Nine Lives Read Online Free Page B

the glass and put my arms around him. I don’t know whether it would have been a gesture of love, or perhaps pity. Probably, alas, the latter. For pity is so hard to live with. It diminishes both parties. It would have been easier to hate him. Or to love him even. Either of those feelings I could live with and learn from. But pity corrodes, and my nights were sleepless enough without it.
    â€˜I haven’t heard from the boys myself,’ I said into the phone. I wanted to be part of his isolation.
    â€˜You must be lonely,’ he said.
    â€˜Yes. I miss you.’ And I meant it.
    â€˜Me too,’ he said. And smiled.
    I couldn’t think of anything more to say, and I was relieved when the warder appeared and put his hand on Donald’s shoulder. It seemed a gentle touch and I was grateful for it.
    â€˜Time’s up,’ he said.
    Donald took his hand from the glass, and mine was left there, reprinting nothing. I watched him leave. He did not look behind him, so there was no point in waving. But Ikept my hand on the partition, as if to reserve that spot as my own. Because I would be coming back; and back again until I could prise the truth out of him, so that I could cease to be ashamed of my ignorance.

The Diary

Two Down. Seven to Go.
    It’s six months now since poor Harry Winston, and I reckon the trail has run cold. I was lucky because I took risks. I didn’t know that he was married, and had children. Any of them could have been in the house. But you live and learn. From now on, I will choose loners, and check out their joints beforehand.
    Once more to my list and my choice fell on a Miss Angela Mayling who lived in Birmingham. It did no harm to widen my net. I told Verry I had business in Devon. Then I drove in the opposite direction to investigate my quarry. There was a coffee shop on the corner, and her house was obliquely opposite. I sat myself by the window and ordered lunch. That gave me a legitimate hour’s stay. During that time, I saw a man ring her bell and a woman, who I presumed was my next target, answered the door and let him in. As I was finishing my dessert, I spotted the man leaving and I assumed he was a patient. As I was paying my bill, a woman was seen to ring her bell. She too was greeted by my quarry and invited to enter. I didn’t hang around any longer – it would have risked being spotted and recalled. I decided to wait a good two months before striking again, so that any possible witness of my visit that day would have well and truly forgotten all about me. After a decent interval, I told Verry that I had to go to Devon again. My Verry doesn’t question anything, which is just as well. She just accepts what I tell her, and gets on with it.
    I invented a new name for myself and I rang Miss Maylingfor an appointment. Seven o’clock in the morning was all she could offer me. Such an hour indicated an overnight stay, but I couldn’t risk a hotel. So I left London very early and drove through the breaking dawn to the site of my target. Once parked, I put on my gloves and a bowler hat. I liked to ring the changes. There was no one about; unsurprising at that hour. I was not sweating this time. Nor was I afraid. Once convinced of one’s mission, there is no place for fear. I rang her bell without hesitation and, as expected, she answered the door.
    â€˜Miss Mayling?’ I asked. I did not bother to disguise my voice – she would never live to identify it. She invited me inside, and as I entered I took out my string. Then I swept behind her, necklaced her throat and viciously pulled. She fell backwards on to the tiled floor of the hall. The blood spurted, and her pulse was still. Then I was out of the door, and into the empty street and my patient and innocent car for the return journey. For some reason, I was out of breath, as if I had been running. Yet I had walked calmly to her home, and with equal calm dispatched her. But my heart