Luke Delaney - Cold Killing

He’d stepped off the train right behind her, but she couldn’t feel him close anymore; it was as if he’d somehow faded away. He must have gone down another corridor, heading for another exit.

She wanted to be subtle. If he was somehow still behind her, she didn’t want him to see her looking for him. She took the chance to glance back as she traveled up the escalator. She couldn’t see him. If he had been heading her way, he should have been within view. He must have gone another way. The butterflies in her stomach left her. They were replaced with an empty, disappointed feeling. She preferred the fluttering wings.

By the time she’d exited the station, she’d forgotten he had ever existed. Ground level brought its own reality and he wasn’t part of it. She hurried along Bush Green. The heavy bag slowed her, the straps cutting into her shoulder, drawing attention to her. She must learn to travel lighter. She saw a group of young black men standing outside the betting shop and pulled her briefcase closer, tightening the grip on her handbag, head down and walking past them as quickly as she could. She felt their stares as surely as if they were beating her. She felt like a racist and it made her feel guilty.

She entered the small shop. It smelled like most newsagents or liquor stores in London, spicy and sweet. She liked the smell. She liked the different cultures of London. Mostly, anyway.

It took her less than a minute to buy the pack of Silk Cut Mild. She’d tried to smoke Marlboro Lights or Camel Lights, like everyone else in London. They tasted funny to her. They didn’t smell like the cigarettes adults had smoked around her when she was growing up in Devon.

As she left the shop she wasn’t looking where she was going. She almost bumped straight into him, the man from the tube. It made her stop in her tracks. He swerved around her and kept going. If he’d wanted to talk to her, he’d had the perfect opportunity. He hadn’t taken it. Maybe she had just imagined that he’d noticed her earlier? Being alone in London was beginning to get to her. She was craving the attention of strangers.

He walked in front of her now. Still along Bush Green. He stopped at a bus stop. He didn’t seem the type to be getting a bus in Shepherd’s Bush. She tried to imagine where he could possibly be going. Putney, or perhaps Barnes. If so, it was a strange route.

She passed the bus stop and kept heading west. She turned left into Rockley Road. The noise of Shepherd’s Bush Green seemed to die away instantly. Immediately she felt more relaxed. Her pace slowed, almost as if she was enjoying an evening stroll. The pain of the bag strap cutting into her shoulder reminded her she wasn’t. She considered stopping to light a cigarette, but decided to wait until she got home. Maybe she would have a glass of wine too. She was pretty sure she had an unspoiled bottle in the fridge.

The street was empty. Quiet. She could see and hear people in their homes, but the road itself was lifeless. It made it easier to sense a disturbance. She did. She was being followed, she was certain of it. Was it one of the men from outside the betting shop? If it came to it, they could have her briefcase and her handbag. Just so long as they left her alone.

She started walking faster. She was aware that she was breathing heavily under the strain. She tried to listen for footsteps, but she could hear only her own. The streetlamps flickered into life. They cast faint shadows across the pavement. The noise of the leaves rustling in the trees all around her suddenly became deafening.

She felt someone coming closer. She wanted to stop, turn, and confront them, be brave, but fear was taking hold. It licked at her skin like a fire surrounding its victim. Every hair on her back stood erect, reverberating. She felt so cold. Panic was close now.

Too late, she heard the footsteps. He had been right behind her. At the last second she spun around, ready to scream. It was him. The man from the underground. He looked as scared as she felt. He jumped back a step.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said. He had a nice voice. Well spoken.

“Christ,” she managed to say. She held a hand dramatically over her chest. “You almost scared me to death.” They both laughed.

She moved away a little from him. Her expression became serious. “Are you following me?”

He put his hand in his inside jacket pocket and pulled out a small black leather wallet. He flicked it open and showed it to her. She could see the Metropolitan Police logo on the metal badge. She sighed in relief. Her entire body seemed to relax.

“I couldn’t help but notice a couple of lads having a good look at that briefcase back there.” He pointed over his shoulder.

“The ones outside the betting office?”

“Yeah. I hate to stereotype people, but thought I’d watch them for a bit. Keep an eye on them.”

“Is that why you stopped at the bus stop?”

“Oh,” he said. “You noticed? Surveillance never was my thing.” They both laughed again. “Two of them looked as if they could be following you, so I thought I’d better do the same, just in case. But I seem to have lost them back at that junction somehow.

“Do you have far to go?” he asked.

“No,” she answered. “I live down here. A few houses along.”

“Nice,” he said. She couldn’t tell if he meant it. “You’ll be okay from here,” he said. “I think you got away with it today.” He winked at her. She could tell he was about to leave. She didn’t want him to.

“You don’t sound like a policeman.” It was all she could think of.

“Really,” he replied, smiling. “Well, we don’t all sound like they do on the television. Some of us can even read and write.”

She liked him.

“Look,” he said. “I’ve got to get on. Somewhere there’s a crime being committed and all that.”

She felt her embarrassment rising, but it was worth it to flirt a little. “Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t get your name.”

“Sean,” he replied. “It’s Sean Corrigan.” He was already walking away though.

“If he turns around he’s interested,” Linda whispered to herself. “Anytime now.” He turned and gave her a casual wave and a slight smile. “Yes,” she said to herself. “Yes.”

Donnelly arrived home via his favorite local watering hole in time to catch the start of Crimewatch . He felt sorry for Sally being stitched up by Sean like that, but at least it meant he didn’t have to do it. Although there were always ways to get out of unpleasant tasks like telly work, especially for those with a little imagination and a lot of experience. He walked up the driveway of the family home, a large semidetached in Swanley, Kent. The five kids were all growing up fast. He had to live out here to be able to put a roof over their heads. London prices were out of the question. Still, the train ride was just about bearable and there was no need to worry about getting caught driving half drunk. He gave the decaying Range Rover, the only family car, a pat of appreciation as he passed it. It hadn’t cost him a penny in years.

His wife, Karen, confronted him as soon as he opened the front door. “You’re late again,” she accused in her East End accent. They’d been married for more than twenty years.

“Overtime, my sweetness,” he answered. “May I remind you we need every penny I can lay my hands on?” His wife answered with a roll of her eyes. “Speaking of financial burdens, where are the kids?”

Karen thrust her hands on her hips. “Jenny is out with her boyfriend, Adrian is out with his girlfriend, Nikki and Raymond are upstairs on the PlayStation, and Josh is in his bed.”

“Jenny lives at home?” Donnelly asked with mock surprise.