Page 29 of M for Murder

Yes, still there. Still watching her.

Seeing Vic and Rebecca leave the store, Kylan wished she had thought of some pretence so they could have all left together. Maybe she should have suggested they get together for a cup of coffee or something.

But you didn’t, which leaves you right back here with Mr Creepy.

Fortunately, now there was only the tattoo guy ahead of her in the line, and he was already paying for his goods. Kylan felt a small surge of relief. She would hopefully be out of here in a couple of minutes. Quickly she started to unload her cart, careful not to let her eyes wander in the direction of the man. The last thing she wanted was him trying to strike up conversation again.

Fortunately, he didn’t.

Kylan packed and paid for her goods, leaving the store without further incident. It wasn’t until she was loading her shopping into the trunk of her Volkswagen, that she saw the man again. He was sitting behind the wheel of a brown Buick, his face partially hidden by a newspaper, but his eyes were so obviously watching her.

She felt her stomach knot, forcing herself to finish loading the car then, slamming the door of the trunk shut, she made her way round to the driver’s door, careful to avoid eye contact. This guy didn’t need any encouragement.

Her hand shook as she tried to get her key in the door lock.

‘Hey, Kylan!’ a voice shouted to her and the keys slipped from her grasp, crashing to the floor. Quickly she retrieved them and glanced up to see who had called her. It was Vic, sitting in the passenger seat of a blue Jeep which had pulled up on the lane just behind her Volkswagen.

He looked amused. ‘Kind of jumpy, aren’t you?’

Kylan forced a smile. ‘You surprised me.’

‘You don’t say,’ he grinned. ‘Anyhow, I was thinking. We haven’t seen each other in a while, so maybe we should all go out to dinner this weekend. You and Lawrie, and I’ll bring a friend of mine, Jill. We can have a few beers and catch up on old times. What do you say?’

‘Yeah, that sounds great.’

Vic had been the only person, other than Lawrie and Tania, she’d known when they first moved to Juniper. Although she found him a little irritating, Kylan guessed it wouldn’t hurt to go out for a meal. Plus he had just saved her from an uncomfortable situation.

‘I’ll give you a call,’ Vic suggested. ‘You’re in the book, right?’

‘Under Parker.’

‘I know.’ He gave her a wink.

In the driver’s seat beside him, Rebecca smiled and raised a hand.

‘See you later, then,’ he called.

‘Yeah, see you later.’ Kylan didn’t wait to watch them pull away; her thoughts having returned to the guy in the Buick. Already she was busy with her door lock, her hand still shaking badly, and it took her three attempts to get the key in. When the door was eventually unlocked, she allowed herself a final glance at the Buick.

It was gone.

She stared at the empty space feeling a mixture of surprise and relief. The guy had really spooked her, and it had to be more than coincidence that she had run into him first in the store and then the parking lot. So, in that case, where the hell had he suddenly disappeared to?

Sitting alone in his attic room, Rodney Boone flicked through the pages of the cheap cardboard scrapbook in which he kept the newspaper clippings that told of his reign of terror. As he glanced at the pictures of the victims, each of their stories headed by a different letter of the alphabet, he noticed that the clippings were starting to yellow with age. He turned to the last used page, headed by the letter J, and carefully reread the one recent story in the book.

The story of the murdered football player, Scott Jagger.

He had known that eventually the time would be right for the killings to restart. They had to be in order for his alphabet to be completed. And in order for him to fulfil the promise that he had made to his family. Closing his eyes, he leaned back in his chair and started to remember.

9

SAN PALIMO, CALIFORNIA. NOVEMBER 1963

‘Y ou’re making a big mistake, Mr Kusack.’ Myron White stared at the boy standing below him, fully aware that his words had not sounded as threatening as he had hoped they would.

Bobby Kusack glanced up and met his eyes. The corners of his mouth creased slightly as a smile threatened to break out across his face. Reaching into the inside pocket of his black leather jacket, he pulled out a matchbook and a packet of Marlboro and observed the professor as he lent against his desk and lit the cigarette.

Myron licked at his dry lips, realising that his threats were not going to work. He decided to adopt a more genial approach.