with nothing but a background of twinkling stars. A short life, he thought, but a spectacular end.
Harry stood on Plymouth Hoe, the place where he had done so much watching, not quite believing he was taking such a risk. Now though, the time for watching was over. Now it was time for action.
Action, Harry?
Lucy still buzzed in his head even though he had dumped her. This time he had managed to carry out his plan and leave her exactly where he had wanted to leave Trinny. She would give the God bods something to think about, for sure. Fearing that, like Trinny, Lucy wouldn’t stop speaking simply because they were apart, he decided to shut her up for good. After he had pushed the big knife down into her stomach, pressing hard so it went right in where babies grew, he used the blade on her mouth. It seemed to have made no difference. He couldn’t quite understand why she still pestered him since she knew she was not the chosen one.
But neither is Emma.
No, Emma was proving to be a disappointment.
I told you so.
Lucy would know, being a little slut herself.
Slut is a very strong word.
True, but Lucy was a very naughty girl.
And you, Harry, what are you?
Harry thought for a moment. He was just Harry. Like Mitchell once said, being yourself is all you can ever be, so don’t try to fight it. And Mitchell had done being anything now. But that really was for the best. As for himself, he hadn’t even started yet.
On the Hoe throngs of people were watching the fireworks, chomping on burgers, enjoying themselves. Harry stood next to the lighthouse, trying to look anonymous, and looked out across the stillness of the Sound where little lights flashed on and off in random patterns. Red, green, white. Harry had no idea what they meant, but he suspected they contained some sort of message to mariners warning of hazards.
Keep away, Harry is here.
The mariners were quite safe, he reflected. But for someone else the danger was real enough. Harry peered round the curved wall of the lighthouse and tried to spot his target.
My boyfriend!
Shush, Lucy! Harry thought, even though he knew nobody could hear her annoying wittering.
Sorry, I should have said my ex-boyfriend. I am yours now, Harry. Forever.
He looked round the side of the lighthouse again and he could see a figure standing all alone over by the sea wall. The boy lived in one of the student blocks in town and Harry had followed him from there to the Hoe. On the way the boy stopped for a drink at a trendy little bar on Derry’s Cross. All on his own in the bar he had looked so sad. But he would be, losing Lucy like that, not knowing where or why she had gone. Now he gazed out across the inky black water and of what he was thinking Harry had no idea.
Plenty more fish, hey, Harry?
Not for him there won’t be, Harry thought. Now he had dumped Lucy the final act needed to be completed and he had made plans. Soon he would take the boy on a journey. A journey from which the young man would not return.
Harry walked from the lighthouse across the grass, hardly a glance as he dodged a gaggle of overweight and half-naked teenage girls. Great curves of flesh, fluttering eyelids and red lips teasing ketchup soaked fries. He smiled to himself and trotted down the steps to the road, pausing for a car. Down here, below the plateau of the Hoe, it was quieter, just one or two people hurrying up the road to see the display. He crossed over to the wall, some hundred metres away from the boyfriend. He walked along the pavement towards him, just another patron heading down to the puke-filled streets of the Barbican. Nearer now and he realised the lad stood right next to one of the openings in the wall, which led to the maze of terraces below. There was a cafe to the right — closed — and to the left little paths weaved along the top of the steep cliffs and amongst low scrub. No one would be down there at this time of day. Harry looked back at the Hoe where the firework display was reaching a crescendo. A myriad of rockets streamed into the air and all heads craned skywards, eyes fixated on the colourful patterns being painted onto the black canvas. Harry turned to the boy. He appeared to be the only person not interested in the display as he faced out to sea as if looking for some answer out on the inky brine. Harry moved closer.
‘Excuse me? Could you tell me the-’
The figure turned to face him and Harry brought what he was holding in his left hand up level with the boy’s eyes. Flash!
‘What the fuck?’
The boy’s arms went up to shield himself and he knocked the camera from Harry’s hand. It didn’t make any difference because with the other hand low down Harry thrust the kitchen knife forward. Sheffield steel glided through Far Eastern cotton and into Devon flesh. A strange gurgle came as the boy opened his mouth, but he did not scream. Harry was disappointed the boy’s face showed no sign of surprise. Never mind, there would be plenty of time for surprises later. Like there had been with Forester.
Harry wheeled the boy around and pushed him through the gap in the wall, bustling him to the ground in the darkness on the other side. He flung the knife seaward and brought out a couple of cable ties from his pocket. He pulled the boy’s arms behind him and secured the wrists with a satisfying zip sound. Then he secured one around the boy’s ankles. Finally he took the leather gag out and fastened it, pulling the buckle tight with his knee on the back of the boy’s skull. It was all over in a few seconds and Harry dragged the groaning lump ten metres along the path and left him concealed under a small bush.
Nice work, Harry! I never liked him much anyway.
‘Thank you, Luce.’ He realised he had said the words aloud and wondered if he wasn’t going a little bit crazy.
Harry went back to where he had attacked the boy and scrabbled around on the ground looking for his camera, but it had bounced away off the path and down the cliff to the sea below. Never mind, the thing was only a point-and-shoot. Now for the car. He walked back towards where he had parked it, thinking all the time how easy the job had been.
But why, Harry? He was so ordinary, he hadn’t done anything, he wasn’t doing any harm.
He touched Lucy, that was why. The same way Forester soiled Trinny and Mitchell ruined Carmel. People couldn’t be allowed to get away with doing things like that. Not when they involved his girls.
Do you mean he fucked me?
Yes. He spoilt her. Lucy had been Harry’s girl. He sat on her lap when he was little and she had been supposed to be pure for him to love. He had given her a chance, but sadly it had turned out she was dirty. Like the rest of them.
You knew I had a boyfriend. Did you think that meant just holding hands?
He knew boyfriends did more than just hold hands but he had been appalled at what it had turned Lucy into.
Harry, my love, you are mad.
Mad, yes. Quite probably.
Harry took fifteen minutes to walk back to his car, all the time with Lucy still whispering in his head about a world populated only with sluts. Ignoring her he got in the car and drove round to get the body. The road up along the seafront was a one-way street so to get to the gap in the wall he had to first drive round through the Barbican and that’s when he saw the flashing lights.
Not red or green or white like the ones out in the Sound, but blue.
That’s OK, he thought, probably sorting out some ruck outside a bar.
No Harry, look where they are heading!
Lucy was right and he followed the police car through the Barbican and up round the curve of Madeira Road toward the Hoe. There were more blue lights and Harry spotted another police car and an ambulance. He swung past at a crawl and could see paramedics attending to someone on a stretcher.
God moves in mysterious ways, Harry thought, but sometimes the bastard didn’t get it.
Harry! It was your fault, you didn’t hide the body well enough, or somebody saw us.
Us? What was Lucy talking about?
Yes, Harry. Us. We are an item.
