You stand on the beach, your bare feet on the warm sand. The sun sets in front of you, and you stare out across the ocean.
You got away. You had a plan – of course, you did – for just such an eventuality. A bag, with cash – dollars, used notes – and two passports in two different names, one American, one Canadian.
The American is a certain Dr Beth Powers. The Canadian a venerable lady who goes by the name of Dr Nancy Ouelette. Both passports have been used over the years. Beth is a fan of Patagonia, where some of the locals in a small town know her as a doctor who occasionally comes to visit. Nancy is a fan of Southern Thailand, where she has helped out at a local clinic in the past.
And which is where she has been for the past three months. She keeps herself to herself. She has short hair and is totally grey. Green eyes behind her thick glasses. She looks nothing like Edna Crowne. It is amazing what changing a few details can do for your ability to hide.
They are delighted. She is a good doctor, and she works for minimal pay; just enough Thai baht that she is not patronizing the people of this small town.
Although you are glad you invented and documented Beth and Nancy when you did, well before 9/11, when such things were easier. Now it would be much more difficult to get passports and birth certificates and medical qualifications. You would have done it, though. There is always a way.
You see, what most people don’t understand is that hard work and intelligence and ability are never enough. What is needed to make those things bear fruit is persistence. Doggedness. You are simply prepared to do more for what you want than other people, and in the end that makes you the winner. Eventually your adversaries will simply give up, and even if they don’t they will certainly make a mistake, and when they do you will be there, ready to take advantage of it.
And you will do whatever it takes. That is the other thing most people don’t understand. They think they are safe because they assume that other people share some of their values. They don’t – can’t – understand that some people – very few, but some – will kill them or steal from them or hurt them and cast them aside in order to get what they want. An executive wants a promotion to CEO, and in order to get it he or she has to cut a thousand jobs, destroy the livelihoods of a thousand families, push a city like Detroit into ruins.
Is it justified? Is it fair that, on the back of that misery, one person gets a bigger pay packet? Gets even richer than they already are? Is it fair that bankers who produce nothing of value, who leech wealth from the rest of society, get to pay themselves tens of millions of pounds for doing so? Of course, it isn’t. But does anyone think they care about what is fair? You cannot deposit fairness in the bank. What they want is money, and they will do whatever they can, at whatever cost to other people, to get what they want.
Nancy faces just such a situation. She likes it here. She feels at home. She finds the people pleasant and welcoming and, most importantly, respectful. But there is one exception. One of the nurses is sullen and bossy. She annoys Nancy. She talks too much. Asks too many questions.
She will have to go.
There is a double benefit to killing her. Nancy will remove her from her life, and you will have the opportunity to keep your skills up. Murder is not easy. It is a skill like anything else, and it rewards constant practice.
And you need to keep your hand in, because you have unfinished business.
You have to deal with that bitch Julia.
You – in Nancy’s name – have booked a flight to Munich in a fortnight’s time. Train to Paris, ferry to Dover.
You plan to do it on a Friday night. Kill her in her home. Julia will not be found for a day or two, at least. Who will be surprised if they don’t see her or Anna until Monday?
By which time you’ll have found your way back to Munich. You have a return ticket booked for the Saturday evening.
Two tickets, to be precise. One adult, one child.
Because you don’t plan to return alone. When you get back you’ll have company. You picture the introductions.
Hello. This is my granddaughter, Rose. She’s come to live with me. Her mother recently passed away.
And at least that last sentence will be true.
You look out at the setting sun and smile. It feels good to have a plan again. Good to know what will happen.
Rose. Your mother’s name. It’s a good name. You suggested it when Anna was born. Brian was in favour, you knew that, but his wife didn’t like it. She preferred Anna. Not for any reason; not because there was an Anna in the family. Just because she liked it. And to spite you.
Well, in the end Rose it would be. Rose would come after Anna.
You smile and walk along the beach, your feet sinking in the warm sand. You turn onto the path that leads to the small hut you have made your home, your refuge.
There is someone standing on your porch.
It is that damn nurse. You smile again. The smile is genuine. This is an opportunity. You will find out if anyone knows she is here. If not, she will be erased.
‘Hello there,’ you say. ‘To what do I owe this pleasure?’
She bows in that way the Thai people have. She raises her hand and waves to her left. There is the noise of an engine, then a car pulls up behind you.
It is a police car.
Three Thai policemen climb out. Two are holding guns. They look nervous, which is not a good sign. The other is the boss. He approaches you and says something in Thai.
You do not understand. He repeats it.
Then he pauses.
Edna Crowne, he snaps. Edna Crowne.
You nod.
He scowls and motions for you to put out your hands.
You do so. He produces a pair of handcuffs and snaps them shut.
You smile. They have you, for now. You will be taken home and tried. The papers will rejoice in your capture.
But they are wrong to do so. This is not over yet.
It is not over yet.