Back in London, he finalized his plans for Dame Elizabeth. Her hero, Kant, was famous for never having left Königsberg and for having a routine so punctual and unvarying you could set your watch by him. Dame Elizabeth liked to emulate him.
This addiction to routine would be partly her downfall. He was counting on it.
He was looking forward to her death, to seeing her die.
The atmosphere rare and pure, danger near and the spirit full of a joyful wickedness: thus are things well matched.
Also sprach Zarathustra.
Every Sunday night, from six thirty to eight thirty, Dame Elizabeth was to be found in the small lecture hall near her office, marking essays and doing paperwork. She also let it be known that she would be there for any student needing help or advice. She was a strong believer in lecturers having a visible presence, particularly philosophy dons. They should be there, like beacons of sanity in a disturbed world. That’s what was most disturbing to her about the deaths, the notion that philosophy itself would be mocked. She could imagine the philistine jeering headlines in the red-top press, or the legion of adverse Twitter comments and noticeboard pages making sarcastic remarks about her subject. The British were fond of mocking anything intellectual, jeering at culture.
He knew that the booking list for students was empty; he’d seen it. He knew that she’d be alone on this Sunday night. Five minutes was all he would need with her, that’s more or less how long ‘D.I.S.C.O.’ lasted. He’d have to use his iPod, though, he could hardly play the music through the lecture hall speakers. Nobody would be around on a Sunday night, except for the old security guy at the desk in the foyer, but better safe than sorry.
His preparations were complete. He had bought a dog collar and lead from a pet store, south of the river. It was a dog choke-chain collar, essentially designed to strangle the animal into submission. He slipped it experimentally over a cushion and pulled it tight. The steel links bit into the fabric with a satisfying solidity and strength. It would be marvellous to see and feel it in action on smooth, human flesh.
He put the song on his stereo and cranked up the volume. First came the rhythm and the pan-pipe intro, breathy and urgent, then the song kicked off. He put the choke chain back round the cushion. He imagined the chain around Dame Elizabeth’s neck, D, the chain bit, I, he pulled harder, S, now he was pulling as hard as he could, and holding for two beats, C, O and repeat.
He was breathing hard now, with excitement, not exertion. ‘D.I.S.C.O.’
Then he undid the chain and lead and put them into his dishwasher, to remove any stray fabric or trace. He would leave the chain around her neck when he had finished and didn’t want anything there for forensics to find.
He would be wearing latex gloves tonight. Leather was a more pleasing material but latex, well, you had a much better tactile sensation.
He looked at his watch. Four hours. Like Kant, he was obsessive about time.
Dame Elizabeth would have appreciated the irony.