Killing the Beasts

Chapter 8

June 2002

'This is asking for trouble,' said Dan uneasily as he turned into

Moorfield Road.

'Chill,' answered Sly. 'We're just looking.'

Outside Tom Benwell's house, Sly clicked his tongue in appreciation. 'Our man is moving up in the world. Porsche Boxter. I'll settle for that.'

The car pulled over and Sly got out and made his way quietly up to Tom's front door. Once again the letterbox was pushed open and the torch probed the interior of the hall, moving slowly over the small table, searching for the keys. Unable to see them, Sly hoped the bastard hadn't started taking more care where he left them. Before standing back up he whispered through the letterbox, 'You'll leave them out one of these nights.'

At the roundabout off junction six, Dan looked at Sly. 'Which way, Altrincham or Wilmslow?'

'Let's do Wilmslow,' announced Sly and the car took the first exit. The road was single lane until it reached the tunnel going under the end of Manchester airport's runway. Dual lanes opened up and Dan increased speed, following a Hackney cab ferrying a passenger from a late-night arrival. As they entered the tunnel they were plunged into a world of orange provided by the continuous bank of bulbs running along both edges of the ceiling. Sly watched the multiple reflections racing along the sides of the taxi like a display on a fruit machine. Then they were out the other side, following the winding road in darkness until the street lights at the edge of Wilmslow began.

The streets had a village-like feel to them — pretty terraces of houses, erratic and jumbled, roads leading to little triangles of grass or narrow junctions. Clogging the pavements and driveways all around were the latest models of expensive cars.

Soon they reached a house at the end of a slender street. Beneath a cherry tree in the front garden gleamed a Mercedes. The gates at the end of the short drive were open.

'Try this one?' asked Dan, parking up.

'OK. 'Sly jumped out and pushed the door quietly shut. A quick look through the letterbox revealed a table with a set of keys almost within touching distance. He hooked them out in a couple of seconds, then waved Dan off. But when he pressed the key fob, the lights that flashed belonged to a Renault on the road in front of the house.

'Bollocks,' said Sly, eyes on the silver Mercedes. He examined the other keys, saw the one for the front door and let himself in. Fresh flowers in the hallway, a red umbrella standing in a pot by the front door. He shone the torch at the coat rack — no man's jacket in sight. A good search of the lady's coat hanging there revealed no keys so, taking his Stanley knife out, he climbed the stairs. First bedroom had breathing, the other two were silent. He stepped into the occupied room and turned the torch on to her face. She blinked a couple of times, then raised herself up on one elbow, letting out a low moan of fear.

He stood over her, relishing the sense of power, wondering whether to yank the duvet off. 'The keys to the Mercedes. Now.'

She started shaking violently, silent tears streaming down her cheeks. No reply.

He took the Stanley knife out of his pocket and held it in front of her face. The triangular blade eased out of the stubby handle with a series of clicks.

Still no reply.

Sly leaned forward and realized her eyes were tightly shut. She was trying to pretend it was all a bad dream. He slapped her hard across the face, sent her banging against the headboard. 'The Mercedes, bitch.'

She heard that and pointed to the bedside cabinet.

He crouched down, opened the door and pulled out her handbag. Purse with a wodge of tenners. Mobile phone. Mercedes keys. He pocketed the lot and looked at her again. If she wasn't such an ugly munter he would have considered it. Instead he picked up the phone on the bedside cabinet and cut the wire with his knife. 'Stay in your bed for the next half hour. My mates are parked outside to make sure you do.'

He walked out of the room, trying not to laugh.