Read Online EQMM, May 2012 by Dell Magazine Authors - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Dell Magazine Authors
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and as the thin blind fell into place he turned off the light and the room was plunged into darkness. Then, as soon as George's eyes had adjusted to the filtered moonlight, he scooped a pair of damp tights from the drying rack and stretched them in his hands until they were taut.
Karen Ablet's head was outlined against the blind as she fumbled for the kettle, a standing target just waiting for him. He crept up behind her and slipped the soft nylon swiftly over her head before twisting until the tourniquet tightened around her neck. He closed his eyes and squeezed, the thin nylon biting into his hands. But in his excitement he felt no pain. Nothing could stop that feeling of power. The power over life and death.
Karen Ablet's hands fluttered like trapped birds making their bid for freedom against the cage of death, and it wasn't until she had been still for half a minute that George loosened his grip and let her lifeless body slump onto the kitchen floor.
He knelt down beside her and arranged her clothing. He always arranged their clothing properly . . . just as he liked it. He struggled to roll the tights onto her limp, unresisting legs and then he laid her on her back with her hands folded across her chest, his ritual completed.
He stayed kneeling by her body for a while, staring at her contorted face in the dim light. This would be his last time in Manchester. He had claimed three lives there now—and even though the name was false and the car stolen, the police had seen his face. GHB Investigations would disappear into the night and reappear under another name in another place. He had begun with one killing in Glasgow, then he'd gone on to Edinburgh for two more before travelling south. Next time he would go to London: It was bigger and more anonymous, with more streets to watch and more lone women. George smiled to himself as he caressed Karen Ablet's lifeless body. Three was enough in one city. He was moving on.
* * * *
Pete Fields considered himself experienced in the business of terror. The brick had tested the waters. When he had shattered the front-door glass and no lights had come on in the house, he'd known that there was nobody at home. Now, round the back of the house it was the same story. The place was in darkness. It would be the ideal time to strike, when the house was empty and there'd be no loss of life to tarnish the image of the Cause. Julian Ablet was going to pay for his crimes against the defenceless creatures he routinely tortured to death without a pang of conscience. He was going to lose his home.
Fields knew all about Canley Street because he'd hired a strange, seedy little man called George Billings to watch the house, spinning him a plausible yarn about wanting to buy the place. Billings wasn't the type who would ask questions, so long as the money was right, and he had provided detailed reports on the comings and goings at number five. Hiring Billings meant that Fields hadn't had to run the risk of keeping watch personally, and he felt rather pleased with himself. It had all worked out rather well.
But now was the time to act. He lit the rag in the neck of the bottle, hurled it through the kitchen window, and ran down the garden as the back of the house exploded in flames.
* * * *
"Police have identified the woman who died in a blazing house in Canley Street late last night as Mrs. Karen Ablet, aged thirty-five, wife of research scientist Julian Ablet, who had recently received threats from an animal-rights organisation. A spokesman for the fire service said that the fire had been started deliberately. Police are still trying to identify a middle-aged male who also died in the blaze, probably trying to escape from the burning house."
"And now for the rest of the news. Manchester police have issued a statement saying that there is every indication that two recent murders of local women are linked to three similar murders up in Scotland, one in Glasgow and two in Edinburgh. Some
Karen Ablet's head was outlined against the blind as she fumbled for the kettle, a standing target just waiting for him. He crept up behind her and slipped the soft nylon swiftly over her head before twisting until the tourniquet tightened around her neck. He closed his eyes and squeezed, the thin nylon biting into his hands. But in his excitement he felt no pain. Nothing could stop that feeling of power. The power over life and death.
Karen Ablet's hands fluttered like trapped birds making their bid for freedom against the cage of death, and it wasn't until she had been still for half a minute that George loosened his grip and let her lifeless body slump onto the kitchen floor.
He knelt down beside her and arranged her clothing. He always arranged their clothing properly . . . just as he liked it. He struggled to roll the tights onto her limp, unresisting legs and then he laid her on her back with her hands folded across her chest, his ritual completed.
He stayed kneeling by her body for a while, staring at her contorted face in the dim light. This would be his last time in Manchester. He had claimed three lives there now—and even though the name was false and the car stolen, the police had seen his face. GHB Investigations would disappear into the night and reappear under another name in another place. He had begun with one killing in Glasgow, then he'd gone on to Edinburgh for two more before travelling south. Next time he would go to London: It was bigger and more anonymous, with more streets to watch and more lone women. George smiled to himself as he caressed Karen Ablet's lifeless body. Three was enough in one city. He was moving on.
* * * *
Pete Fields considered himself experienced in the business of terror. The brick had tested the waters. When he had shattered the front-door glass and no lights had come on in the house, he'd known that there was nobody at home. Now, round the back of the house it was the same story. The place was in darkness. It would be the ideal time to strike, when the house was empty and there'd be no loss of life to tarnish the image of the Cause. Julian Ablet was going to pay for his crimes against the defenceless creatures he routinely tortured to death without a pang of conscience. He was going to lose his home.
Fields knew all about Canley Street because he'd hired a strange, seedy little man called George Billings to watch the house, spinning him a plausible yarn about wanting to buy the place. Billings wasn't the type who would ask questions, so long as the money was right, and he had provided detailed reports on the comings and goings at number five. Hiring Billings meant that Fields hadn't had to run the risk of keeping watch personally, and he felt rather pleased with himself. It had all worked out rather well.
But now was the time to act. He lit the rag in the neck of the bottle, hurled it through the kitchen window, and ran down the garden as the back of the house exploded in flames.
* * * *
"Police have identified the woman who died in a blazing house in Canley Street late last night as Mrs. Karen Ablet, aged thirty-five, wife of research scientist Julian Ablet, who had recently received threats from an animal-rights organisation. A spokesman for the fire service said that the fire had been started deliberately. Police are still trying to identify a middle-aged male who also died in the blaze, probably trying to escape from the burning house."
"And now for the rest of the news. Manchester police have issued a statement saying that there is every indication that two recent murders of local women are linked to three similar murders up in Scotland, one in Glasgow and two in Edinburgh. Some
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