Pop Goes the Weasel - страница 20

On Eling Great Marsh all was still. It was a cold night, an arctic wind blasting up the river channel, buffeting the car that stood alone in the bleak emptiness. The driver’s door hung wide open and the interior lights were on, casting a weak light over the lonely scene.

Holding his ankles firmly, she began to pull. He was heavier than he looked and she had to use all her strength to manoeuvre him over uneven ground. The going was soft, rendering progress slow, and they left a snail-like trail behind them. His head caught on a rock as she pushed him over the lip of a small ditch. He stirred, but not enough – he was too far gone for that.

She cast around quickly, checking once again that they were alone. Satisfied, she placed her bag on the ground, unzipping it to reveal its contents. She pulled out a roll of duct tape and broke off a stretch. Pushing it down firmly on his mouth, she smoothed her gloved hand over and over it to make sure there was no breathing room. Her heart was beginning to beat faster now, her adrenalin spiking, so she didn’t delay. Grasping his hair, she pulled his lolling head back to reveal his throat. Retrieving the long blade from the bag, she cut deep into his throat. Instantly his body writhed, as his mind desperately tried to regain some form of consciousness, but it was all too late. Blood spurted up, splattering her chest and face, binding them together. She let his warm blood settle and cloy on her – plenty of time to clean up later.

Driving the blade deep into his stomach, she set about her business. Within ten minutes, she had what she wanted, bagging the bloody organ in a zippered bag. Straightening up, she surveyed her work. Where her first effort had been imprecise and laboured, this was smooth and efficient.

She was getting better at this.

‘So how did it go?’

Steve had been waiting up for Charlie and was walking towards her. The TV burbled in the background. Four empty cans of lager on the coffee table revealed that like Charlie he’d felt the need for a few stiff drinks.

‘The day or my welcome back?’

‘Both.’

‘Ok actually. I made some decent progress on a case and the gang were pleased to see me. Helen was pretty much how I expected, but there’s nothing I can do about that, so…’

Charlie was relieved to see that Steve looked genuinely pleased for her. He had been so against the idea of returning to work that she was grateful now that he was trying his best to be positive and supportive.

‘Well done you. I told you you’d be great,’ he said, slipping his arm round her waist and giving her a congratulatory kiss.

‘First day back,’ Charlie replied, shrugging. ‘Long way to go yet.’

‘One step at a time, eh?’

Charlie nodded and they kissed again, a little deeper this time.

‘How much have you had?’ Steve continued, a little glint in his eye now.

‘Enough,’ replied Charlie, smiling. ‘You?’

‘Definitely enough,’ said Steve, suddenly sweeping her off the floor and into his arms. ‘Keep your head up. That banister’s a bastard.’

Smiling, Charlie let Steve carry her upstairs to the bedroom. They had always been a loving couple, but recently genuine intimacy had been absent from their relationship. Charlie was both exhilarated and relieved that they seemed to be recovering their old spontaneity and desire.

Perhaps everything was going to be all right after all.

‘You’re looking at a DIY thoracotomy.’

Jim Grieves savoured the last word, aware that it would mean little to Helen. It was 7 a.m. and they were alone in the police mortuary. Alan Matthews lay naked on the slab before them. They had already established that he had bled to death and they had now moved on to the removal of his heart.

‘This particular operation is not exactly textbook, but then again he or she was operating in less than optimum conditions. Their adrenalin would have been pumping, they would have been fearful of discovery and we shouldn’t forget that the victim was still alive when they started. Not exactly standard practice so, given that, it’s not a bad job.’