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  For her latest plan to work, she needed to be quick so as not to be seen and raise questions, which was why she had waited until dusk and was wearing one of Gordon’s old football caps with her hair tucked up. Stashed in her car was the necessary equipment to do the job, as well as the materials for plan B should she need them. She set off back to Sanderson Road and retribution. With not much traffic on the road, it was only a few minutes away. She parked a few yards away to watch the house from a distance for a while to gauge things, like whether anybody was home. The Blue Stickered Car was still parked out front, just where it had been earlier, and the front room light was on inside the mid-terraced house; the curtains were still open. That didn’t trouble her: with the lights on inside the house, its occupants would have difficulty seeing what was going on outside. Obviously closed curtains would have been ideal, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. It was now or never.

  “Come on, girl. Get it done and get back home. Gordon might need the bloody loo and wake up.” Madeline found comfort in talking to herself; she always knew to listen but rarely answered back. Pulling her cap a bit further down for good measure, she slipped out of the car, grabbed the diesel canister from behind the driver’s seat and walked casually across the road, watching for movement and prying eyes. Nothing. The Blue Stickered Car loomed, all the crappy stickers giving it an odd glow, and close up in the dusk it looked even worse than she remembered. Luckily the petrol cap was on the road side, meaning she could pour and monitor the houses at the same time. As the car was old, the petrol cap didn’t lock, so Madeline didn’t need to force it. In seconds, she was tipping the diesel canister up and letting the fuel rush down the nozzle and down into the tank. For her plan to work, she needed the tank to be nearly empty, or at least only half full, and judging by the amount of diesel going in, her wish had come true.

  When her canister was empty, she quickly fixed the Blue Stickered Car’s fuel cap back into place and walked back to her own car, checking her surroundings as she went. Her heart was beating hard in her chest and she was sweating like a race horse; the cap covering her head was not helping. She placed the empty diesel canister back in the boot. She hadn’t needed plan B, a bottle of bleach, which, had the Blue Stickered Car’s petrol tank been full, she’d have added instead for maximum damage. From her research, she knew that diesel fuel in a petrol engine would do a great job of screwing up the filters and engine. Bleach would have done a more corrosive and longer-lasting job, but Madeline didn’t want him to suspect sabotage. She just wanted to teach him a lesson, and set him wondering how he’d managed to put diesel fuel in his tank…

  Back in the driver’s seat, she scanned again for twitching curtains and nosey neighbours but all was quiet. She’d just started the engine and was all set to go when she saw a man leave his house a couple of doors along and walk down the front path. Not only had the movement caught her eye, but the way he was dressed was all wrong for a warm evening. The hat and coat he wore looked like a disguise, like he was trying to hide something, a bit like Madeline had been doing only moments earlier. But where was this man going? From her vantage point she watched as he turned towards the park, his outline looking creepy in the orange glow from the streetlights. There was something familiar about him. Madeline put her car in gear and cruised slowly past him, and did a double-take as she recognised him.

  It was Grey Man, and she now knew where he lived.

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Wednesday

  “Morning, gorgeous.” Amanda leaned in and dropped a quick peck on the top of Ruth’s damp head. Ruth had been out for her run and was already back and showered, deeply engrossed in the crossword puzzle, her scrunched-up brows telling Amanda she was struggling with another clue. “You stuck?”

  “Morning, and yes, I am. Nothing seems to makes sense this morning, and I’m stuck with three of them, can you believe. I’ve not been so stuck for a long time. It’s not usually this hard.”

  Amanda put a capsule in the coffee machine and the fresh pungent smell permeated the kitchen. “You want another coffee or some toast put in the toaster?

  “Yes please to both. Might clear my foggy brain. It’s either me, or the puzzle setters at the paper have done the dirty and printed one for much more intellectual people than me.” Ruth knew she was sounding a bit whiney and petulant, but she hated being beaten at anything.

  Amanda could hear it in her voice and smiled knowingly. Ruth just needed to forget it; it was only a silly crossword.

