Nine Lives Read Online Free
Author: Bernice Rubens
that was left was sympathy and support for the widow and her children.
But at headquarters, the file was kept doggedly open. DI Wilkins, desperate for leads, organised a reconstruction of the crime on
Crimewatch
, but never, in the long history of that series, had there been so little feedback. Wilkins sensed that the killer would strike again. And possibly in the same manner. He would bide his time. And his faith was not misplaced.
I slept very badly â¦
I slept very badly last night. Always do before I have to go and see Donald. Heâs been moved. Much further away. Maximum security, they call it, as if they expect him to escape. I have to laugh. My Donald escaping. Heâs far too lazy even to think about it. Always has been. Especially since the legacy. An uncle of his, no children, left him a packet â enough for him to give up work. He was tempted, but I dissuaded him. I didnât want him around the house all day. Still, he didnât work much. He must have been the laziest accountant in London. He kept his office, but he didnât employ a secretary. He sat there all alone, doing the books. Bit of a loner, my Donald. Heâll not be unhappy in solitary.
It was a long journey. I had to change trains twice and then get a bus at the other end. Still, it didnât matter. It gave me time to think. Think about what I was going to say to him. But we never talked much, even when he was free. In all our years of marriage, I know no more about him now than when we first met. He never talked about his family. I didnât even know if he had any brothers or sisters. Or if his parents were still alive. He went to a funeral once, a few years ago, but he didnât mention whose it was. Maybe his dad or his mum. There was another funeral shortly after that one, so I presumed he was an orphan. He didnât seem too upset about either of them. When we first met, I thought heâd introduce me to his family, but he said they were always travelling, mostly abroad. But he promised that heâd get us together one day.I never reminded him of that promise. I thought it might upset him. I took him to meet mine though, just my mum, because my father had left, and she quite took to Donald. Sheâs dead now too. Iâm glad she didnât live to see what happened. But I miss her. I could do with her advice at this time. Or some explanation, because I donât understand it at all.
The first train journey was a short one. Just two stops, so there was no point in settling my mind to thinking. I would wait till I got on the next train. An hourâs journey that one, and plenty of time to wonder what to say to him. Whatever I do say to him. I didnât know if it was the truth or a lie â whether he really did what they all said he did. Surely I would have noticed? If a man murders ten people, surely his wife would notice some change in his behaviour? He would have been nervous, ill-tempered and terrified. But not my Donald. On the contrary, he was elated sometimes, really cheerful, as if heâd pulled off some big business deal. And on some nights, just between you and me, he made love just like Casanova. Though I donât know who Casanova was, but Iâve heard it said he was a great lover. Of course we made love from time to time, just matter-of-fact stuff, but those times Iâm talking about, those special times, he seemed possessed. I enjoyed those thoughts on my train journey and I indulged in them, all the way to the prison. So that when I arrived, I still had no idea what I was going to say to him.
This was my first visit to the new prison, so I had to make myself known all over again, with that same name that I donât know how to pronounce.
â
Ver-ine
,â I said, giving each syllable an equal chance. Thewarder looked at me as if I were lying. âDorricks will do,â he said. âThrough the swing doors on your left.â
I made my way to reception, and
But at headquarters, the file was kept doggedly open. DI Wilkins, desperate for leads, organised a reconstruction of the crime on
Crimewatch
, but never, in the long history of that series, had there been so little feedback. Wilkins sensed that the killer would strike again. And possibly in the same manner. He would bide his time. And his faith was not misplaced.
I slept very badly â¦
I slept very badly last night. Always do before I have to go and see Donald. Heâs been moved. Much further away. Maximum security, they call it, as if they expect him to escape. I have to laugh. My Donald escaping. Heâs far too lazy even to think about it. Always has been. Especially since the legacy. An uncle of his, no children, left him a packet â enough for him to give up work. He was tempted, but I dissuaded him. I didnât want him around the house all day. Still, he didnât work much. He must have been the laziest accountant in London. He kept his office, but he didnât employ a secretary. He sat there all alone, doing the books. Bit of a loner, my Donald. Heâll not be unhappy in solitary.
It was a long journey. I had to change trains twice and then get a bus at the other end. Still, it didnât matter. It gave me time to think. Think about what I was going to say to him. But we never talked much, even when he was free. In all our years of marriage, I know no more about him now than when we first met. He never talked about his family. I didnât even know if he had any brothers or sisters. Or if his parents were still alive. He went to a funeral once, a few years ago, but he didnât mention whose it was. Maybe his dad or his mum. There was another funeral shortly after that one, so I presumed he was an orphan. He didnât seem too upset about either of them. When we first met, I thought heâd introduce me to his family, but he said they were always travelling, mostly abroad. But he promised that heâd get us together one day.I never reminded him of that promise. I thought it might upset him. I took him to meet mine though, just my mum, because my father had left, and she quite took to Donald. Sheâs dead now too. Iâm glad she didnât live to see what happened. But I miss her. I could do with her advice at this time. Or some explanation, because I donât understand it at all.
The first train journey was a short one. Just two stops, so there was no point in settling my mind to thinking. I would wait till I got on the next train. An hourâs journey that one, and plenty of time to wonder what to say to him. Whatever I do say to him. I didnât know if it was the truth or a lie â whether he really did what they all said he did. Surely I would have noticed? If a man murders ten people, surely his wife would notice some change in his behaviour? He would have been nervous, ill-tempered and terrified. But not my Donald. On the contrary, he was elated sometimes, really cheerful, as if heâd pulled off some big business deal. And on some nights, just between you and me, he made love just like Casanova. Though I donât know who Casanova was, but Iâve heard it said he was a great lover. Of course we made love from time to time, just matter-of-fact stuff, but those times Iâm talking about, those special times, he seemed possessed. I enjoyed those thoughts on my train journey and I indulged in them, all the way to the prison. So that when I arrived, I still had no idea what I was going to say to him.
This was my first visit to the new prison, so I had to make myself known all over again, with that same name that I donât know how to pronounce.
â
Ver-ine
,â I said, giving each syllable an equal chance. Thewarder looked at me as if I were lying. âDorricks will do,â he said. âThrough the swing doors on your left.â
I made my way to reception, and
Readers choose
Jenn McKinlay
Stephan Morse
E. Nesbit
Michele Paige Holmes
Elizabeth Little
Trisha Telep
Ann B Harrison
Tina Donahue
Glynn Stewart
Cathy Bramley