When he heard the bell for last orders, he figured he was well plastered, but another wouldn't hurt. He’d leave the pub soon after closing and stroll to Portobello Close. He paid for another lager and went out the back for a smoke. Something niggled at him inside, and he sucked hard on the cigarette, inhaling a deep lungful that caused him to break out in a fit of coughing. He noticed his throat was sore, and he threw away the butt in disgust.
The few remaining customers looked up when he let the door slam shut behind him. One bloke looked too long, and Cole scowled back at him. “Yes, mate?” But the bloke turned away and went back to his beer.
Cole was only halfway through his beer when the barman rang the bell again. “Come on now, folks, please. Finish up. It’s well after midnight. Finish up.”
The barman came over and collected the glasses from Cole’s table. The barman reached to take the beer mats, but Cole stopped him. “All right if I keep these?”
The barman winked. “You got the number of a tasty bird on them?”
Cole grinned. “Yeah. Reckon I do and all.”
When the barman wandered off, Cole pocketed the beer mats, downed the last of his beer and picked up his phone. Outside the pub, Cole lit another cigarette. As he made his way along the street, he pulled on his baseball cap, but he staggered a little, and he had to steady himself against a wall.
Around 1:00AM, Cole walked along Portobello Close towards Alice Madsen’s house. He stepped into a shadowed area and looked around. There were no pedestrians and no cars on the move. No lights showed in Alice’s house, and he presumed she was asleep with her nobody boyfriend.
Footsteps approached, and he took out his phone and pretended to use it. A guy saw him and crossed the road to avoid an encounter. Cole waited until the guy had hurried away and the footsteps fell to silence. When the street was clear, Cole crossed the road and opened the front gate to Alice’s house. He stepped to the front door, pushed open the letterbox, unzipped his fly and pissed into her hall. Then he reached into his pocket, took out the beer mat on which he had written ‘Fuck off back to Mecca’, and he threw it through the letterbox.
Back on the street, he studied the house from across the road, and he knew he would have to find a way to break in. He needed to know more about her, to watch her, to taunt her, and perhaps even more than that. The estate agent’s board gave him another idea, and he scribbled down the phone number on the corner of the other beer mat. He was about to leave when he noticed a brick on the ground nearby.
He looked up and down the street several times. Nobody. He searched for lights in windows and curtains moving. Nothing. After a final look about, he fixed his gaze on the ground floor window of Alice’s house and ran to it. He hurled the brick with all his might through the window. The loud crash and the shrill wail of the alarm took Cole by surprise. He legged it into a laneway and out onto another street. The undulating sound of the alarm ripped through the night. It would wake half the neighbourhood.
Cole hurried as fast as he could without running. He crossed Portobello Road and saw several stragglers making their way home after a long night. Soon Cole was far enough away to avoid any immediate suspicion, and fifteen minutes later he boarded a night bus on Notting Hill Gate and slumped in a seat upstairs. Once he relaxed, he afforded himself a wide grin. Get in there. What a rush. And he didn't even need to piss again. Game on, Alice. Game on.
38
Ian jolted awake. A cold chill ran through him as the house alarm shrieked. He rubbed his eyes and sat up on the bed. Had someone broken in? He shivered again and felt the hairs on his arms tingle as adrenaline shot through him. His legs trembled as he stared at the door, expecting a burglar to burst in wielding a weapon.
He got to his feet and pulled on his dressing gown with his heart thumping in his chest. When he took a first tentative step towards the door, he thought he might fall, but he kept going. On the landing, the noise from the wailing alarm hurt his ears and he forced himself down the stairs to the hallway.
There was no sign of anyone, and he thought it might be a sensor fault. He checked the alert displayed on the alarm panel and saw the lounge zone had tripped the system. Rather than switch the sound off, he pushed open the lounge door, switched the light on and looked inside. “Oh Christ.”
The curtains in the window moved in a breeze. A brick lay on the carpet surrounded by large splinters of glass that glinted on the floor. He backed away and switched off the alarm. Silence followed, but his ears still rang. Why the hell would someone do that? But he knew the answer. It wasn't his window someone broke, but Alice’s. The fact she wasn't home was immaterial.
Ian shook his head as if the act would somehow clear his mind. It didn’t. But he needed to call the police and he knew just who to call. He climbed the stairs to the bedroom and rummaged for Marks’ card in his wallet. There would be satisfaction in waking the bastard from his sleep, assuming he slept. From what Ian had seen, nothing would surprise him with Marks, and he doubted much would stop Marks’ prosecution of
