Little Boy Blue

92

It was mid-morning and the Pound Shop was heaving. Beleaguered mums juggled maxi packs of Monster Munch, while old age pensioners scoured the shelves for bargains, keen to eke out their weekly budget a little further. It was an odd place to be plotting a murder.

The tall, slender figure sailed through the crowds, amused by the sights on display. All these people were so bound up in their own lives, scrabbling in the bargain bins, ladling pick-and-mix into crumpled bags, that they couldn’t see what was right in front of them. What would they say if they knew? Would they be horrified? Or excited?

The police were no better. Grace’s team had pulled in a messed-up shemale who might interest them for a while. But they were wide of the mark and, though Grace would presumably cotton on soon, she wouldn’t be in time to prevent the next death. It was only hours away and already those same feelings were rising. Excitement. Tension. Control. Release.

This one would be a little bit different though. It wouldn’t do to become predictable and now was the time to really give the police something to think about. Whereas the others had been works of art, this would be more down to earth, more homespun. This one would make them sit up and take note.

The cashier was ringing through the basket, chatting amiably. In her own mindless way she was becoming an accessory to murder. This was probably the most exciting thing that would ever happen to her and yet she was totally unaware of it, believing that this was just another routine sale of mundane domestic items.

But it was more than that. Much more than that. This was the beginning of the end.