Chapter 18
Bradford
He doesn’t mind the darkness. It’s not too dark anyway – the moon is his friend, offering just enough light to see without needing the torch he carries in his backpack. Dressed all in black, the Man in Black merges with the shadows, the thought of his invisibility makes him feel like a super hero as he skulks around the back of Erica Smedley’s bungalow. A warrior for truth – a warrior who holds people’s lives in his hands.
It’s a quaint area. Well-tended gardens both front and rear, within a stone’s throw of Keighley, good schools in the neighbourhood. Not that Erica Smedley will ever have need of a school – not after he’s done with her. He hasn’t planned this in any great detail. Was surprised by the degree of anger her careless words at Miranda Brookes’ home had elicited. Not a pleasant woman and now after spending the day finding out all about Erica Smedley, he realises he’ll be doing the world a favour.
A string of affairs with married men, uncountable broken hearts, innumerable fatherless children – all at her hands. No, he is happy with his decision. For one, it will confuse his three worthy opponents. Make them wonder what is going on in Bradford and that suits him. He is eager to exert pressure. Eager to see how they react to being subjected to tension.
He’d spent the rest of the day at Shipley library, again availing himself of their facilities. He’d wanted to spread around his illicit online trawling, so in Shipley, he’d facilitated an online search of Erica Smedley’s social media accounts. The more he scrolled down her narcissistic posts, the more his dislike of his prey grew. Unlike his other targets, whom he had no personal quibble with, Erica Smedley is everything he hates in a woman.
Although he hated trawling through the endless Facebook and Twitter posts that showed her as the vacuous, nasty person she is, he got enough information to realise that she lived alone. Nobody would want to live with her. He grins. Nobody would mourn her death. She’d slip off into oblivion unloved, ungrieved for, and unlamented.
A mewing cat at his heels reminds him that she doesn’t live entirely alone. She shares her one bed bungalow with a cat. He likes cats, so he leans down and strokes it. It arches its back, happy with the attention. From his position next to her wheelie bins, he sees her bedroom light go out. She’s on early shift tomorrow so no doubt she’s getting her beauty sleep. He’ll give it ten minutes, then he’ll creep over to her window. He’s already targeted the kitchen window as the easiest to break in through and sure enough, when he studies it close up, he sees that she’s left it an inch open, secured on a flip hinge to prevent an intruder gaining access.
Silly, silly Erica. She clearly didn’t expect someone with his skills to come calling. In a matter of seconds, he slides a thin metal chisel into the space, flicks it a few times and on the third wrist movement, sends the hinge upwards. The pressure from his shoulder on the pane makes the window ease open another inch so that when the latch falls back down, it misses the space. He is in.
A glance round tells him he’s alone. Not that he expects anyone to join him. The garden’s fenced in, the neighbours all live in bungalows so nobody can see the dark figure pull himself onto the sill, swing his legs round, and disappear inside Erica Smedley’s home.
As he expects, she had a microwave meal for one and a glass of wine for her tea followed by a humungous bar of chocolate. He noticed, from her frequent social media posts, she’s been gaining weight over recent months. And true enough, her kitchen cupboards are full of chocolate biscuits and chocolate bars. Conveniently, there is a night light from the hallway to guide him as he explores the other two rooms. The living room sports a massive telly, scatter cushions, and a sprawling recliner sofa. The bathroom is tiny with only a shower, toilet, and hand basin.
His heart speeds up a little as he approaches the bedroom. The door is a little ajar, so he takes great care not to make any noise as he slides his backpack from his shoulders and onto the floor. He unbuckles the straps, his leather gloves make the job a little more difficult, but he’s used to it. Prowling round, he selects his weapon from the coffee table in the lounge – a laptop – and weighs it in his hand. Heavy enough to do the trick, but not so heavy to spoil the fun. With a smile, he creeps forward, modulating his breathing so there isn’t a sound as he edges closer to the sleeping lump sprawled over the middle of the huge double bed.
He pauses as she moves, rolling over onto her stomach. Great – makes it easier for him. Next to the bed, he looks down at the back of her head, illuminated by the moonlight, only a slither through the slightly ajar curtain. Her roots need touching up – he reaches out and with a gloved finger touches the greying inch that sprouts out from her scalp. She fidgets, not awake, yet not quite fully asleep either. He doesn’t care if he wakes her now. He leans toward her, tucks her hair behind her ear and whispers her name. ‘Erica.’
Only a slight shoulder movement, like a truculent teen shaking off their mum as she tries to wake them for school. He leans in again and a little louder this time – ‘Ericaaa.’
He senses the stillness as her body and mind try to make sense of what she’s just heard. He waits till her head begins to turn towards him. Allows the terror to appear on her face when she sees the masked figure beside her
