Читать книгу The Secrets Of The Shadows - Helen Phifer - Страница 11

Chapter 2

He perched on the arm of the sofa, admiring his handiwork. The woman lay there and didn’t move once, which was exactly how he liked it. He didn’t want to fight with her and he was glad there was no blood, he didn’t like it – no that wasn’t a strong enough word, he hated blood. The smell of it made his stomach churn and his knees go weak. A couple of times he had passed out because of it and he was getting better but he avoided it at all costs. When he had first put the plastic bag over her head she had tried to claw her way out of it but he had tie-wrapped it and the plastic was too thick and her nails too short to make a difference. Satisfied that she was dead he walked towards her, pulling the Stanley knife from his back pocket. He slid the button up so the blade was pointing out and slowly sliced the plastic in half, making sure the blade didn’t touch her skin and spoil everything. He didn’t have time to pass out or feel faint. He sliced through the thick, plastic tie and the bag loosened, pulling it away from her face and her soft, pink lips. He stroked her long, blonde hair. He tucked back the fringe which had come loose when she had been struggling and stared. She looked as if she was asleep – a sleeping angel. He had expected to feel deep regret at what he had done but he didn’t, what he felt was satisfied. For the first time in his life he felt as if some basic, primal need had been filled and he felt intoxicated from a feeling of well being which his normally troubled mind rarely felt. It was still early yet, he would have a couple of hours with his perfect angel before taking her to her final resting place. He hoped the priest would be the one to find her and not a little old lady, but it didn’t really matter who found her because people would soon come running to see what the fuss was about and the news would soon spread about his gift to God’s messenger.

He sat in the armchair and closed his eyes, memories from a long time ago filling his mind. His mother was to blame for everything that had gone wrong in his life. He wished that she was here to understand how messed up she had made him but she wasn’t. He was on his own, always had been and always would be. He must have dozed off because when he opened his eyes he didn’t know where he was and his tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth. Blinking a few times he looked over to see if the woman had come back to life and walked out. She was still there and very dead. He stretched out his hand letting his fingers brush her cheek, it was much cooler. Her lips had a blue tinge to them now; they didn’t look as kissable as they had done earlier. Standing, he picked up his iPhone and took a few pictures of her, sending them to the wireless printer he had in his small office upstairs. Best not to get these pictures printed out at the shop in town, they would raise some eyebrows!

He went upstairs and unlocked the door to the office, which was actually his spare bedroom. All the walls were painted white and on one wall were four large cork notice boards. Three of them were blank. He picked the two photos up off the printer and pinned them to the board he’d named Operation Gabriel. On this board were pictures of his victim’s house, views of the street from both ends. There was a small map of the surrounding area and her house was marked with a big red cross. Post it notes were pinned to it as well with her name and phone number. There was a picture of the coffee shop she used two or three times a week to get her skinny latte with a dusting of chocolate sprinkles on top. Once she’d bought a slice of lemon cake, but even this had been to go. He’d never seen her sit down and relax, take five minutes. He’d stand in the queue behind her and twice when she’d turned he’d grinned at her. Flustered she’d smiled then turned back to face the barista and wouldn’t look around again. She had no family or friends that visited her and she never went with anyone to get her coffee. He’d been watching her for four weeks now and the only visitor she had was the electricity man to read the meter. It looked as if Tracy Hale was as lonely as he was, he had no idea who would be the one to report her missing. It was quite sad really. He stepped back to admire his work; Op Gabriel was almost over. He just needed to secure her in the church grounds without getting caught and then it would be time to start the next operation. He enjoyed the information gathering part of it almost as much as the killing and he wondered if he wasn’t wasting his talents in his current job.

He went back downstairs to watch out of his living room window, pulling the curtain to one side to see if anyone was around. The small cul-de-sac was quiet; he had a small black book with a record of all his neighbours’ comings and goings. He knew that Bob at number eight went to the pub every Thursday, Friday and Saturday leaving the house at seven and not coming back until midnight at the earliest. Mrs Wallace from number twelve never went out of the house after five pm, the latest he had ever seen her come home had been ten to five one night when a taxi pulled up outside her house and she had scurried inside, shutting and bolting her door. She would then go into each room and close the curtains. She never had any visitors and she never opened the door – ever. The problem was number fifteen; he didn’t know what the young couple who lived there were called but they came in at all hours and were very unpredictable. They both worked shifts at McDonald’s, he knew this because of the distinctive olive green polo shirts and khaki trousers the staff at the drive-through wore. When they weren’t working they were out drinking and sometimes brought friends back to play extremely loud music and party. He was glad that he lived a short distance away from them otherwise he might have gone in there and smashed their music system or whatever it was they used to play the damn music on. However it was a pretty safe bet that they didn’t come home between the hours of eight and nine pm. They were the only ones left in the street; the other houses had been bought by the council and boarded up. There had been talk about regeneration and knocking the houses down to build an urban park but that was over two years ago now. The council had run out of money and now the last few residents were making the best of what they had until a better opportunity came along.

