A Murderer's Heart
Julie Elizabeth Powell
Copyright ©
A Murderer’s Heart
Julie Elizabeth Powell 2011
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Julie Elizabeth Powell lives in a small town in the south of England.
She has a BA (Hons) in Combined Studies (inc: English, History, Media & I.T.) and qualifications in teaching and Information Technology.
Writing is her passion.
Further published books by this author are:
Gone
Slings & Arrows
(Non-Fiction)
Figments
Of Sound Mind
Misadventures Of Fatwoman
And for children:
The Star Realm
(book one of the Avalon Trilogy)
Invasion
(book two of the Avalon Trilogy)
Secrets of the Ice
(book three of the Avalon Trilogy)
Knowing Jack
A Murder
er’s Heart
Prologue
The murderer felt the knife sitting comfortably in the right hand, its weight and size chosen for the perfect fit.
The heavy-duty boots moved slowly towards the prey, whose eyes were widening with each deliberate step.
Both murderer and victim understood the inevitability of the next few minutes, though it was the victim who now wished it all to end quickly.
As the murderer came to a halt directly in front of the victim, there was a look of sad recognition in what they had to do.
“
I’m sorry,” said the murderer in a voice that was almost seductive. “I have to do this; you know that, don’t you?”
The victim’s eyes and body remained transfixed and strangely accepting.
The murderer’s left hand reached up and held the back of the victim’s head, as the knife - long, slim and deadly - slipped into the victim’s chest, at once finding the perfect place for instant death.
Dead eyes stared up into the murderer’s, while the body was lowered reverently to the floor.
The cadaver was wrapped in the waiting polythene sheet, lifted, carried over and deposited into the back of the stolen van.
The killer slithered into the driver’s seat, and with a satisfied smile drove away.
{1}
Anne Blake sipped a cup of black coffee while she hurriedly stuffed papers into her briefcase.
She was going to be late – wasn’t she always? It didn’t matter how much she planned or what time she set the alarm, things always had a way of going wrong and making her late.
What was it this morning?
Barbara ‘phoning in a panic about tonight’s party. Had the caterers been briefed properly, what time would the flower displays arrive, would she pick up Barbara’s spare jacket from Jackson’s?
The list went on and on, and only after complete reassurance that everything would be fine, was Anne finally allowed to put the ‘phone back onto its receiver.
Now she was late.
Anne took a final look in the hall mirror, checking the impeccable navy suit, matched with a soft white blouse.
She smiled.
Not bad for thirty-five.
Her face had hardly any lines – except for a few round the eyes, though her simple make-up disguised these quite well. Her hair was thick, red and glossy, and looked fine in its chignon. She had kept her slim figure; even if a little more rounded than it used to be. Her legs weren’t bad, though she had always wished she wasn’t quite as tall as 5’ 9”.
She sighed.
It would all have to do!
Quickly, she picked up her keys, opened the door to the integral garage, the automatic beeper allowing her immediate access to the waiting Mercedes sports car.
The garage door opened mechanically.
After backing out into the road, Anne sped her vehicle towards her office hoping she wouldn’t be too late for her first appointment.
{
2}
Peter Armstrong sighed heavily as he heard his mother shouting his name from downstairs. He continued to surf around the ‘net on his computer, clicking on things of interest which would be useful for his research project.
Again the voice came from below, this time louder and more desperate.
He knew that if he ignored her for much longer, the consequences would be terrible.
Sighing again, Peter switched off his computer and took slow steps out of his room.
“
Yes, Mother?” Peter said when he reached his mother’s downstairs room.
As he drew closer, he suddenly realised what she had done.
Rushing to her side, he knelt and tried to stem the flow of blood that was bubbling from her left arm, noticing one of his razor blades on the floor beside them.
While he applied pressure to the wound, he knew this time he would have to call for help.
Pulling off his tie, he quickly wrapped it around his mother’s arm and then dashed to the telephone to call the doctor.
While they waited, Peter recognised his mother’s need for professional help, so with a new determination began to search for answers.
{3}
As the two children played in the back garden, Jenny King looked out of the kitchen window.
She wasn’t really seeing them, only using the picture in the frame as a direction for her thoughts.
While her mind wandered through her turmoil, she tried to understand what would be her next move.
Listening to the gentle chatter and clatter of the children, Jenny thought back to what had brought her to this point, in the hope that it might solve her future plans.
Was it only a year ago?
Before that, Jenny had thought her life perfect – well as perfect as anyone could expect. She’d married David five years before and after a year of blissful happiness, her twins had arrived, making her life complete. All she wanted was to be a housewife. What did
she
care of women’s rights or finding a full-time career?
She was lucky.
David was wonderful, her girls adorable, her house just as she wanted it and the two afternoons a week working in an art gallery, kept her imagination and aesthetic sense alive. She also wrote stories for a local magazine.
While Jenny thought back, she began to realise just when it had all started to change.
Her twins were having their third birthday party. The garden was full of laughter, high pitched screams, brightly coloured ribbons, balloons and even a clown; the girls and their friends delighted in his antics. Though it meant masses of hard work and help from friends, it was a wonderful day and worth every dirty face, squashed sausage stuck to shoes and scraped knee.
It was towards the end of the party that Jenny first saw the figure. At first she thought it was a mistake. But as she continued to look down to the far end of the garden, near the door to the fields at the back, she thought she saw someone.
Not able to see properly, Jenny wondered if one of her other friends had brought this person along, or that they had become curious about the noise and had come to look; someone new to the area.
As Jenny walked nearer to them, something distracted her; not another accident! No, it was all right; Mary had picked up the fallen child and was comforting her. By the time Jenny had looked up again, all she had seen were fields; the figure had disappeared.
While Jenny thought back to that first incident, she began to question her sanity. Did she really see someone? Was it just a trick of the light? No, she was sure, and anyway, what about the rest of it?
What about sitting at the traffic lights and checking her mirror, not quite seeing the face of the driver behind – was it them again? She couldn’t even make out if it was male or female.
Then again, in the supermarket, spotting a familiar figure at the end of each aisle. She remembered thinking it was just like the movies, when the stupid heroine investigates the haunted house (you know no sane person would even think of it!) and the ghostly figure is always just out of reach – she even remembered shaking her head and giggling at the thought.
There were many incidents like this, but each one she’d tried to rationalise, believe her imagination was running riot – again.
For goodness sake, pull yourself together. Remember the stories you wrote in college? How your friends would tease you about how detailed your imagination could be?
But no, this was not imagination, not if she were truly honest with herself. She needed help because she was either going mad or there was someone trying to frighten her or worse.
Jenny was suddenly brought into the present by a high pitched scream.
Her eyes focussed upon her children, who were now swiping at each other with serious intent.
She raced into the garden, pulled the two girls apart, took them inside for their bath and thought she would talk to David tonight when the twins were settled.
Something would have to be done.
{4}
As Anne virtually fell into the outer office, grasping her briefcase, books and other various items, Sam, her personal assistant, came to her rescue.
“
I know, don’t say it,” Anne said, in a panicked, rushed voice. “I’m late.”
Sam took Anne’s briefcase and deposited it and many of the miscellaneous items on the desk in her office, knowing Anne had a habit of collecting things on her way from one place to another, knowing she’d eventually need them.
“
Coffee?” asked Sam, who, without waiting for an answer, filled the china mug with hot, strong, black coffee and handed it to Anne, who took it gratefully as she plonked herself in her comfortable office chair.
