She shrugged. “Why not?” Then she placed her handbag on the floor and flopped onto the end of the bed. “Do you always stay here when you’re in the area?”
“Now and again. Depends what calls I have to make the following day and if they’re local or not. Sugar?”
“One, thanks. What do you do?”
“I’m a… don’t laugh, underwear rep.”
She burst out laughing. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t help myself. Underwear as in lingerie or the type Bridget Jones likes to wear?”
He finished making the drink then handed her a cup and saucer. “Definitely the former. The sexier, the better for girls nowadays.”
Her cheeks flared up.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to embarrass you. That’s why I tend not to tell folks what I do for a living.”
“Oh! What do you usually say then?”
“That I’m a double-glazing rep. I generally get bombarded with light-hearted abuse when I divulge that.”
She chuckled. “Now that, I can believe. Do you get a lot of free samples to take home to your wife? You are married, I take it, a good-looking guy like you.”
He turned away from her and took a sip of his drink to contemplate his answer. “I was. She just couldn’t get used to me staying away from home five days a week. We’re going through a divorce right now.”
“Oh, dear. I’m so sorry. Could you not try and get a job closer to home? That is, if you want to save your marriage?”
“We talked about it. I told her that I’d be willing to jack this job in, just to remain married, but she said it was too late and that she’d fallen out of love with me.”
Tracy sipped her coffee. “That’s such a shame. It’s a bit like my situation with John. I think our relationship is drawing to a close if tonight’s outburst is anything to go by.”
“Have you been together long?”
“Just over two years, on and off. I think we’ve spent more time apart than together in that time. I know he uses me.”
“No! Really? For sex?”
She stared down at the cup she was holding and gulped. “Yes. Isn’t that the way all men think? With their dicks?”
Scott had just taken a drink, and he sprayed it across the room. Wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his jacket, he apologised. “Crap! I never expected you to say that. Do you really think that’s true?”
“Of course. Don’t you? Especially nowadays. Don’t you think people have reverted to the hippie era? You know, free love or ‘putting it around,’ as I call it?”
Scott hesitated answering; he had to think fast. Maybe you’ve made a huge mistake, buster. Perhaps this girl doesn’t spread her legs for all and sundry after all.
She coughed to gain his attention. “Hello? Penny for them?”
“I was just thinking thoroughly before I actually delivered my answer. I’m not really sure. Maybe it has been a while since I was around the dating circuit to notice. The trouble is when you’re married you feel safe, wrapped up in your own little cocoon. If you get what I mean?”
“I suppose so. Having never been married, it’s hard for me to comment on that. Do you have kids?”
Her question flummoxed him. A picture of his son filled his mind, causing him to doubt his plans. The conversation was becoming far too personal for his liking. He plucked a question of his own out of the air. “And what do you do for a living, Tracy?”
Her cheeks puffed when she blew out a long, dissatisfied breath. “I’m a petrol attendant. I work for the local Esso garage. Hate it with a passion. I only do it because it pays the bills.”
“You should aim higher in life. God loves a trier, as they say. All too often, people are just willing to plod on in this life. That’s not for me.”
She laughed. “Spoken like a true underwear rep.”
His rage sparked in his gut—he hated it when folks mocked him. He had ambitions of being a millionaire and raising his family in a huge mansion overlooking the Broads. She had no right to mock him. He placed his cup on the dressing table and excused himself. He closed the bathroom door behind him and studied his reflection in the mirror. His eyes darkened along with his thoughts of what he was going to do to that woman. Up until she had mocked him, he’d had serious doubts about going through with his plans, but her dumb remark had put paid to that. He slipped his hand into the overnight bag he’d placed in the bathroom earlier and pulled out the knife he’d stashed away in a secret pocket. He played with the knife, twisting it, and shuddered when the light caught the blade, catching his reflection in the steel. Scott had to suppress the urge to let out a Vincent Price-type laugh that he’d witnessed when his parents had allowed him to stay up on Saturday nights to watch the double-horror-film package on TV. Perhaps those days had initiated his lust for murder. He hadn’t really thought about that before.
Scott placed the knife in his trouser pocket, quietly opened the door, and peeped into the room. Tracy had put down her cup and was stretched out on the bed. Is she giving me the come-on? Or is she prick-teasing, like all the others? He forced himself to smile. “Made yourself comfortable, I see.”
She shot up and swung her legs off the bed. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine. I’ll take the sofa.”
She replaced her legs on the bed and looked at him shyly. “We could share.”
“Really?”
“I didn’t mean to suggest any kind of funny business. If I keep my clothes on all night, what’s the harm in sharing? I’m not likely to tell anyone. Are you?”
“No. Okay, that’s fine by me.”
She patted the bed, inviting him to join her. He pretended to drop something and bent down beside the bed, where he removed the blade from his pocket and slipped it under the bed for later. They chatted for the next hour or so, his anger ebbing in and out as she told him more about her sad and lonely life. Eventually, she drifted off to sleep. He leaned over her, resisting the temptation to kiss her. Finally, he gingerly reached under the bed and withdrew the knife. The first cut was tinged with a mixture of emotions. He covered her mouth to prevent her from screaming as he inserted the knife over and over again, sometimes viciously and at others with the gentleness of a caring lover. Either way, he watched as the life disappeared from her eyes and her arms and legs stopped thrashing.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Sally kissed her mother goodbye, made a quick fuss of Dex then headed off to work. The drive took her through wide-open countryside that sparkled like coloured jewels under the sun’s early rays. She loved this part of the country and would never have dreamed of living anywhere else in the UK—that had always been a stumbling block in her marriage to Darryl. He had wanted to live down south, in London, where he could live the high life more suitable for a pilot’s image. He even ordered Sally at one point to look into leaving the Norfolk Constabulary and joining the Met, but her friend Lorne Warner had persuaded her to stay where she was if she valued her “quiet life.” In the end, Sally had insisted to Darryl that she loved policing East Anglia and would feel lost in the likes of London, where the far harder types of criminals tended to rule.
Still, even East Anglia had seen its fair share of serial killers over the years—notably the Suffolk Strangler, Steve Wright, not to mention the current case she was working. It was a sign of the times that crime was escalating, and forces, due to the cuts, were struggling to deal with their bulging caseloads. But upping sticks and moving to London had never, and would never, be an option for Sally.
Maybe that was where her marriage had started to go wrong. She had never wanted a life filled with hosting endless fancy dinner parties for all of Darryl’s friends, some snootier than others. She preferred a serene life, at the end of the day. I’m definitely a curl-up-on-the-sofa kind of girl. She shrugged. “And that’s how it’s going to be from now on; I’ll make sure of that. Men are definitely off the agenda for the foreseeable future.”