Chapter Fifty-Eight
Stuart King, known on the dark web as Kingpin, strolls past the house on Millwall Lane.
‘Nice,’ he mutters. ‘Very nice.’
He walks past the drive twice, then wanders along the street, checking the neighbouring houses.
Stuart never gets ruffled, and today is no exception.
Every step he takes is slow and deliberate, so he doesn’t miss a thing.
His idea of hurrying is to tilt his head downwards as he saunters along, without changing the pace of his footfalls.
That’s just the way the man is, born calm, and nothing can change him.
In truth, there’s another reason for his slowness, and Stuart is fully aware of it.
He’s very overweight. Unfortunately, that means people tend to remember him.
But if there’s one thing Stuart loves, it’s food.
He’s already thinking about the fish and chip shop he passed on the way here.
The menu is already running through his head.
He turns back and walks down the driveway of 13 Millwall Lane, glancing at the house for one last time before walking back and squeezing himself behind the wheel of his Clio.
This should be an easy job. They won’t be expecting it.
He’ll go in when it’s dark, cut the power, and then, hey presto, he’ll finish them off.
The last paid murder he carried out was in Austria. That one was dead easy, too. He chuckles. Dead easy.
Glancing around for one last time to make sure no one’s clocked his car, he heads back to the fish and chip shop.
***
He notices the assistant trying to hide her look of disgust as she hands him his order.
Fat shaming, he wants to shout, but he doesn’t. Don’t draw attention to yourself.
The assistant is pretty. He could wait for her to finish her shift and… He shakes his head, annoyed with himself. This isn’t the right time. After the murders, maybe. Yes, that would be better. She’ll most likely be finishing her shift by then. Something to look forward to. Teach her a lesson.
***
Neville
Joanna refused to talk to me at breakfast and left the granola that I’d made her untouched. The same thing happened at lunch. I’m starting to get worried.
But at last, I’ve had contact. Everything will get sorted out tonight. So, I decide to get fish and chips as a treat.
I cycle to the local fish and chip shop, taking care to pull my hood low and keep my head down. It’s busy, so I doubt anyone will remember me.
I leave the food in its paper and carry it down to the basement, along with two plates, just in case. I also have a bottle of wine and two glasses.
Maybe Joanna doesn’t need the wine, but I certainly do. I fully expect the glass to be thrown at me. I deserve it.
I listen outside the door, but all is quiet.
‘Joanna, I’ve brought food. Are you standing back?’
No reply.
I sigh.
‘Joanna, will you please give me a chance to explain?’
Still nothing. I take a deep breath, set the tray on the floor, and open the door, quickly stepping aside in case she rushes out and attacks me. Nothing happens. I gently push the door open wider.
Joanna is sitting on the couch, clutching the photograph of her son.
I pick up the tray and walk into the room, stepping over the scattered remains of the shepherd’s pie. She doesn’t lift her head or acknowledge me. I set the tray and the wine on the small table.
‘I thought we could both do with a glass,’ I say.
She lifts her head and glances at the bottle.
‘I’d appreciate it if you didn’t smash one of them over my head,’ I add, with a smile.
She stares at me, confusion written across her face.
‘Fish and chips,’ I say, like I’m announcing caviar. I feel ridiculously self-conscious around her. I unwrap the paper on the table and offer her a plate.
‘Good news,’ I say. She looks at me uncertainly. ‘You’ll be going home soon.’
The fish and chips are left untouched in her lap. ‘Why can’t I go now?’ she asks, glaring at me as though I’m the village idiot. ‘You kidnapped me; why can’t you just let me go?’
I exhale. ‘Because it’s not up to me.’
‘Who is it up to?’ she snaps.
‘You’ll find out soon.’
She jumps to her feet so quickly that I don’t have time to react, and the fish and chips hit me square in the face. I stand there like an idiot as vinegar dribbles down my chin.
‘You fucking kidnapped me! Stop blaming it on someone else. Get. Out. Of. My. Way.’
As she moves to push past me, we both hear the sound of a key turning in the lock of the front door.
‘See?’ I say, trying to wipe the food off my clothes. ‘He’s here.’
I leave the basement.