Kill Who You Want

Chapter Twenty-One

Plot reminder: The narrative now shifts forward by three weeks. Josie Markham, who appears in the first segment of this chapter, is Sophie's mother. Simon Jennings, who features in the third segment, is the crime reporter of the Daily Express. Several chapters ago Vince recalled the murderer getting into a dark-coloured Ford C-Max in the aftermath of the shooting.

~~~~~

Three weeks later, Saturday 6th March

Spring had arrived, Josie Markham noted with surprise as she opened the curtains of the bay window a crack. Already the front garden borders were speckled with dots of nascent colour. Along the perimeter, the jasmine seemed a touch ragged and untidy, as if in need of a premature trim. The leaves of the central Japanese maple had meanwhile begun their slow unfurling, were lit like sparking flames in the sunshine.

This was usually her favourite time of year, the season she most looked forward to. This year though, it seemed to have snuck up on her. Sinister, unwanted. A pointless attempt at some kind of hopeful glow.

Kubič had asked her to compile a list of anyone she could think of who might have had reason to exact revenge. After twenty years as the district's leading defence lawyer, she hadn't even known where to begin. Innocent or at least not wholly guilty clients who despite her best efforts she had failed to protect. The victims of others, as guilty as all hell, who'd been spared the full wrath of the law. Hers was a natural verbal persuasiveness, a logical solidity of argument, an infallible knowledge of national criminal law and its application. Qualities which had seen the custodial sentence of a convicted rapist halved, helped thieves and fraudsters of all manner and description walk away from court free men and women. Who had reason to extract revenge? Half the damn town, that was who.

She glanced up at the house opposite. Flinched from its callous smirk. Thrust the curtains back closed.

*

"Lovely day," greeted Kubič through the half opened driver's window. Even if just for a couple of hours, he wanted to believe it really was. Wanted to believe that in Ravensby such a concept could still exist.

Danny flopped down onto the passenger seat with a bored sigh. It had been quite a while since they'd since each other - not since he'd driven his son home from school that time, in fact - but Kubič had long since given up the right to expect any level of enthusiasm for his infrequent paternal visits.

His ex-wife was gesturing at him from the front door. Pointing at her watch, mouthing something. It wasn't the first time he'd thought it: she'd been putting on a bit of weight just recently. In a woman  more than in a man, it was a sign of unhappiness perhaps. Dopey Dave hardly setting her world alight. The thought made him happy. Made him sad that it made him happy. He'd never wished Jenny anything but the very best.

"Three o'clock," he called. "Don't worry, not going to abduct him." Summer was standing beside her, arms wrapped round a thigh. Whilst as a newborn her very existence had been disturbing, it was difficult not to be beguiled by the pretty little girl she'd become. She'd inherited Jenny's strawberry blonde hair, that petite, pointed nose.

"You had dinner?" he asked Danny, thrumming the Audi into motion. He'd been born into that social class where early afternoon meals were known as dinner, evening consumptions as tea. As with sorry, lunch was a word which just didn't come naturally to him.

He had to twist his neck to discover the answer: the slightest shake of the head.

"Let's go and eat then. Where do you fancy? Red Lion?"

At this he felt a glare burn into the side of his face. A pub. Where they served alcohol.

"Keep telling you Danny. I'm past all that." He attempted a reassuring smile, but wasn't sure he convinced even himself.