  “What do you want to do this evening?” Ruth asked her. “Fancy the movies in town, some pizza beforehand? We’ve not been to the movies since the last 007 film, and that’s some time ago. And I fancy pizza too. What do you say?”

  “Sounds good,” Amanda said, buttering toast and handing a piece to Ruth. “Let’s not even look what’s on and go and sit through something random just for fun. Sort of a little adventure. What do you reckon?”

  “I’d rather know beforehand, but if that’s what you want to do, we can do that. In fact, if you want a night of adventure, then I suggest we order a pizza that we’ve never eaten before – a whole evening of new tastes. And we should add drinks to that too: we can’t order what we normally have. It has to be something different. Agreed?”

  Ruth was smiling at the idea and Amanda smiled back, giving her a buttery grin as she chewed her toast. “Deal. You’re on. That should be fun. Let’s hook up later and confirm the time a bit closer when we know what we’ve both got going on. But right now, I need to get showered and out of here pronto.” She headed off upstairs, the last piece of toast between her fingers.

  Ruth turned back to her newspaper and quickly scanned the rest of it. All quiet on the news front: nothing of any note to report. She stood up and put it with the recycling under the sink.

  It occurred to her as she took the used pod out of the coffee machine that they weren’t a particularly environmentally friendly product – how many millions of plastic coffee pods were there in landfills across the globe? “Perhaps we should find an alternative,” she muttered to herself, and headed upstairs to blow-dry her hair into something a little more presentable. She had a big meeting that afternoon with Liberty and every detail counted.

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  The carnival atmosphere always excited him. As old and grown up as he was, Jordan was still a big kid at heart, and that was one reason he enjoyed the astronomy event. To watch the eyes of the kids light up when their work won a prize or when they saw the mechanics and technology they’d worked on transform into a robot or a game was priceless, and he wondered if some of the creations would ever get to market in some form. How cool that would be for a youngster? Indeed, Jordan had himself tried to make a couple of the games he’d seen fly, but he wasn’t a developer and didn’t have the right contacts – yet.

  He checked his watch and adjusted its strap nervously. Even in casual clothes he looked like someone straight out of GQ magazine. There wasn’t a hair out of place on his slicked-back head, and he had just the right amount of cologne on, he thought. Suede loafers, starched chinos and a Ralph Lauren polo shirt completed the ‘I’ve got money’ look. A casual onlooker would say he just needed a cravat to finish it off with, something Jordan had indeed contemplated but had decided against. It was a kids’ event, after all, albeit a serious one.

  He jogged lightly down the stairs, grabbed his keys and wallet and headed out to the garage and his beloved Jag. As he waited for the garage door to fully open, he could see the dark grey clouds gathering in the sky in the distance. While it was still hot and sunny at the moment, rain was definitely in the forecast. He desperately hoped it held off until after the event. The ignition fired, the deep rumble of his V6 engine sounding like a big cat raring to go, and he let it throb for a moment. Jordan loved his car and was just in the mood to open her engine up a bit, let some of that 340 horsepower out and crank the speed. Smiling to himself, he checked his watch again.

  “Sod it, I’ve got a fe
w spare. Let’s take a spin, baby!”

  Grinning in anticipation, he turned left out of his driveway instead of right, away from the school. The only place where he could give the Jag some throttle was the bypass, and that was where he headed, hoping there’d be no police cars or cameras around. The sound system was a clear as always, Guns N' Roses bouncing out of his perfectly tuned speakers as he headed in the wrong direction for a quick burst of pleasure. He pressed the accelerator gently and the engine took the hint, clicking past 80 then 90 mph. He pressed her to 100 and sang along with Axl Rose. For ten whole minutes he enjoyed the uninterrupted speed until the clock on his dashboard told him playtime was nearly over. But it was the first splashes of rain and the arrival of the dark clouds that dampened his spirits.

