‘Oh, yes, I remember.’
She opened the front door, pulling back two large bolts and taking off the chain before opening it.
George stood there smiling.
‘I’m sorry to come so late but I work rather unsocial hours, you see. I just wanted to thank you properly for all your help that night. I really don’t know what I would have done without you.’
Upstairs, he heard a door opening and began to panic.
‘May I come inside for a moment? I won’t keep you long, I promise.’ He could hear footsteps on the landing above. Whoever it was would see him. They would see his face and know he had been here.
Leonora stepped back and George walked into her hall, pushing the door shut behind him. He smiled at her. His little smile that just showed his teeth. He had observed her for weeks and knew that there was no man in the house. She always went to bed alone.
Leonora smiled back. Now she knew who he was, she was happier. You couldn’t be too careful when you lived alone. ‘Will you come through to the lounge? I was just having a coffee, would you like one?’ Her open face was like balm to George.
‘If it’s no trouble . . . I don’t want to put you out.’
He followed her into her lounge.
‘Sit down and I’ll get you your coffee. Do you take milk and sugar?’
George nodded. ‘Oh, you’re watching Taggart, I love that programme myself. My wife’s taping it for me.’
‘Well, sit down, Mr . . .’
‘Markham. George Markham.’
‘Well, sit down, Mr Markham, I won’t be a second.’
George sat down on the sofa, an old PVC affair that had obviously seen better days. He noticed that the room was clean and tidy if very old fashioned. It needed decorating. He undid his coat. He gazed at the television screen smiling to himself. Leonora came back with the coffee and gave it to him.
‘So how are you now? I tell you, Mr Markham, this place is getting worse. The youngsters seem to be taking over. I don’t leave the house now of a night, unless I have to. What with the muggers and the Grantley Ripper, a woman isn’t safe any more.’
George sipped his coffee.
‘You’re absolutely right. I tell my wife that she has to be very careful. Very careful indeed.’ His face clouded.
Leonora lit herself a cigarette.
‘Did you go to the police station? Did they find out who did it?’
‘Oh, no. It’s a waste of time, the police can’t catch anyone these days. Or so it seems anyway.’
Leonora nodded, not sure what to say.
‘Are you divorced?’
‘Yes. Ten years now.’ She smiled sadly.
George watched her drink her coffee. Her hair was mousy brown and her eyes a watery blue. Around her mouth she had deep grooves. Not an attractive woman, he thought. His eyes dropped to her breasts. George liked her breasts. He had seen them many times.
He put his coffee on the table.
‘May I use your toilet, please?’
‘Of course. It’s the second door on the right, in the hall. You have to pull the chain hard or it won’t flush.’
He stood up.
‘Thank you.’
He walked out to the hall and went into the kitchen. Opening the drawers slowly and quietly, he found her knives and taking out a large breadknife, he slipped it into the belt of his trousers, covering it with his coat. He walked back into the lounge.
He smiled at the woman.
She smiled back.
Then he walked towards her slowly. He started to talk.
‘This ornament, may I ask you where you got it?’ He picked up a large vase, about sixteen inches high, made from cut glass. It was on the mantelpiece, over the gas fire. He turned back to Leonora with it in his hands.
‘Oh, that was my mother’s.’ She leant forward in her chair that was pulled up near the fire, her hands outstretched as if to take the vase from him. As she opened her mouth to speak again, her face froze.
George lifted the vase above his head and the action pulled his coat open. Leonora saw the breadknife in his belt and the heavy vase descending towards her at the same time. She felt the scream rise in her throat, but George was too quick.
He brought the vase down with all his might on to her forehead. He was amazed that the force of the blow did not break the vase. It had not even broken the skin on her forehead, though a lump the size of an egg was slowly appearing.
She was out cold.
George sat on the sofa and watched her for a few minutes. She lay sprawled across the chair. The skirt and jumper she was wearing were both bunched up and looked uncomfortable.
George got up from his seat and placed the vase back where he had found it, arranging it precisely. Then he tidied Leonora up, pulling her skirt and jumper down so she looked more natural. Then, taking the breadknife from the belt of his trousers, he placed it by her chair. He took off his overcoat and folded it up neatly on the settee.
Satisfied with his work, he once more retrieved his knife and began the process of cutting her jumper from the neck to the navel. As usual, he laid it open tidily and began on her bra.
Leonora’s arms were hanging over the sides of the chair and her head was lying on her shoulder, slightly bent. By the time George began to hack at her skirt, she had begun to stir. He tutted and, walking out to the hall, picked up a tartan scarf from the coat rack. Going back to Leonora he pulled her head forward roughly by the hair, causing her to groan. He placed the scarf around her neck and pushed her head back.
Then he began his task. Crossing the scarf over her naked breasts, he picked up each end, wrapping the woolly material around his hands to get a good grip. He began to pull his arms outwards. He watched the tartan material stretch and stretch until eventually it cut into her neck.
George was whistling a little tune through his front teeth. All the tension was gone now. He felt himself relax.
George was back on top.
