Perfect Death. Helen Fields
Читать онлайн книгу.
Lily’s life was very nearly over, it was just that she didn’t know it yet. He stroked the photograph of her he’d kept by his bed for the last few months. In it, she was bending over the edge of a pond, throwing bread for ducks, laughing, entirely unaware of her stunted future.
Much remained to be done before the evening, but he could allow himself a few moments with his box of treasures. He pulled the bottom drawer from his bedside table, putting his hands into the dark void beneath to grip the wooden container. He’d made it in woodwork at school – one of the few triumphs in a largely wasted period of his life – but then he’d moved around a lot, and academics had never come easily.
Sliding the lid off, he caught his breath looking at the scraps of lives contained within. A brooch, inlaid with semi-precious stones, in the shape of a sprig of heather. He remembered the back-breaking hours of gardening he’d had to do for that one, never allowed a rest to avoid the rain, yet it had been worth it in the end. Then there was the tiny silver letter opener, so well used and well loved that part of the swirling design on its handle had been worn away. A lucky coin, or so its owner had claimed, kept always in a pocket or a purse. Just went to prove there was no such thing as good luck. Finally, a tooth. More specifically a crown, dislodged in the torment and drama of those final moments when nothing had gone to plan. He liked the smoothness of its surface, the integral part it had played in the life he’d ended. Where did a body’s energy go once death was complete? He thought back to his school days once more. There had been something about energy changing form but never ceasing to exist. Not enough knowledge to have passed a science exam, but he was pleased with the tiny pearl of wisdom. He wondered if it was possible to breathe a dying person’s energy in.
Making a small space in the centre of the objects in his box, he imagined a new prize there. Its owner had taken more time to cultivate than the rest. Lily kept herself to herself, enjoyed family life, and worked hard. Soon he would have his memento of her, ready to savour among the others he’d worked so hard for.
He checked the tiny vial of cannabis oil he’d spent weeks brewing. Buying small quantities here and there rather than risking scrutiny for purchasing a massive amount in one go had been time consuming but worthwhile. Most of the process after that had been easy, snagging only when he’d tested it on himself and ended up sleeping so deeply that he’d missed work the next day. Not good. He had expenses. Such a complex calling required careful financing, and cash in hand jobs were in short supply.
Sliding the box back beneath the drawer space, he ran through the details once more in his head. His car was ready. All the lights were working – no point attracting attention from the police over something as ridiculous as a blown bulb. Everything had been handled with gloves. All his supplies. There wasn’t one item touched freely. He’d watched enough true crime television to know that these days fingerprints weren’t the issue. Skin cells could leave enough DNA to make a case against him. He didn’t want to get caught. There was so much to do. So many more people that needed his attention.
All ready. He could even afford the time for a nap. Better not to be tired given all he had to do. Not just the physical aspects. Killing was hard work. Anyone who believed a human being perished in the few seconds portrayed in TV crime dramas was an idiot. Death, more often than not, was a slow striptease of a show. There were ways it could be done fast – gunshot, explosion, massive head trauma – but hands on, it inevitably took longer. Suffocation and drowning were the real time-heavy activities, and chances were that you’d end up injured yourself. Scratches, groin kicks, broken bones. He’d had enough of that.
Lying back on his bed, he closed his eyes. The anticipation was all a part of it. Rushing to the end point was like reading the final chapter of a book first. It was the build-up, the investment in the characters, that made the pay-off so thrilling. In the past he’d struggled to find the ideal victims, and now three had come along at once. He laughed. It was a brutal choke of a noise that exploded in the air like a firecracker. It was a cruel sound, but he wasn’t a cruel man. Not unnecessarily. Only when cruelty was absolutely required.
‘Hey, sweetie, let me get you another drink.’ Joe smiled at Lily as she returned from the pub toilets. Lily squeezed between a final pair of Friday night oblivion seekers, failing to notice the one staring at her backside as she turned side-on to get through. Fair enough, Joe thought. It was a body worth staring at and he wasn’t going to start a fight over something so petty.
‘Joe, it’s my turn. You don’t always have to buy,’ she said as she dropped to the seat at his side. They huddled in the limited space, raising their voices against the increasing uproar of drinkers, music and the shuffle of feet on the wooden floor.
‘Are you saving money for university?’ he asked, gathering up their empty glasses.
‘You know I am,’ she replied, ‘but that doesn’t mean …’
‘And are you going to bust your ass to become the best doctor ever?’ Joe leaned down to kiss her. The crowd of girls sharing their table rolled their eyes, tutting, jealous beneath their masks of disgust.
‘You’re crazy.’ Lily kissed him back.
‘So am I doing the world a favour by helping Miss Lily Eustis save future lives without starting her degree an extra’ – he looked at the ceiling, calculating – ‘eight pounds forty-six in debt?’
‘I give in,’ Lily laughed, kissing him again then pressing her face into his neck as she blushed.
‘Okay, you got me, I have a thing about women in white coats with stethoscopes. This is my way of secretly funding my own bizarre fetish,’ Joe said. Lily mock punched his arm as he walked away. He didn’t hear the woman staring at him whistle under her breath. He didn’t notice as the girl sitting next to them looked daggers at Lily. They were a couple lost in each other.
Getting to the bar was like climbing a mountain. Drinks spilled down backs as people moved away with their hands too full. Positions were claimed and voices raised when one customer was wrongly served before another. Requests to change the music were yelled, and complaints made that someone was locked in one of only two cubicles in the ladies’. A beer pump ran flat. Joe stood patiently, quick to smile, to forgive the toe-treaders and elbow-jabbers. He had Lily, and she was everything he’d dreamed of.
In his car was everything they needed for the perfect romantic evening. Wood, firelighters, matches, a flask of liquor to warm them up, a sleeping bag. Even the weather had been kind. It would be cold but the rain was going to stay away. He’d even been thorough enough to check out their destination a few days ago. Edinburgh would spread majestically beneath them, its lights a reflection of the stars above, clouds willing. He would, at last, have Lily all to himself, and the time to show her what she really meant to him.
* * *
It was too cold for anyone to have been outside naked. That was Mark McVeigh’s first – and most ridiculous – thought. The scene the drone camera was relaying back into his monitor was nothing like he’d imagined he might capture. The wintry frost and barren rocks, yes. A hard, blank sky with a horizon veiled in layers of fog, yes. A woman sprawled, one knee bent, one leg straight, one arm behind her head, the other slung out across the ground, no. Her long red hair was wind swept, a fluttering veil over her eyes. At her feet were the ashy remains of a fire. Abandoned at her side was a box of matches. He moved the drone closer, trying to convince himself that he might see her ribcage rise and fall. No joy. Mark directed the drone towards her face, hoping he wasn’t about to be accused of some brand of perversion, and wishing to any number of deities that his gut instinct was wrong. Being wrong right now would be good. The drone copter was out of his eye-line over a ridge. He controlled its descent, careful not to bring it down directly over the woman in case she awoke, sat up and collided with it. Closer inspection brought no relief. The drone was fitted with a decent lens, and his screen was filled with shades of blue that had nothing to do with the frost or the winter-dead heathers. The blue