It had been a busy day. A long day. Eventful. He had been asked – told – to sort out the mess that morning. The mess, he had to admit, created by his own sloppiness. But he had done it, because he had no choice. He was exhausted. It had been a long drive, undertaken at short notice. Now, he hoped matters were back on track. He could concentrate on a much more important matter.
Wearing a bandage and a sling, he had to remain discreet. Doctor Sinclair would recognise him instantly. He therefore had to keep well back. He had followed her to the lawyers’ office, and had waited in his car in the adjacent street. She had parked her car only a short distance from his, and had entered the building. He had watched her, the way she moved. So confident, he thought. So poised. Fifteen minutes later she had left, accompanied by a man. He was big. Maybe six-two. Good-looking guy. Wearing a suit. Presumably a lawyer. They looked roughly the same age. She wore a wedding ring. Her husband? Perhaps. He had experienced a prickle of jealousy. He had watched as they walked off together, in the opposite direction of her parked car. He had decided to follow.
And now, here he was, lingering in an antique shop opposite while she had coffee. It was closing time, but he made the pretence of being interested in some expensive stuff, giving the owner hope that there might be a last-minute sale. He cast surreptitious glances towards the coffee shop – quaintly called The Yellowbird Coffee House – and wondered what they were discussing, she and this man.
Already, he had a route map planned in his head. Where and how. The where was easy. She worked night shift at the hospital. She parked her car in the hospital car park. She had her own private parking bay. A relatively secluded spot, at the farthest point from the hospital entrance, shrouded in shadow, on the periphery of the lights. The how was easy too. There was CCTV, which was an irrelevance. He would be suited up – gloves, hood. A shadow amongst shadows. He would act while she was opening her car door, rendering her unconscious, bundle her in his car, and drive her to his special place on the moors.
And the when. He was, by nature, a meticulous planner. His projects demanded discipline and patience. Which had failed him. The last had ended in debacle. As such, his modus operandi had altered dramatically. Now, he would act. Swiftly and efficiently. The change released him, made him feel marvellously free. No more months of reconnaissance and painstaking research and studying patterns of behaviour.
He would take the doctor at the end of the week.
He saw them leave. He thanked the owner of the antique shop, assured him his antiques were very nice, but he would have to pass. The owner nodded, responded with a disappointed smile.
He left, keeping fifty yards behind. They didn’t seem to display any outward signs of affection. No holding hands, no arms around shoulders or waists. Perhaps he was merely a friend. Or a brother. Or anything at all. He was slotting back to his old habits. Analysing, assessing. He pushed the thoughts from his mind. The guy was an irrelevance.
The end of the week. He would take her, and make her perfect.