Chapter Eighteen
Elaine heard George’s key in the door and glanced at the clock. It was twenty past twelve. She listened to him humming as he took off his coat and hung it up. Her nerves were jangling and she swallowed deeply as he walked into the lounge. His face was animated. The dead grey eyes seemed to be twinkling as he looked at her.
‘Hello, dear, can I make you a drink? I’m having one, I’m parched.’
‘Where have you been, George?’ Elaine’s voice was flat.
She could sense George’s surprise even though his face was calm.
‘Why, I’ve been out walking, dear, where on earth would I go?’
‘So you’ve been walking for over three hours, have you?’
Elaine could feel his confusion. She realised that he was unaware how long he had been out of the house.
‘I . . . I was just walking, that’s all. I often walk, you know that.’
Elaine still sat staring at him, her eyes hard and steely. She ran her tongue over her lips before she spoke. George’s eyes were glued to her, watching every nuance.
‘In all the years we’ve been married, George Markham, I can count on one hand the times you went out walking alone. Now all of a sudden you’re never in the house. I want to know where you go. And I’m warning you, George, you lie to me and there will be murder done in this house tonight.’
He stared at her for a few seconds and then he felt it: the high-pitched giggle that came from his stomach and gradually worked its way up to his throat. He tried valiantly to calm himself, swallowing heavily, but to no avail.
He burst into nervous, high-pitched laughter. Like a child who laughs out of sheer terror when being told off by his teacher. In his mind was one word: murder.
He had already committed one murder tonight. Elaine would murder the murderer. Every time he thought of it it sent him into gales of hysterical laughter. Where had the time gone? Where the hell had the time gone?
‘George?’ Elaine was standing now. His laughter was frightening her.
‘For Christ’s sake, George, calm down.’
He had dropped on to his knees, his hand holding his stomach. Tears were rolling down his face.
He was heaving with mirth. A strange sinister mirth. Elaine stood and watched him until he was quiet.
When George was finally capable of movement, he pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and blew his nose vigorously before he pulled himself on to the nearest chair. The laughter was all gone now, only fear of discovery remained. His knife-sharp brain was ticking away as he watched his wife. Did Elaine guess?
‘There’s something not right, George, I know it. All this walking, being gone for hours - is not like you. I have to drag you from the house normally even to go shopping.’ She sat down heavily in the other chair.
‘I want to know exactly what’s going on.’ Her voice brooked no argument, but deep inside she did not want to know. She did not want to believe what the rational part of her was dreading.
George sat quietly, twisting the handkerchief between his fingers. He needed something that would throw Elaine off the scent completely. Then it jumped into his mind and he grabbed at it like a drowning man a straw. He looked at her, gathering every ounce of sorrowfulness he could muster into his lacklustre grey eyes.
‘I have a terrible problem, Elaine. I’ve been going out of my mind with worry about how to tell you. Something dreadful has happened.’
She felt her throat go dry. Please God in heaven, don’t let George tell me . . . I don’t want to know. I just don’t want to know.
‘I’ve been made redundant, Elaine.’
He watched her eyes screw up into tiny slits. ‘I beg your pardon?’
‘I’ve . . . I’ve been made redundant. They told me a while ago. There’s five of us going in all. Streamlining, they call it. I just couldn’t tell you, dear. I felt as if I had failed you again. I’ve been walking the streets in a daze. I’d look at you, my love, watching television, and I just couldn’t tell you.’
Elaine was stunned.
‘I see.’
George could hardly suppress the laughter. He was a sly old fox. He was as clever as a bag of monkeys. He could talk his way out of anything. He was the man.
‘I’m so sorry, dear. I know you’ll think it’s another failure on my part. I always wanted to give you the best, you know I did. Things just never worked out right, no matter how hard I tried.’
Elaine sat very still. Her face was closed to George through years of habit. One tiny part of her felt that she should go to him, put her arms around him and commiserate with him. But she could not. Years of avoiding physical contact with him had made such a simple act impossible.
Poor George had received the ultimate insult. At fifty-one he was on the scrap heap. He would never work again and she, his wife, was relieved that that was all that was wrong. That he was not a murderer. That he was not a rapist. She knew she shouldn’t have thought such terrible things about him, but after what had happened before . . .
She pushed the thought from her mind. She would not think about that now. She had a duty to George if nothing else.
‘I’m sorry, but we’ll get by somehow. I expect the redundancy money will be quite a bit. The house is paid for. I’m working. We’ll get by.’
He smiled at her sadly.
‘That’s why I said at Christmas that we would go to see Edith in Florida. I knew I would have the redundancy money and I wanted you to have something to look forward to, you see. I wanted at least to have given you that. A trip to America with no expense spared. The trip of a lifetime.’
George was warming to his theme. He had killed two birds with one stone. He knew what Elaine had thought and she had been right. Oh, so right. But he, George Markham, had sneaked in and extricated himself from a very dangerous situation. Because if push ever came to shove, he would cut Elaine’s throat without a second thought. Now he had told her the thing that he was most scared of and instead of the recriminations and the upset, he had her sympathy. He had told her about the redundancy. He was on top.
‘I don’t know whether a trip to America would be a good idea now, George, what with losing your job like that.’
