Kirby shook his head and extended his tongue to reveal a deep gash where he had bitten into it. That was the source of the blood, not his throat. Lambert had thought that he might be bleeding inside the throat itself but now he was reassured.
As they drove, Lambert's face was set in an expression of grim resignation.
'Like I said,' gasped Kirby, 'it looks as though you were right about where the bodies of Mackenzie and Brooks went.'
Lambert nodded. 'This is one time I wish I'd been wrong. How the hell are we going to get anyone to believe this?'
They drove the rest of the way in silence. Kirby concerned with his own pain, Lambert tormented by the obscene spectre of Emma Reece. His mind was not quite able to come to terms with the fact that he had just fought a woman who had already been dead for three weeks. He shuddered.
The street lamps had gone out in a number of streets in Medworth that night. The local power station had been inundated with complaints and every caller had been assured that everything was being done to rectify the fault.
Not everyone complained though.
The darkness was a welcome companion to some who walked that night.
To two men in particular.
Emma Reece had been destroyed, true enough. But there were others abroad that night more powerful.
It was eight-twenty. A long time before dawn. There was nothing but darkness.
Darkness.
Bob Shaw peered out into the blackness of the night and tried to make out the shape of his Suzuki 750 parked in the road outside.
'All the bloody street lights are out,' he muttered.
He tried one last time to catch a glimpse of his motorbike but gave it up to the all enveloping darkness. Christ, he hoped no bastard pinched it. It had taken him nearly two years to pay for it, fifteen quid a month until he'd paid the five hundred. Still, it was worth it. He was the envy of all the blokes he hung around with. He laughed as he thought of them puttering around on their poxy little 250's. At nineteen, with a stable job as a garage attendant and, most importantly, the bike of his dreams, he was reasonably content.
There was one thing which bugged him.
She was lying on the sofa now. One leg drawn up provocatively, revealed by the split in her skirt.
Kelly Vincent was a month or two younger than Bob. She'd made quite a name for herself within the confines of Bob's little circle. Most of his mates had shafted her at one time or another.
Bob seemed to be the only one who hadn't. She hung around with them, she said, because she liked the motorbikes. Bob and his mates liked to think it was for other reasons. After all, as the others had told him, she was a right little nympho. She'd do anything. Even take it in the mouth.
Just the thought made Bob break into a sweat. He stood behind the sofa for a moment, watching her, running his eyes up and down her body: the long, curly hair and full lips, eye make-up which looked as though it had been applied with a trowel. She wore a tight fitting red blouse, undone to the third button. Just far enough to stretch the imagination and whet the appetite. She wore no stockings but her legs were smooth and shapely. As he watched, she scratched the inside of her thigh, revealing just a hint of white knicker.
She looked up and saw him standing there.
'Are you going to stand there all bloody night?' she said.
Bob shook his head and hurried round to join her. She raised her head so that he could sit, then she rested it in his lap. He felt a warm thrill run through him and tried to control the erection which threatened to run riot at any minute. Bob glanced up at the TV screen. There was some crap on about the war. Kelly's old man was always on about the war. Boring old bastard. That was all he ever talked about. Bob hated coming round when he knew Kelly's parents were going to be there. But tonight was different. They were out, possibly for the night. They never moved out of the house usually, that was why it had taken Bob so long to get round to this. His own parents went down the local boozer but he couldn't take Kelly back to his place because his little brothers were always in. Little bastards. He could imagine the cries of derision from them if he arrived home with a girl. They took the piss out of him now which was as much as he could stand. He didn't fancy having one of them walking in while he was shagging Kelly.
But tonight it was going to be different. Her parents had gone to a party. Something like that, he couldn't remember exactly what it was. All that concerned him was, they would be out of the way for a few hours.
He looked around the room. A posh place really, he thought. Fitted carpets, brand new wallpaper, colour television. They even had a stereo. Bob compared it to his own house. The threadbare rugs which barely covered the floor in the living room, peeling wallpaper. The stink of damp which seemed to hang in every room. God he hated his home, but as yet he could see no way out. No respite from the rows between his mother and father, the squabbles with the kids. He didn't earn enough to buy a flat of his own, not even to rent one. Property was scarce in Medworth and he didn't fancy moving out of the town and leaving his mates. Bob realized that he was just going to have to learn to accept things as they were. After all, that was life for people like him. He knew it and he also knew that there was nothing he could do about it. It was like having your life mapped out for you, following the same routes as your parents. Only his route led to a dead end.
He tried to push those thoughts to one side and concentrate on the matters at hand. He let his fingers stray to Kelly's breast and he managed a quick squeeze before she knocked it away.
'Get off,' she bleated.
He sighed. He hoped tonight wouldn't be a waste of time. If he didn't get to screw someone pretty soon, his mates would know. They were starting to get suspicious already. Bob shuddered as he thought of their derision if they did ever discover he was still a virgin. Of course he had boasted conquests, as do all young men, but he was getting worried. What would they think of him? Some blokes in his gang had fucked more than ten girls. He hadn't even got as far as kissing one yet. Bob was a master of bravado but his facade was beginning to crack. If he didn't score tonight he'd be a laughing stock.
He slid his hand once more to her breast and, once again, she knocked it away.
He gritted his teeth and a secondary thought passed through his mind. What if he fucked it up? Kelly would be sure to tell his mates. Bob began to become more nervous.
'Get us another drink,' said Kelly, reaching for the cigarette packet on the coffee table beside her.
Bob got to his feet and scurried across to the drink cabinet. He poured a large measure of vodka into Kelly's glass, hesitated a moment, then filled it right up, adding just a touch of lemonade. Perhaps if he could get her pissed it would improve his chances. He poured himself another beer and returned to the sofa.
She blew a stream of smoke into his face and giggled.
He waved it away with his hand and tugged on her hair. She squirmed.
'You bastard,' she said, smiling, 'don't be so rough.'
'I thought you like it rough,' said Bob, trying to sound experienced.
'Who told you?'
'A few people.'
She giggled and took a large gulp of her drink.
'Are you sure your parents aren't going to get back early?' he asked agitatedly.
She put down her drink and slid her arms around his neck, pulling him towards her. He felt her mouth against his, her tongue pressing against his lips. He opened his mouth a little but she pulled away, a grin hovering on her lips.
'You do know how to kiss, I suppose?' The question was heavy with scorn.
He grabbed her, more assured now, pulled her towards him and pressed his mouth to hers, his tongue probing. After a moment he pushed her away.
'That better?' he said, smugly.
She giggled. 'What have your mates told you about me?' she wanted to know.
'This and that,' he said.
'What does that mean?'
