‘ Mary MacKintyre. Eighty-seven years old,’ the policeman said, tapping the information into his PDA. ‘Suffered from…?’
‘Arthritis,’ Malcolm replied, swallowing hard as he tried to answer the officer’s questions. Sarah had left the room, holding her hand to her mouth as though to stifle another bout of weeping, leaving Malcolm to deal with the aftermath of his mother’s terrible accident. ‘She should have had a hip replacement, but the doctor reckoned her heart wouldn’t stand another operation,’ he added.
‘Doctor Bennie?’
‘Yes.’ Malcolm swallowed again. His mother’s GP had been very good, his matter-of-fact manner as much of a comfort as that kindly pat on the arm as he’d left. Cause of death had been obvious, though. The doctor hadn’t needed to stay too long to see how she had died. Malcolm fidgeted, desperate for this policeman to finish his questions and let him get on with cleaning up the mess. He itched to hose down that bloody patch on Mum’s patio, the pink and grey slabs that he’d laid himself. To make it easier maintenance, Mum, he’d told her, never once imagining…
‘Was she in the habit of going out of doors at night?’ the policeman was asking Malcolm.
‘No, she wouldn’t have gone out in the dark. I can’t imagine why she was out at all,’ Malcolm gritted his teeth, sudden anger at his mother flaming inside him. ‘Why would she?’ he asked, as much to himself as to the young man sitting in his mother’s armchair.
‘Needed a breath of air, perhaps?’ the officer suggested.
Malcolm shook his head. ‘Well, we’ll never know now, will we?’ he added bitterly.
I decided not to go to her funeral. Seeing the death notice was enough. Mary MacKintyre her name was. I’d seen the tartan nameplate on the front door, knew it was the same old lady I’d decided to kill.
In some ways it was a disappointment, being so dark, but then perhaps I’d needed the cover of night to commit this first one. Plus it was all over far too quickly. Still, I did have to begin with something easy, didn’t I? Seeing her fall through the air had been fun though and there was that extra tingle of anticipation when I could have mucked up, not done her in at all but merely injured her.
Feeling that little piece of skin had been the best bit. No pulse. No life. I’d snuffed it out in seconds. And afterwards I could congratulate myself on a job well done. It had been my apprenticeship, after all.
Now that I knew I could kill, the next one would give me much more satisfaction than this helpless old lady.