‘We’re going, Elaine. We are going. I want to give you that. God knows, I’ve never made you happy and I always wanted to, you know.’
Elaine stared into his lifeless grey eyes. The faint gleam had gone now and he was once more the George she knew.
‘Would you like a cup of tea?’
Elaine nodded at him.
George got up from his seat and went to the kitchen. The clock said five past one. He had better hurry and get to bed or he would be tired in the morning. He was humming again as he put the kettle on.
Dorothy Smith knocked on Leonora’s door as usual. They travelled to work together. Her fat face, under a dark brown wig, was homely and friendly. When her knock was not answered, she frowned. She banged on the door again, harder this time. Still no answer.
Surely Leonora had not gone already? They had travelled to work together for over two years and they were on the ten till six shift. She looked at her watch. Nine thirty-five. She was early, so where was Leonora? Maybe she’d popped up to the shops. She sat on the flight of stairs that led down to the first floor and ground level, her heavy bag on her knees. She smoked a cigarette and checked her watch again. Nearly ten to ten. Leonora was cutting it a bit fine, they’d be late. She ground the cigarette stub with her boot. Then she heard footsteps coming up the stairs. She stood up, a half smile on her face to greet her friend, but it was Leonora’s next-door neighbour.
‘Hello, love. Have you seen Leonora this morning?’
The other woman shrugged. ‘No.’
‘I wonder what could have happened to her? I’ve been waiting here for ages.’
‘Maybe she overslept?’
The woman was opening her front door.
‘No. I banged the door down.’
‘Sure it’s not her day off?’
‘We always have the same days off. I don’t like it. If Leonora was called away sudden like, she would have rung me. She knows I come out of me way to walk to work with her.’
The neighbour put her shopping bags down heavily in her hall and pulled the keys from the door.
‘I’ve got a key. She gave it to me when she got locked out that time. Just in case it happened again. Cost her over forty quid to get all new locks. Bloody scandalous, I say.’
Dorothy nodded in agreement.
‘Do you think we should let ourselves in like? In case she’s had an accident or she’s ill or something.’
‘I’ll knock one more time.’
Neither woman liked the thought of letting themselves into Leonora’s house unless they had to.
Dorothy banged on the front door again, the sound echoing through the block of flats.
Nothing.
She opened the letter box and called through it. Then listened in case Leonora was in bed ill or something.
She straightened up.
‘The telly’s on.’
The neighbour slowly opened the front door. Inside, the hall was quite dark. All the doors in the flat led off it and as they were closed there was no light from the windows. Dorothy switched on the light. Both sniffed and stared at one another. There was a slightly pungent smell beneath the heavier smell of lavender polish. The two women felt uneasy as they walked to Leonora’s bedroom. Dorothy opened the door.
‘The bed’s made.’ Her voice was puzzled.
Leonora’s neighbour stood by the front door. She had a terrible feeling.
The door to the lounge was shut tight, and Dorothy felt a prickle of apprehension as she put her hand on the handle. She walked into the lounge.
The gas fire was on full and the television was showing a children’s puppet programme. Her mind registered these facts. Her eyes, though, were on her friend.
Dorothy just stood and stared at the remains of Leonora Davidson.
Finally, after what seemed an eternity, she
screamed - a high-pitched, animal scream that bounced around the tiny room, filling it with her fear and outrage.
As a parting shot, George had stuck the breadknife through Leonora’s left eye socket.
Her naked legs were sprawled in front of the fire, and had been gradually singed during the course of the night. Somewhere in the back of her mind Dorothy realised that that was the funny smell.
Burnt meat.
Caitlin and Kate were elated. The killer had once again changed tack. He had gone into someone’s home. That meant one thing: the victim knew him.
The door-to-door was trying to establish not only people’s whereabouts, but also whether or not they had seen anybody either in or near the block of flats.
Kate’s elation soon dissipated when she saw the woman’s body. What kind of man would do that to another human being?
‘There’s semen on the mouth, breasts, and in and around the vagina. I’d hazard a guess our man went on rather a spree last night. She’s been buggered, I’d lay money on that one.’ The pathologist shook his head.
Caitlin was staring at the woman as if committing her to memory. She still had the breadknife jutting from her eye, like a grotesque statue. At least someone had turned off the gas fire and opened the windows.
All around people were getting on with their jobs. Scenes of Crime were taking photographs. Taking fibres from the carpet and furniture. Picking up individual hairs. Taking samples of blood from the body, the chair and the carpet. Kate saw one pop the two coffee cups into plastic bags for fingerprinting and knew immediately that would get them nowhere. He always wore gloves. Always. He was as shrewd as they come.
Caitlin pulled his gaze from Leonora’s body and his eyes burned into Kate’s.
‘There’s got to be something this time. He’s not the Invisible Man, for God’s sake. Someone must have seen him.’
Kate wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince.
‘The two women who discovered the body are both in hospital. Shock.’
‘Well, I should think they are, Katie. Look at what they stumbled on. But this time we’ve got him. I just know it. I feel it.’
She hoped that Caitlin was right.
‘Are you coming with me to watch the post mortem?’