He looked at his watch; it was almost eight – time to put his plan into action. His truck was on the small drive directly in front of the house, he had made a point of taking things on and off the back of the truck to avoid arousing suspicion when he actually had more than some planks of wood or bits of old furniture. He slipped on his thick, black leather gloves and opened his front door. It was a dry night which was all part of the planning; he wouldn’t be able to do this in the rain. He unlatched the tailgate of the truck and let it drop down. He moved some of the old bits of wood around and took the folded up plastic sheeting he had in the cab into the house. He began to wrap the plastic around his sleeping angel, tucking it around her and rolling her from side to side to make sure she was completely covered, then he took the roll of duct tape he had left on the table and began to secure the plastic, being careful not to use too much – he didn’t want to make it harder than it was already going to be when he got her to the church. He bent down to pick her up, it was quite a struggle and much harder than he’d imagined. The plastic sheeting made it difficult to grip and even though she was a tiny little thing she was a dead weight – he smiled to himself at the pun. With everything he had, he threw her over his shoulder and made his move. He walked out of the house and placed her in the back of his truck. He didn’t look around to see if anyone was watching because he never did, he relied on his senses to alert him. Slamming the tailgate shut he went back inside his house and shut his front door. Give the neighbours time to come over and investigate if they thought he had put anything untoward on the back of the truck. He left the hall light on and the front door unlocked. He was breathing heavily from the exertion but he was buzzing with excitement. He went into the darkened living room to sit down and wait in the chair, giving the police a chance to arrive in case anyone had called them. He couldn’t go around suffocating girls in public places; it had to be done in private. He couldn’t abide mess and it would have been too risky killing her at her house so it had to be here.

Ten minutes passed with no police cars flying into the street with blue lights and sirens wailing. Perfect, he just hoped he could manage to get her out of the truck at the church without anyone noticing. He had been a busy boy this last month because he had a red book with every activity and service that was held in the church. Thursday nights were quiet, no tap-dancing teenagers in the church hall or flower-arranging pensioners in the church. Thursday was an unpopular night in St Mary’s Church social calendar, which suited his needs just fine. He left the driveway and drove the short distance to the church. Recently he had done a few odd jobs in the area so his truck was a regular sight parked near to the church. If he said so himself he was a very organised person.

There were no houses which overlooked the church, just the presbytery a short distance away. He noted that the blinds were closed. The front of the church was illuminated but the rear was in darkness. He parked at the side as close to the gate as possible. There wasn’t anyone in the area but he got out and had a stroll around to make sure. Reassured, he unlatched the back of the truck and dragged her out, throwing her over one shoulder. He had to duck as he went through the gate to make sure he didn’t catch her on the low branches which hung over the entrance, not wanting to get her caught in them, dangling like a life-size puppet. His hands began to sweat inside his gloves, making it harder to grip her but a few more paces and he would be at the grave he had chosen. It was in the perfect position, it couldn’t be seen from the street because of its close proximity to the wall and it was sheltered by a huge oak tree. Panting now, he bent and tried to put her down without dropping her but she slid from his grasp and he grunted as her body hit the gravel. Pulling the knife from his pocket he sliced open the plastic. Working fast, he pulled it off and screwed it up – tossing it to one side. He undressed her, taking every item of clothing off, then he laid her on her side, taking the time to position one hand under her face, palm upwards, her other arm across her chest, so they were as close together as he could make them without fastening them together. He then set about picking up leaves, branches and twigs to cover some of her nudity, wanting her to look tasteful. Posed in death as if she was a sculpture, this had taken him a lot longer than he had anticipated but when he finally finished and stepped back to admire his work he felt like applauding. She looked truly beautiful in death; he pulled his gloves off and took his phone out of his pocket, snapping a couple of photos. He didn’t think he would see her again but he wanted to remember everything about his first angel. Dragging himself away he turned and began picking up her clothes and the plastic sheeting, they smelled of her and he would keep them hanging up in his office in the wardrobe he had bought specially. He lifted the blouse to his nose and inhaled her perfume, unsure what it was but knowing it was something expensive. He knew every time he smelled it on a woman he would be reminded of these precious memories. His heart pounding with excitement and exertion, he forced himself to walk away from her. As he reached the gate he turned to steal one last glance and blew her a kiss. Then he climbed into his truck and drove away. He was pumped full of adrenalin, nothing could destroy how he felt at that moment. Gloating but not stupid, he drove around the empty streets aimlessly for the next twenty minutes – he didn’t pass one police car, which didn’t surprise him. When he was ready he began to drive home and back to his mundane life