Kill Who You Want

Chapter Fourteen

Plot reminder: Feeling cornered, Nathan has struck... (No spoilers. I hope you can recall the previous chapter's twist)

~~~~~

Though a working class terraced street, Randall Avenue could be considered a notch higher on the socio-economic scale compared to many others due to the fact that front doors opened onto modest gardens rather than directly onto the pavement. Kubič had grown up in similar sort of street just a couple of minutes away. He'd used to walk up and down Randall Avenue several times a day: not only had it been on his way to school, but had also, he recalled, been part of his paper-round. The fact only served to make the terror seem even closer to home. Not just his town now, but these were his childhood streets.

The scene was similar to that which had awaited him in Churchill Avenue just three evenings earlier. A whirl of flashing lights throbbed through the falling snow. Behind the police tape stood a shivering throng of onlookers, the tops of their umbrellas already coated half an inch thick. Amongst them he spotted George Shreeves of the Echo along with other journalistic brethren. They'd followed the sound of the sirens, Kubič supposed, grimacing away the inevitable barrage of questions as he passed.

Wye had beaten him to it once more, was waiting for him just inside the gate. He gratefully accepted the offer of a half share of her umbrella.

"Happened on the doorstep sir." It was towards this she now guided him. "Aggressor rang the doorbell, stepmum answered first. Asked to see his dad. He came to the door next, and..."

A hand gestured downwards.

It couldn't have been starker - the dark smudge of blood still warm, the falling snow able only to dilute rather than cover. The front door was open, the threshold a mishmash of dirty frontprints. Splashes of blood were visible on the doormat and hall carpet inside. Though by no means any kind of forensic expert - he just didn't have the stomach for such things - Kubič judged there must have been more than one knife thrust. The victim had clearly lost a critical amount of blood - a Class 3 hemorrhage perhaps - and as such was lucky to live only a few streets from the town's ambulance base. Had it happened somewhere out on the countryside, the guy would probably have bled out before anyone had had chance to get there.

"Why didn't she let him in?" he asked. "The stepmum. Coldest bloody night of the year and she left him standing on the doorstep."

Wye thought for a moment. "Maybe she could sense it. You know, that something was about to happen. Got two young kids inside. Wanted to protect them."

Kubič peered through into the hall. "She still here?"

"Went with her husband in the back of the ambulance. Kids at a neighbour's, grandparents on their way over."

"And the boy?"

She nodded back down the street at one of the half dozen patrol cars sprawled across the sludge. Through the blur of descending snow, Kubič could make out a hooded silhouette in the back.

"Didn't even try to escape. Yates and Borthwick just found him sitting there calmly in the living room in front of the TV." She extracted the first of two ziplock bags from her coat pocket, held it up to the light so that Kubič could give its contents a cursory examination. "Nine of diamonds. Same brand as the card left at the Butterfield scene."

"Invalid though, isn't it?" Kubič reflected sadly. "Like a passport that's a day out of date." He held Wye's gaze. "Didn't quite manage it by the sound of things. Father will survive."

Wye returned the card to pocket, extracted second ziplock bag. "This is the weapon they took off him." Though the blade had been folded down into handle, this like the playing card was smeared thick with blood. "It would seem to match the description of the knife that was stolen from the fishing shop. WPC Hargreaves was at the boy's house earlier sir. Mum gave him an alibi." Returning the knife to pocket, she kicked at the snow in frustration. "We were close sir. So damn close."