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Murderous Intent

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It was a drizzly morning, grey sky overhead, a damp breeze whipping the chip shop wrappers down the street ahead of me. I lowered my head, arms braced, pushing the buggy at top speed, eyes fixed on the pavement ahead. Cheryl, protected from the rain under a plastic cover, gave excited little shrieks at our speed as the buggy bounced over the uneven surface, but even her pleasure couldn’t break through my anxiety.

The phone call the night before had unnerved me – no, scared me. It had been all I could do not to bundle Cheryl out of her cot and into a taxi there and then and head to King’s Cross and catch a train – any train going north. I’d told myself not to be stupid, not to panic, and right now I was trying to empty my head of everything, focus on my feet pounding along the pavement. Later, with Cheryl out of the house, I would have time to sit and think and plan. 

 When we got to within a hundred yards of the nursery I looked up, then stopped in alarm. There were two police patrol cars pulled up hard against the gate to the nursery, half-blocking the road, as though they’d parked in haste. The gates, usually open by 8.15, were shut and apparently locked, pushchairs gridlocked, unable to enter, reaching half way down the street. Mothers, clumped in groups of two and three, were talking in worried voices, their children beginning to fuss. 

Something – a figure – caught my eye on the other side of the street, and I glanced, then froze, my heart racing, adrenalin flooding my veins.
 
He raised his hand. He smiled and said my name. It was a whisper, no more than that, and yet across the road it seemed to reach my ears with the volume of a scream.

Page 1

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Started by
Author Catherine Sampson
27/07/2007 17:09:00

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Current page by
Author Catherine Sampson
27/07/2007 17:09:00

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