He was thinking of the last thirty seconds of Jessica McIntyre’s life. Killing her had been a real pleasure. She was an unpleasant, snobbish, domineering, sex-crazed bitch and thoroughly deserved it. It was so much better than killing Hannah Moore, which had been more like drowning a puppy, a trusting puppy at that. Still, he reasoned, we often have to do what we don’t want to.
It’s all a question of control. Life is inherently unfair. Only through imposing order upon chaos can we hope to progress. And when life attacks us, we have to fight back. And when we lose we can return to the fight, coldly, dispassionately.
For our self-respect depends upon our ability to make requital, for good or for evil, as Nietzsche said.
He thought about McIntyre some more. All too often in his life, he had suffered unfairly, he had taken too much grief. It was a very pleasant change indeed to be dishing some out. McIntyre with her silly upper-class ways, and her equally deluded intellectual arrogance, was better off dead. Well, the world was most certainly better off without her, anyway.
He guessed that he had two more killings to go before he could stop and relax. Two more women, both powerful characters in their own way, Dame Elizabeth and Gallagher.
It would be a particular shame to kill Dame Elizabeth. She had after all employed him and he had always prided himself on his good relationships with his previous employers, but he had little choice. At least, he thought, he could take pride in the fact that in the period he had worked for her, she’d had nothing but good things to say about him. He had always taken a great deal of care with his work; he had always been highly regarded.
He had the music for Dame Elizabeth’s departure planned. Nietzsche of course had a ready quote for music. He really was an incredible thinker.
Without music, life would be a mistake.
‘D.I.S.C.O.’ by Ottowan. That would dictate how she would die, the movements of her final dance on this earth. He had choreographed the killing meticulously.
At least with Dame Elizabeth he would not have to rush things too much. McIntyre was a strong woman; he had been forced to be quick. Luckily he’d had the element of surprise. Dame Elizabeth was in remarkable shape for a woman of her years, but she would be unable to put up much of a struggle. He hummed a phrase of the song to himself.
He had a very pleasant singing voice.