When the virtual Alice’s eyes bulged, the guy took his hands from her throat and she groaned in rapture. “Harder Coley,” screamed Alice. “Fuck me harder.” Cole couldn't contain himself any longer.
He gasped at the intensity. The pills were fucking great. He would scoff handfuls before he paid her a visit. There would be no wimping out next time. No running away. Alice was going to get it. And Alice was going to love it.
64
On Thursday evening, Ian sat in a low lit corner of a Birmingham hotel bar nursing a beer and the Telegraph. Every so often, he glanced around the bar for any familiar faces from the conference. He expected none, as the hotel was further from the NEC than most of the others, but it was worth the taxi journey to avoid work related conversations through the evening.
His phoned beeped with a message notification. Running late. Soz. Jo xxx. He winced at the kisses, deleted the message and returned to the paper. There was no further coverage on the South Kensington attack, the last report said Samir Hassan had been charged and remanded in custody. It appeared everyone had moved on from the attack, and life had now returned to normal.
By the time he was halfway through the sports section, he felt Jo’s presence beside him. He put the paper down and gave her a loose hug.
“Hey Jo. You look good.”
Jo sat on the chair beside him. “Yeah. You look good too.” She stroked his shoulder with the back of her hand. “Missed you.”
Ian recoiled a little from her touch and glanced around the bar again.
She took her hand away and furrowed her brow. “Huh?”
He shook his head. “Sorry. It’s been... You know, awkward.”
“I thought everything was back to normal again.” She moved her head to stare him in the eye.
“Come on, Jo.” He spread his palms. “I mean, what did...”
“What did I expect, huh?”
“Let’s not argue, all right?” He reached under the table and ran his hand along her thigh. “All right?”
She picked up his beer and sipped from it. “I wish you’d leave her.”
“What?” Ian stifled the instinct to glare at her. “Where did that come from? I mean, I thought, you know…”
She shrugged. “Dunno. I want more.”
“It’s not that simple.” He took the beer from her hand.
“Well it’s not like you’re married. Is it?” She looked away and pulled on an earring.
“Let’s see what happens, huh? She might decide to go back to Copenhagen for good.”
Jo looked him in the eye. “You think there’s a chance of that?”
“It’s home. Things might get too much for her here.”
“Maybe you should encourage her?”
Ian raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”
“Nothing. Forget it.”
Ian shrugged. “You want a drink?”
“Yeah, but something decent.”
“What’s wrong with Monkey? That not decent?”
“Room service champagne.” She leaned in close and whispered in his ear. “Come on then. The least you can do is spoil me rotten and fuck me silly.”
65
Cole checked he’d left his regular phone on his lounge table. He made sure the burner had access to the camera in Alice’s bedroom, then he assembled his gear. He placed the long serrated knife he’d bought earlier into a holdall, and put four Velcro restraints, tape, gloves and a balaclava on top of the knife.
An hour later, he entered the Duke of Sandringham pub, where he drank lager and waited for Alice to go to bed. He’d watched her over the last few nights, and he reckoned the boyfriend was still away. Alice normally went to bed around 11pm, sometimes later. That meant she would be asleep and alone in her house around midnight. Opening her front door wouldn't present a problem. The issue would be the alarm beeping and the dis-armed message. That could wake her. If she came downstairs, he’d have to subdue her.
He sipped at his glass and let time pass. From regular glances at the camera feed on the burner phone, he could see she hadn't entered the bedroom.
When barman rang the bell at 11:20PM, Alice hadn’t gone to bed yet. Cole fidgeted with his fingers and glanced about. He was almost finished his lager, and he didn't want another. An urgent need to piss could ruin the moment later, so he nursed the dregs of his drink while he wished Alice would go to bed.
Around 11:45, the barman shouted at the stragglers to leave. Cole ignored him, entered the toilet and closed the door behind him in a cubicle. He put his holdall on the cistern lid. Wasting no time, he dug out a small plastic bag containing some of his Captagon pills from his jeans. He counted out eight pills and popped one into his mouth. But the pills were large, and it would be too difficult to dry swallow the lot. He needed water. Just as he went to open the cubicle, he heard someone enter the toilet. The person stumbled against the cubicle door and mumbled something. Cole heard him unzip his fly and piss against the stainless steel urinal. Before the guy finished pissing, he farted and giggled to himself.
Cole peered out from the crack between the door and frame. The guy zipped up and turned towards the cubicle. “Oi,” he said. “You all right in there mate?”
Cole said nothing. The guy banged on the door. “Oi? Anyone in there?”
“Christ’s sake,” Cole muttered to himself. He grabbed his bag and opened the cubicle door as the guy went to bang on it again. The guy slipped into Cole, who spun and pushed the guy into the cubicle. The guy stumbled forward and slammed his head against the
