The Nurse(18)

‘That’s a relief.’ And it was. I hadn’t wanted the father I’d loved to have suffered. The other man, the lying, cheating, adulterous bigamist – him, I’d have liked to have died very very slowly. ‘So does that mean his body will be released?’

‘Yes, the inquest will simply be a formality. I see you’ve arranged an undertaker. We’ll liaise with them if that’s easier for you.’

It was. One less thing for me to worry about. ‘Yes, thank you, that would be very helpful.’

He was also helpful in giving me advice about my father’s car which was parked in the police station car park. It could stay there until I arranged to have it sold. It wasn’t too old; it should bring a few thousand. Enough to keep me in funds for a while.

I hung up, satisfied with my work. Now I could turn my thoughts to a more pressing matter.

How I was going to get rid of Olivia Burton.





14





The best ideas come when you let your mind wander. I stayed in our bungalow until the light started to fade. Whatever I did, I had the advantage of surprise. An attack on Olivia should easily pass as a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

I’d kept her photograph. It was in the back pocket of my jeans. I pulled it out and looked carefully at this woman whose life I needed to take. She looked hefty, was she also tall? I was barely five feet, and slight. But I was quick and clever. Sometimes, that was better.





The following day, hoping to catch a glimpse of Olivia, I made the weary complicated journey to the Gloucestershire town of Thornbury, twelve miles north of Bristol. It was a complicated journey – bus to Bath, a further bus to Bristol, then another to Thornbury where the bus took me to within ten minutes’ walk of the house. It made sense to survey the area, see what my options were.

It would have been perfect if I could have laid my hands on some quick-acting poison… ricin or sarin gas maybe. It would have made it all so much easier. Lacking this option, I was stuck with a messy, and much more difficult plan of attack. A variation of the one I’d used on Jemma years before.

A sharp knife. Knowing where to insert it. And every successful killer’s weapon – the element of surprise.

I couldn’t come up with a better plan and simply needed to find a way to implement it. There was no room for doubt, or second thoughts. Not even when, six years after killing Jemma, I could still remember those last moments. The strange sensation as her eyes locked on mine.

It had been necessary.

A means to an end.

This time, when death came, I’d make sure not to be staring into Olivia’s eyes. I wasn’t sure I could deal with being haunted by another. I didn’t know this woman; her death would leave no absence in my life. This time would be different in another way… this time I knew the reality of death. The stakes were higher too, this wasn’t only for me, this was for that woman staring fixedly into space in that private clinic. I was going to ensure her treatment continued, and if the worst happened, if she never recovered, I was going to make sure her life was comfortable.

She deserved it. It was easy to put the cycle of neglect I’d suffered out of my head, to simply focus on how indulgent she had been, and how much she had adored me. I had to – I had to have something to cling to. If this meant reinventing my past, well so be it.

I spent a couple of hours hanging around before Olivia Burton left her house and climbed into the Volvo parked in the driveway. The photograph didn’t do her justice. In reality, she was certainly a bigger woman than my delicate mother, but she wasn’t hefty, and only maybe three or four inches taller than my mother and me. I didn’t think she’d cause me any trouble.

There was no option to change my mind. Olivia’s death would be the solution to a problem.





Back in our bungalow, it took only a minute to find what I was looking for… a knife, sharp and long enough to be effective. The handle was solid, a firm weight in my hand. I waved and lunged with it, practising how I was going to drive it under Olivia’s ribs and into her heart.

My mother kept a supply of sturdy shopping bags and the knife fit neatly along the bottom of the first one I pulled out, a canvas bag decorated with owls. There wasn’t one with the grim reaper, anyway, owls were quick to pounce on a prey and this is what Olivia had become.

The following day, with the bag hung casually from my hand, I did the journey back to Thornbury. I’d timed it well, hitting the quiet spot that settled over the area between nearby schools releasing students and the start of rush hour. During my foray the day before, I’d checked for any CCTV cameras. There weren’t any. There was no signal-controlled junction to cross, no shops, no businesses. I had debated wearing some form of disguise but decided that my small slight frame was sufficient to allow me to pass unnoticed.

The house was semi-detached, an ivy-clad fence separating it from its other half, a wall dividing it from the house on the other side. A wooden gate in need of repair hung open, the concrete driveway green with moss on the side sheltered by the wall. The air of neglect wasn’t carried to the house. It was neat, with a bay window on both the ground and upper floors. The front door was glossy black, with two glass panels, a brass letter box and doorknob, a doorbell on the wall to one side.

Solid details. They helped me focus thoughts that were ducking and diving. What the hell was I doing? Murdering an unknown woman because my idiot lying cheat of a father had left us in dire straits? She’d committed no crime. Or maybe she had – maybe she knew. Perhaps the life interest in the house had been her idea? Yes, that was it. She deserved to die for that.