  “Ah, bollocks,” he exclaimed, slowing the car down, making a turn to head over to the school at a more leisurely pace. The drops came heavier and faster, and it was only when he turned his wipers on that he realised he had a problem. As rain started to pelt the windscreen, the wipers, for some reason, weren’t clearing the water away as they usually did. What was happening, though, was the empty metal arms were dragging over the windscreen, and screws that should have been holding rubber blades in place were gouging into the glass, making one hell of a noise. And deep scratches.

  “What the hell?!” The rain was a monsoon now, and Jordan no choice but to pull over. He came to a standstill on the shoulder and sat thinking for a moment. If he got out now he’d most certainly get drenched to the skin, but he was running out of time. If he didn’t fix the problem soon, he wouldn’t be judging anything, so he had no choice: he’d have to get out and take a closer look. Remembering the umbrella behind his seat, he grabbed it and opened the door to investigate the problem in the bouncing rain. He pulled the closest wiper arm away from the windscreen to take a closer look and with a sickening feeling he realised the rubber blade was gone. He reached for the other wiper arm; same deal there. The scratches on the glass glared back at him through the deluge.

  “What?” Water poured relentlessly down his scalp as he stood, stunned, beside his wounded baby.

  The only explanation he could think of was that someone had stolen the rubber blades, probably for a joke. But who would do such a thing? And why?

  “What a damn mean-spirited thing to do!” he shouted into the rain. Traffic swished by, not paying him any attention. His pressed chinos and fancy loafers were now saturated. Getting back into his car, he took out his phone and called the Automobile Association to rescue him. They’d be there in an hour. He wasn’t going anywhere soon. He thumped the steering wheel with all his might and screamed, “No, damn you!” at the top of his voice. No one heard him.

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  Thursday

  From @Stargazer, Who went to the astronomy competition? Shame about the rain.

  @Stargazer from @McRuth, I did. Some very cool stuff, and yes, pity about the rain. You see anything really interesting?

  @McRuth, Definitely. Some of the students are way out there with their tech knowledge – out of this world, literally. #wishiwas

  @Stargazer, Puts us older gen to shame, eh?

  @McRuth, Ah, but we have life experience. Can’t complain. Judging was very late this year? You know why?

  @Stargazer, Yes, @Belfort had car trouble. Some lowlife swiped his wiper blades. #nogoodintherain

  @McRuth, I bet those car vandals are having a laugh. #toerags

  @Stargazer and @McRuth from @Belfort, Evening all. Just saw the ping and the thread. I was hacked off. Tremendous damage. #newwindscreen If I catch them…

  @Belfort, Don’t blame you. Gorgeous car too.

  @Stargazer, Yes, and thanks. Take you for a spin one of these days, eh?

  @Belfort, Oh, how exciting! Yes please!

  Ruth watched the conversation carry on for a few more minutes without taking part any further. She was well aware of Jordan’s, aka @Belfort’s reputation and his great-looking Jag, though @Stargazer, Lorna, appeared not to have heard about him – though she was married anyway. Although that definitely wouldn’t stop @Belfort from perving on her. And she knew from her time moderating the site who the dominant characters were and who were the followers – Lorna, a regular nice woman, fell into the latter category. She hoped Lorna never experienced Jordan in the flesh, so to speak. Jordan, being Jordan, had chosen @Belfort as his online handle after Jordan Belfort, the main character in The Wolf of Wall Street. It fitted him perfectly. Lorna’s handle, @Stargazer, fitted her perfectly too.

  Ruth sat looking at her screen, thrumming the table in thought. She was sure Madeline had mentioned Jordan a couple of weeks back but couldn’t quite remember what she’d said. No matter. Probably nothing.

  Chapter Sixty

  Friday

  The funeral was today, Friday, at 2 pm, at the crematorium following a service at Purley Baptist Church, then on for refreshments. Madeline was still undecided whether to go or not. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to go and pay her respects; she just didn’t want to meet up with the damn police if they were there, particularly Detective Lacey, or as Madeline now knew her secretly, Amanda, Ruth’s partner. Did Amanda know that she was Ruth’s stepmother? As far as Madeline was aware she hadn’t made any connection, but how could she know for sure? Not wishing to risk it, and unwilling to hide in the bushes and watch the service from a distance, she had voted to stay home. Gordon had gone off to work. He’d offered to attend with her, which was sweet of him, but if she wasn’t even sure about going, there was little point him taking time out for it.

