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Authors: Craig Lawrence
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his tongue. Satisfied, he took a small silver tube out of a cigarette box on the table and took a long snort.
âAgain,â ordered the assassin. Fairweather complied and sat back on the sofa as the drug started to bite. The assassin watched Fairweather visibly relax. âI need you to signal my partner again to prove that you are OK before I tell you why Iâm here.â Fairweather stood and walked slowly over to the open window. He stepped onto the small balcony again and raised his arms as before. As he did so, the assassin came up behind him and, bending down, wrapped his arms round Fairweatherâs thighs. He straightened up with a grunt and lifted Fairweather off the ground, tipping him over the balcony rail. It happened so quickly that Fairweather barely uttered a sound before landing on the pointed railings below.
The assassin resisted the temptation to step out onto the balcony to check his handiwork. He didnât think that any of the squareâs many CCTV cameras were aimed directly at the window but he didnât want to take any unnecessary chances. He listened hard for a few minutes until he was satisfied that Fairweather wasnât making any noise and was therefore most probably dead. He took a last look at the Stubbs and then retraced his steps, stopping briefly at the bedroom door to check that the girl was still asleep. The covers had slipped off the bed and the girl lay naked, her breathing deep and regular. Her body was firm and tanned and, as his eyes tracked down from her head, the assassin noticed a small tattoo of a bird on her left buttock. Dark blue and with a long beak, it looked like a kingfisher. Conscious that he needed to keep moving, he smiled at the girlâs sleeping form and then made his way to the loft hatch. Using the telescopic hook, he opened the catch, lowered the trapdoor and then pulled himself up into the loft. Moving quickly, he closed the trapdoor behind him and climbed up into the rafters until he found the hole he had made in the felt. He climbed through this and out onto the roof. It was quiet and dark. He opened his pack and removed a roll of tape, a tube of glue and the lengths of wood heâd cut to gain access to the attic. It took him five minutes to repair the damage heâd done. He knew that it wouldnât survive forensic scrutiny but he hoped that it wouldnât come to that. If all went well, the police would see this as a tragic accident. Any CCTV footage would show Fairweather opening the windows, presumably to get some fresh air, and then stepping out onto the balcony. It would then show him reappearing a few minutes later and, slightly unsteadily, stretching before appearing to lose his balance against the low railings and falling to his death. An autopsy on his body would show high levels of alcohol and the presence of cocaine which would explain his unsteadiness and loss of balance. The assassin knew it wasnât his most elegant work but it should suffice. The narrative was believable and this, in the assassinâs experience, was the most important thing. The slates back in place, he re-traced his route across the roof to the scaffolding and slid quietly down to the pavement below. Within a few minutes, he was heading away from the Square, walking along Jermyn Street and into Piccadilly. It was surprisingly busy. An hour later, he was back in his hotel room, showering before packing his suitcase for an early start the next day.
Chapter 14
H ighworth always got up early and caught the headlines on the kitchen TV while he waited for his coffee to brew. But this morning, he was only half listening to the news. Although it was Sunday, he had to go into the office for a potentially difficult meeting and he was thinking through how best to approach it. His mind also kept re-playing the events of last night. After the polo, he and Caroline had gone for supper at a newly opened restaurant in the centre of Farnham. A short walk
âAgain,â ordered the assassin. Fairweather complied and sat back on the sofa as the drug started to bite. The assassin watched Fairweather visibly relax. âI need you to signal my partner again to prove that you are OK before I tell you why Iâm here.â Fairweather stood and walked slowly over to the open window. He stepped onto the small balcony again and raised his arms as before. As he did so, the assassin came up behind him and, bending down, wrapped his arms round Fairweatherâs thighs. He straightened up with a grunt and lifted Fairweather off the ground, tipping him over the balcony rail. It happened so quickly that Fairweather barely uttered a sound before landing on the pointed railings below.
The assassin resisted the temptation to step out onto the balcony to check his handiwork. He didnât think that any of the squareâs many CCTV cameras were aimed directly at the window but he didnât want to take any unnecessary chances. He listened hard for a few minutes until he was satisfied that Fairweather wasnât making any noise and was therefore most probably dead. He took a last look at the Stubbs and then retraced his steps, stopping briefly at the bedroom door to check that the girl was still asleep. The covers had slipped off the bed and the girl lay naked, her breathing deep and regular. Her body was firm and tanned and, as his eyes tracked down from her head, the assassin noticed a small tattoo of a bird on her left buttock. Dark blue and with a long beak, it looked like a kingfisher. Conscious that he needed to keep moving, he smiled at the girlâs sleeping form and then made his way to the loft hatch. Using the telescopic hook, he opened the catch, lowered the trapdoor and then pulled himself up into the loft. Moving quickly, he closed the trapdoor behind him and climbed up into the rafters until he found the hole he had made in the felt. He climbed through this and out onto the roof. It was quiet and dark. He opened his pack and removed a roll of tape, a tube of glue and the lengths of wood heâd cut to gain access to the attic. It took him five minutes to repair the damage heâd done. He knew that it wouldnât survive forensic scrutiny but he hoped that it wouldnât come to that. If all went well, the police would see this as a tragic accident. Any CCTV footage would show Fairweather opening the windows, presumably to get some fresh air, and then stepping out onto the balcony. It would then show him reappearing a few minutes later and, slightly unsteadily, stretching before appearing to lose his balance against the low railings and falling to his death. An autopsy on his body would show high levels of alcohol and the presence of cocaine which would explain his unsteadiness and loss of balance. The assassin knew it wasnât his most elegant work but it should suffice. The narrative was believable and this, in the assassinâs experience, was the most important thing. The slates back in place, he re-traced his route across the roof to the scaffolding and slid quietly down to the pavement below. Within a few minutes, he was heading away from the Square, walking along Jermyn Street and into Piccadilly. It was surprisingly busy. An hour later, he was back in his hotel room, showering before packing his suitcase for an early start the next day.
Chapter 14
H ighworth always got up early and caught the headlines on the kitchen TV while he waited for his coffee to brew. But this morning, he was only half listening to the news. Although it was Sunday, he had to go into the office for a potentially difficult meeting and he was thinking through how best to approach it. His mind also kept re-playing the events of last night. After the polo, he and Caroline had gone for supper at a newly opened restaurant in the centre of Farnham. A short walk
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