How to Kill Men and Get Away With It(34)

He messages back with the name of a pub that sounds suitably grim enough to not have any state-of-the-art CCTV, and in less than forty minutes I’m there, even managing to find a parking spot almost directly outside.





25


THE CATFORD INN, CATFORD

It’s exactly as expected – a dartboard-and-pool-table affair stinking of day-old beer and carpets that haven’t been replaced since before the smoking ban. I’m going to need several showers after this.

I clock him straight away, sat at a table, tapping away on his phone, no doubt wondering what he’s going to be doing to poor Camilla as soon as he can. I order a house white, which comes straight from a not-very-cold cellar. Luckily, I have no intention of drinking it. I position myself at a nearby table – which isn’t difficult as the place is practically empty – where I carry out the full Ritual of the Stood-up Female. Heavy sighs, lots of phone checking and longing glances out of the window.

After about ten minutes I let my eyes meet Daniel Rose’s. I’ve felt them boring into me since the moment I sat down.

‘Guess he forgot,’ I say, offering a little self-deprecating smile.

He grins back at me. ‘Mine too. Fuck it, eh? Their loss.’

I nod, standing up, gathering my phone and keys from the (sticky) table and make out I’m getting ready to leave. I smile at him again.

‘Well, I hope she turns up.’

I turn to go but Daniel shouts after me.

‘Let me buy you a drink?’ he says. ‘We’re both in the same boat after all.’

And it really is that easy.

I wait for a beat. Not too keen.

‘Why not? No point in wasting a whole afternoon now I’m all dressed up.’

‘Come and sit with me.’ He holds his arms open wide, indicating for me to join him. I shuffle into the chair opposite. ‘So, what’s your name and what are you drinking?’

‘White wine please,’ I say. ‘That’s what I’m drinking I mean. My name’s Kitty.’

He laughs along with me at my shit attempt at a joke and then holds out his hand. ‘Well, it’s very nice to meet you, Miss White Wine. I’m Daniel.’

His hand is hot and clammy and I wipe him off me and onto the table, as I watch him strut over to the bar. He manoeuvres past two old timers who’ve clearly settled in for the long haul, and returns with a pint for himself and my wine. I take the chance to get a really good look at him. He’s thinner than his Tinder profile and the photos on the news report. That’ll be the portion control courtesy of Her Maj.

He doesn’t look like a monster though. But they don’t, do they? Otherwise, they’d never get the opportunity to be monsters. His brown eyes crinkle when he speaks. He’s got freckles on his nose and cheeks that make him look like nothing more dangerous than a naughty schoolboy. He’s not big or overbearing. He’s just a guy.

The devil wears many guises.

He talks. A lot. Mostly about himself and how he’s currently job-seeking after being furloughed but has some ‘exciting logs on the fire’. He drinks easily, spreading himself out a little bit more after each pint. Arms wide, legs wide, taking up as much room as possible.

‘Who were you supposed to be meeting?’ I ask. ‘Your girlfriend?’

‘No, no. Just a first date. Someone I met on an app actually. I’ve been out of the game for a while. To be honest she wasn’t really my type. A bit too nicey-nicey.’ His eyes linger on my chest and I feel a twinge of loyalty for poor non-existent Camilla.

When he excuses himself to go to the ‘lavs’ I take my chance and dispense a few drops of liquid GHB, which my usual meds-contact kindly provided, into his drink. The report I read online pops back into my head, particularly the bit about smirking in the dock. Fuck it, I pour the lot in. Remorseless bastard.

Half an hour later, as his words begin to slur and his head starts to droop onto his chest, I realise it’s time to get Daniel Rose home. To my home, that is. I need my knives.

‘Where are we going?’ he drawls as I sling his arm around my shoulder, making sure that no one in the pub is paying attention to us. The two old timers are well and truly sloshed by this point, one has fallen off his stool at least twice. That’s going to cost the NHS a new hip. There’s no sign of the barely legal boy who had served the drinks either.

‘We’re going to get you somewhere nice and comfy,’ I tell him. ‘You’re very drunk. I think you need to sleep it off. Let’s get you to bed.’

‘Yes, let’s go to bed.’ He makes an attempt to leer at me, but he just looks like he’s having some sort of seizure.

I half lead, half carry him to my car and usher him into the passenger seat.





26


KITTY’S RANGE ROVER, CATFORD

‘I don’t feel well.’

Daniel Rose is looking quite sickly actually. Really pale and his eyes keep rolling from side to side like he’s trying to focus on something that keeps slipping out of his line of vision.

‘Who are you?’ He has a sudden moment of lucidity and lurches forward, staring menacingly into my eyes, feebly grabbing at my arm as I try to strap him into the seat.

Safety first.

‘Your worst nightmare.’ I shake him off my arm and give him a shove, which makes him immediately slump into the seat. Then I hop into the driver’s side and start the engine.