He’d applied dense black-out privacy film to all the rear and side windows. It was impossible to see in from outside, even in broad daylight. Of course, he knew, aficionados of these classic VW camper vans would frown at such a thing as darkened windows. Fuck them.

He checked his watch, pulled on his latex gloves, then his baseball cap, and raised his night-vision binoculars to his eyes. Any minute now she would appear around the corner, either walking or perhaps running. It was 200 yards from that street corner to her front door. If she was running he would have twenty seconds; if she was walking, a little longer.

All that mattered was that she was alone, and that the street was still deserted.

If not, then he’d have to switch to his alternative plan, to take her inside her house. But that would make it harder for him to then get her outside again and into the camper van undetected. Harder, but not impossible; he had that worked out too.

He was shaking with excitement as he once again went through his checklist. His heart was thudding. He opened the sliding door, grabbed the fake fridge he had made from plywood and moved it closer to the door. Then he took his baseball cap off, pulled his hood on and tugged his baseball cap down again, to disguise the hood as much as possible. Then he looked at the shoes on the floor. Identical to the ones she had bought.

He was ready. After the mess-up on Thursday, he had planned today much more carefully, the way he normally did. He had everything covered, he was quite confident of that.