that had begun as a young teenager were now becoming a reality. He had everything planned, culminating in a final act that would see him seize complete control over the endgame. Something no one could imagine or predict. Not even Corrigan.
The automatic doors at the entrance to the shop slid open with an electric whoosh, drawing his attention to the attractive, dark-haired woman in her early thirties who casually drifted into the shop. He took in the fitted jacket and tight jeans that showed off her trim figure. No doubt another bored, wealthy housewife – plenty of those had moved into the area over the last two decades. She didn’t look old enough to have children, not for this part of London anyway. He’d had plenty of success with the bored ones in the past and fancied his chances with her, but at the same time he found himself looking on her as something other than a potential conquest, evaluating her instead as a possible victim. It would be risky; dangerous, even. This was no homeless loser or prostitute whom no one cared about; this woman would be missed and mourned, and her family would push the police hard to find her killer – not to mention the press, who would be all over it. For that reason alone, taking her life would be worth it. She would give him ten times the publicity he’d gained from killing the druggie and the whore.
He began to walk towards her as she moved between coffee tables, watching the pulse twitch in her slim, tanned neck – imagining slicing through her perfect skin until he cut through her carotid artery, pinning her to the floor as the warm, red blood emptied from her in intermittent sprays until the flow subsided with her dying heart and finally she lay lifeless. He imagined she’d smell of expensive perfume and cosmetics.
‘Can I help you with anything?’ he asked, flashing his practised seductive smile.
‘Hi,’ she smiled back, her eyes making momentary contact before returning to the coffee tables, but it was enough for him to tell she was interested. His nostrils flared at her scent. It was as he’d imagined, but warm too. ‘I need a coffee table,’ she explained in an accent that suited her appearance perfectly. ‘Ideally something I can take away today and won’t have to build. You wouldn’t believe how difficult it’s been to find anything. Everywhere’s saying eight weeks until delivery.’
‘You should buy online,’ he told her with a smile. ‘Probably shouldn’t have told you that, but how could I lie to you?’
‘Not my thing,’ she replied. ‘I like to see things in the flesh, so to speak, before I commit myself.’
Hearing her say ‘flesh’ fired a bolt of excitement through his body. ‘Well, you’re in luck,’ he continued. ‘We have plenty of good-quality tables and most are in stock, so if your car is big enough you can take one away today.’ He gave a shrug. ‘Trouble is, most retailers don’t keep stock any more. Takes up too much space. Costs too much money. They don’t like to build anything unless they know they’ve got a buyer lined up. But not here. We know not everybody wants to wait for weeks and weeks.’ He allowed a few seconds’ silence between them, until her gaze returned to him. ‘Please. Take a look. Ask anything you like. If you buy today, I can probably do you a special deal – if you promise you won’t tell anyone.’
‘I don’t know,’ she told him. ‘I’m not really seeing anything that grabs me.’
‘Let me guess,’ he tried to keep her interested. ‘You’ve recently moved to the area and upsized. The table from your old house or flat isn’t big enough and you’ve got friends coming around to help you celebrate moving into your new home, so you need a coffee table to fill that annoying space today? Am I right?’
She cocked her head to one side and smiled. ‘That’s … very clever,’ she replied.
‘So what if it’s not for life?’ he spoke in the code of illicit suggestion, hoping she would respond in kind. ‘So long as it works in the short term, who’s going to know? Once it’s served its purpose, you can get rid of it, replace it with something more permanent, but in the short term it’ll give you exactly what you’re looking for. Something to bridge the gap – without costing a fortune.’ He stood with his hands on his hips to augment his powerful physique – his chest inflated and triangular while his waist tapered away. He felt her eyes flick across his body. ‘Personally, I’d recommend this one,’ he said, resting his hand on the most expensive table in the shop. ‘It’s the best we have – a little more expensive than the others, but I’m sure you would appreciate the quality.’
‘Maybe,’ she replied shyly, a slight croakiness in her voice, a degree of dilation in her pupils. The flushing of her skin let him know she was interested even if she didn’t know it yet.
‘But,’ he blurted out cheerfully, ‘what’s the best way to test a new coffee table?’ The woman looked confused. ‘By using it,’ he explained. ‘There’s a great coffee shop along the street. You may know it – Bob’s Blends? Bit of a locals’ favourite.’
‘Like I said,’ she answered nervously, although he could sense her excitement too at his obvious interest, ‘I’m kind of new to the area.’
‘Then you have to try the coffee,’ he smiled. ‘I promise you’ll be a convert. Why don’t you take a look around’ – he was speaking fast now, denying her the chance to say no – ‘while I go grab us a couple of coffees. Don’t tell me what you usually have – let me surprise you.’
‘I don’t want to put you to any trouble,’ she tried to back away.
‘You’re not,’ he assured her in his most cheerful tone – his smile friendly, but his eyes serious and flirtatious. ‘It’ll be my pleasure.’ He felt her slipping away. ‘You know what?’ he said, trying to sound genuinely excited. ‘I just remembered: we have some really nice tables in the storeroom. They’re old stock, due to be taken away, but they’re great tables. If you wanted one of them, I could do you a really great price and deliver today. I could even drop it round myself.’ He gave her a few seconds to understand what he was really saying. ‘Got to be worth a look – don’t you think?’
He watched her lips – her pupils – the tone of her skin – the pulse quickening in her neck – everything. If she went for it within the next few minutes he’d have both her trust and her address. Maybe he would indulge in a brief affair with her until the time came to slit her throat. He watched her mouth begin to open as the answer formed, but it wasn’t her voice that he heard – it was the all too familiar voice of his area manager.
‘David,’ she ambushed him, making him curse himself for having not kept an eye on the shop entrance. ‘A word please.’ Her voice was sharp, as if she was scolding an unruly dog.
He took a step back, before recovering from the surprise and answering, ‘Of course.’ Turning to the customer, he apologized: ‘Sorry to keep you – I won’t be a minute.’
The area manager had set off towards the far corner of the shop, indicating she wanted privacy. Where she was concerned, this was never a good thing. Reluctantly, he followed.
Jane Huntingdon was younger than him, but had been an area manager for more than a year and was clearly destined for higher things. He’d wanted the job she now had, but the company passed him over in favour of her. A clear signal he would never progress and would do well to hold on to what he had. In so many ways she looked and sounded like the customer he’d been trying to seduce, only she was formally dressed and had short blond hair.
‘What the hell are you doing, David?’ she demanded, her eyes looking over his shoulder at the customer. ‘Haven’t you learnt anything?’
‘I was trying to sell her a coffee table,’ he lied. ‘That is my job.’
‘Bollocks,’ she cut him down. ‘I heard you offering to personally deliver to her home. I know what you were trying to do.’
‘I was trying to make a sale,’ he insisted.
‘You’re a salesman, not a delivery driver.’
‘Store manager,’ he told her. ‘I’m a store manager – not a salesman.’