about that, love. Some people shouldn’t be allowed on the road.’
‘Tell me about it,’ she agreed. Most of the people who came into her lab were the result of car-related deaths.
Adele paid the fare and tipped the driver. She turned her back to the taxi, buttoned her coat up to the neck against the stiff March breeze and headed for home.
Traffic wasn’t usually so bad on her street. There were cars parked bumper-to-bumper on both sides. Somebody must be having a party.
As she walked down the poorly lit road she checked her phone, the brightness lighting up her face. It was just after eleven o’clock, not too late then.
It was a quiet night, and a cold one. The stars were shining in their billions as Adele looked to the pitch-black sky. There wasn’t a cloud visible. She shivered and pulled the collar up on her designer coat. A dog barked somewhere. Its resounding call set off a chain – a cat meowed, another dog barked, an owl hooted.
Adele stopped dead in her tracks and looked about her. She couldn’t make up her mind if she had heard something or if it was her imagination. The loud clacking from her shoes echoed as she took long strides to the safety of her house. For some reason, she wanted to get home, quickly, and lock the door behind her.
As Adele reached her front door the security light came on. She realized her house keys were buried somewhere in her handbag. She grabbed for the keys and struggled to find the Yale to unlock the door. Her fingers were cold and shaking. She pushed it open and almost fell into the house, slamming it closed behind her. She put the safety chain on, locked the top and bottom bolts and came to rest with her back against the solid wood.
‘Chris?’ she called out to the dark, silent house. ‘Chris, are you home?’
She kicked off her expensive but painful shoes and sighed with relief. She headed for the kitchen when a dull thud from the living room caused her to stop in her tracks. There was someone in her house. If Chris was home, he would have made himself known by now.
She turned and studied the door. Her eyes were locked on the handle, as if waiting for it to be pushed down from the other side. She grabbed it, slowly depressed it, and opened the door carefully.
Adele opened it wide enough to put her arm through and flick on the living room light. The yellow glow made her squint. She listened intently but couldn’t hear anything from the other side of the door. She pushed it fully open and froze in horror.
‘Who the bloody hell are you?’ she asked.
Brian Appleby hadn’t wanted the evening to end. He had had a wonderful time with Adele. The kiss at the end was beautiful. He thought he’d made a mistake when he tried to go further, but he understood. They had to get to know each other, what they liked, disliked, how quickly they wanted to take this. He was prepared to wait.
He took no notice of his journey home. He drove along Heeley and Woodseats while his mind went over the date and pictured Adele’s blushes and smiles. She really was a beautiful woman. Her hair was soft and shiny, she didn’t cake herself in too much make-up, her jewellery was understated yet elegant. Everything about her was as close to perfect as it was possible to get.
Brian parked in his usual place right outside his detached home on Linden Avenue. He smiled at a neighbour as she let her cat out for the night, then went inside.
It was ten past eleven. He decided to treat himself to a glass of Jameson’s or two in his armchair and go over the date one more time.
He turned on the living room light to find a man sitting in the middle of the sofa.
‘Who the bloody hell are you?’ Brian asked, his voice filled with anger at the boldness of his intruder.
‘Good evening, Brian. How was your date?’
‘What the …? Hang on, I know you, don’t I?’
‘Were you able to control yourself? Or did the old urges come flooding back? On the other hand, this one’s a little older than what you usually go for. Are you trying to be a model citizen? It’s a bit late for that, isn’t it?’
‘Have you been following me?’
‘Why don’t you take a seat, Brian. We’ve got a lot to talk about.’
‘How did you get in?’ he asked, not moving from the doorway.
‘If you’ll sit down, I’ll explain everything.’
Tentatively, Brian made his way over to the armchair, not once taking his eyes off his intruder. He sat, perched on the edge. ‘Go on then, explain. And if I don’t like what I hear I’m calling the police.’
‘I don’t think you’re going to want to do that.’
There was a calmness about his strange visitor that frightened Brian. How did he know so much about him? How long had he been following him?
‘Why not?’ Brian frowned.
‘See that bag on the coffee table? Open it.’
Brian looked down at the small tote bag. ‘What is it?’
‘It’s for you. A present.’
‘I don’t want it,’ he said defiantly.
‘Open it,’ the intruder said, more forcefully.
Still not taking his eyes from his visitor, Brian edged towards the coffee table and opened the light cotton bag. He frowned, not making sense of what was inside. He reached in and pulled it out.
‘Jesus Christ! Who are you?’
DCI Matilda Darke couldn’t get used to her new car. The silver Ford Focus she had driven for years had been written off by the insurance company late last year after she’d swerved to avoid a head-on collision and crashed into a tree. Rather than upgrade to something shiny and modern, Matilda had opted for another silver Ford Focus. The only difference was the licence plate. That wasn’t technically true. It felt different. She couldn’t pinpoint why, but Matilda wanted her old car back. There was something familiar about it that couldn’t be replicated in the newer model.
She turned into Linden Avenue and quickly applied the brakes. Nothing wrong with those. Ahead of her was a crowd of onlookers, neighbours in dressing gowns, carpet slippers and hastily put on jogging bottoms and trainers. People who had left their homes and filled the road at the first sighting of a police car.
She climbed out of the car and had an iPhone thrust into her face.
‘DCI Darke, can you tell me what’s happened here?’
‘As you can see, I’ve just arrived.’
‘You must know something.’
‘And you are?’
‘Danny Hanson. Senior Crime Reporter on The Star.’
