Half an hour before the panic outside the hotel, Jack Kennedy stood inside the Shaw coffee shop and waited for his first cup of the day. He eyed up the blueberry muffins on the counter, his stomach saying yes while his head said no. He was the only customer there, and he wondered if their business was already dead on its feet. For some unknown reason, The End by The Doors was playing over the shop’s sound system. He was pondering how many blueberry muffins Jim Morrison could put away in one go as Mary Shaw returned with his drink.
She must have recognised the strange look on his face.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said without really appearing as if she was. ‘Tom thinks he can play what he wants when we have no customers.’
What does that make me, then? Am I invisible?
He hoped he was to Evie Church. But then he had a plan for her, and he was quick to get to it. He paid for the coffee and two muffins. He’d keep one for lunch later on. And if it was good enough for the Lizard King, it was certainly good enough for Jack Kennedy. Break on Through erupted above his head as he left and travelled the short distance next door to his failing empire.
I don’t think The Doors is appropriate music for attracting customers. Perhaps I should tell them.
But he didn’t.
He left the sign displaying CLOSED as he shut the door. There was something he needed to do before the day’s official business began. The coffee cup warmed his hands, the blueberry muffins smelling fresher than they appeared. He guessed they had been defrosted not long before the Shaws opened up.
His feet crunched over a stack of envelopes as he strode inside. He sighed as he put the food and drink on top of a copy of The God Delusion and scrunched down to pick up the mail. He was sure none of it would feature good news. He scanned the front of each envelope, not bothering to read his name.
Jack Kennedy. Whose parents were self-obsessed enough to call their only son that? He’d received so much stick at school because of it that even the teachers would laugh a little when they said his name.
He stuffed the envelopes under his arm and grabbed the coffee and sweet things again. He’d need some caffeine before discovering how much of the mail was reminders for unpaid bills. He strode around the front desk, dodging a pile of non-fiction books about gender equality, and settled into his seat. He got his laptop and turned it on. He’d watched the news before leaving that morning, feeling disappointed there’d been no new revelations regarding Adam Church and the Glick girls.
The coffee snapped at his lips as the computer sparked into life. He had to be proactive before Evie returned to him. Amongst his cocktail of panic, confusion, and joy last night, his first reaction had been to remove all the correspondence he’d had with her. He’d organised them into one folder in his email app, and his finger had hovered over the delete button for some time before he’d decided on the best course of action.
He was no computer expert, but he was sure people with more knowledge than him would be able to recover anything he deleted. He knew enough to understand any messages he received were not stored on his machine, but somewhere in the ether. The only evidence he had regarding the book she’d sent, the one to be published under his name, was the original email with the attachment. He’d never replied to it or acknowledged he’d got it. That was the point when he realised he’d steal her work and claim it as his.
Jack had no control over the evidence she’d messaged him. If it came down to that, he wouldn’t deny the conversations they’d had. There was only one email he had to refute. So, he deleted the copy in his account. The tricky bit would be getting into hers and removing the original message. As he’d lain on the floor drinking yesterday, that was the only thought possessing him. He’d been struggling to find an answer when the news broke about the arrest of Adam Church.
That was the game-changer.
That was when Jack Kennedy decided he wouldn’t just be a thief and a plagiariser; he’d also be something much worse.
I’m going to be a killer.
In for a penny, in for a pound, that’s what his father would say as he beat seven shades of shit out of his son.
He’d spent all night coming up with a plan and felt pleased with it. But he had to start now before he changed his mind and chickened out. He drank half the coffee and nibbled at one of the muffins. Blueberries dribbled out of his mouth and on to the keyboard as he opened the web browser and his email account.
Jack ignored the junk mail offering him cheap Viagra pills and the chance to get a million dollars from a Nigerian Prince and went to the folder containing Evie’s messages. He scanned the list twice before deleting the one with the attachment. Then he started a new message.
Dear Evie,
It was a surprise to see you at the shop yesterday. I thought you were still receiving residential support at the Tranquil Waters Rest Home, but it was good to meet you.
You should continue with your writing because, as I said before, you show great promise as a writer, and I believe when you find your authentic voice, you’ll flourish in the challenging world of publishing.
One final note, Evie. I was sorry to hear the news about your brother. I hope everything works out for you.
Yours sincerely,
Jack.
He read it three times before hitting send. He wasn’t a hundred per cent sure what she’d do next, but was confident of a reply. Then he needed to arrange an opportunity to see her alone. If the circumstances were appropriate, he’d put the final part of his plan into action.
He settled into his chair and finished the muffin. He’d open the shop in a few minutes, but he wanted to check the morning news one last time before that. He nearly fell out of his seat when he did. One of the TV broadcasters had recorded the chaos outside the hotel a short while ago. He watched the clip from the start, witnessed the people shouting abuse at Evie, and then sat gobsmacked as somebody fired a gun and bedlam ensued.
The news report underneath the video made him smile. Evie had survived an attempt on her life. He couldn’t believe it. Someone somewhere was shining down on him. He left the computer and went and changed the shop sign to OPEN. The sun shone through the window and illuminated his grin.
His initial plan was to kill her and make it look like suicide. Because who wouldn’t believe a woman with mental health problems, one who’d recently fled a facility that had looked after her for seven years, might be desperate to take her life once she discovered her brother was a child murderer?
But this morning’s news made things even better. People wanted to murder her. Random folks repulsed by her brother’s behaviour wished to kill her. So, who would believe he was the culprit once she turned up dead? Would the police bother with her emails? He didn’t think they would.
Jack stepped out the door and let the sunshine wash over him. Then he went back and ate the second blueberry muffin.