  I did kill him, after all.

  Stirring a sugar into her coffee, she gazed out of the kitchen window. The light rain made the garden gloomy; the grey sky was thick with drizzle. Drizzle was so pointless and depressing.

  “Just get on and rain, then sod off again, would you?” she demanded at the window and beyond. The Great Orange Machine was still in the garden, just where it had been left, and it taunted Madeline every time she looked out, like some sort of penance for the bad deed and the secret that lay beneath it. Water dripped off its bucket and its caterpillar wheels and coursed down its metallic orange carcass, and it seemed even more vibrant in colour, like a fresh navel orange. Dexter often sat on it and she knew he knew her secret; he’d been there that day, watching. And she suspected just what he was saying to himself when he looked her way. Murdering bitch. But that was over and done with. She hadn’t really set out to kill Des, of course, though who knew what she thought she was doing when she raised the spade and whacked him? It was just that some days her anger and frustration went through the roof at the flick of a switch, and that day the switch had been the telephone bill. And then the cheeky bugger had tried to put his price up, so she’d whacked him. And buried him. Seemed the right thing to do at the time.

  Sid’s Transport couldn’t get there soon enough for Madeline’s liking. She’d rung them straight after Amanda had left last week, but the Great Orange Machine was still standing in place, annoying the hell out of her. They promised to pick it up as soon as they could, but wanted to know who was going to pay for its removal.

  How the hell should I know? It’s not my sodding machine.

  Eating the last two chocolate biscuits, she sipped her coffee, still dwelling on whether to go to the funeral or not. The kitchen clock said it was 10.30 am, so there was still plenty of time to decide.

  “I’ll go if it stops raining by twelve pm,” she said to her coffee mug. “If it’s still raining then, I’m not going. That seems like a fair decider.” The rain wouldn’t make one ounce of difference to whether the police were there or not, but Madeline had to decide somehow.

  Chapter Sixty-One

  She was still in the kitchen an hour later. Pondering. Madeline watched the rain drip off the gutters and droplets run down the windows. It made her start to think a bit, about herself, and about how sad the whole sorry mess was – a mess she’d created. It was all down to her. There she was drinking c
offee, looking out over the grave of the first man she’d killed and wondering whether to go and pay her respects to her second victim. Plying him with Viagra had been meant as a bit of fun at the time, but quite clearly it hadn’t turned out that way.

  Her other indiscretions drifted into her head and she put them all in order, gazing out to the drizzle-soaked garden. The incidents spun like a vinyl record on a deck, the words on the label whizzing round, virtually unreadable. But she knew what they said, those words, because she’d written them, created them, with her actions.

  Madeline had been wrangling outbursts of anger and suffering from temperature tantrums for months, but hadn’t done anything about them. She had allowed them to spin out of control, spin like the record on the deck, playing a song that no one was interested in listening to but herself. Her road rage had been dangerous at times: she had driven perilously close to other people’s bumpers and intimidated innocent strangers. She had stuck her nose – and in one infamous case, her finger – where it wasn’t wanted. She had taken actions that had ultimately been murderous on two occasions – and if she included the poisoning of Grey Man, there could very easily have been a third. This was not the Madeline she knew. She was ashamed.

  Her thoughts drifted uneasily back to Grey Man. What was it with that guy? Why did he stick in her thoughts so much, more than any of the others? The record in her head carried on spinning, and suddenly it came to her why Grey Man crept into her thoughts so often.

  Because she kept seeing him, that’s why.

  The vinyl continued to spin round on the deck as the pieces fell into place. It had been niggling at her for some days, since she’d tipped diesel into the Blue Stickered Car's petrol tank and realised that Grey Man lived a couple of doors down. She’d seen him head out, looking similar to yet not entirely like the man she’d poisoned, and according to news reports there had been another attack that night.