Cambridge Blue - Alison Bruce [4]
The edge of the water was about eight feet away. Heavy tufts of grass topped the bank, and from there she knew that the eroded sides dropped sharply into the deep river just beyond. She threw the knife and watched it disappear below the ripples.
She could have handed it over to the police, of course, but she pictured the familiar doubtful expression, and that look it turned into: part pity, part disgust. She closed her eyes and when she reopened them, she couldn’t locate the spot where the knife had sunk.
The riverbank remained deserted, and she guessed a body could be buffeted some distance before it was eventually discovered. Then she shook her head, not fully believing what she had just done.
She rolled him over to the water, reminding herself of a single truth: it was now too late to look for help.
He slipped in head first, making a wave of water which slopped back against the bank. He descended gradually, turning slowly from man to a ghostly shadow to nothingness.
Jackie stepped back from the edge and reached out for the warmth of Bridy. She rubbed the soft fur at the base of Bridy’s ear. ‘Good girl, we’re safe now,’ she whispered shakily. ‘It’s all over.’ But in her own voice she heard the unmistakable sound of a lie.
ONE
Rolfe Street was only a short walk from the heart of Cambridge, but it was a perpetual backwater, seeing no accidental visitors and few daytime inhabitants.
A lone man stood on the pavement waiting to speak to Lorna Spence: the same woman who was spying on him from her first-floor window. So far he’d knocked twice, but she had no intention of letting him know she was at home.
She stood behind a carefully placed ruck in the curtains. She knew he couldn’t see her but, even so, she kept perfectly still in case he glanced up and caught the flicker of her shadow.
Lorna Spence had gone to bed wearing nothing but yesterday’s knickers, and that was all she wore now as she studied the top of his head.
He took a few short steps towards the door, and then a few towards the street. Again he ran his hand in an impatient foray through his hair, completing the gesture by clasping it across the back of his neck. He drew closer to the door, leaning in towards it and listening. His hand, still on his neck, massaged the rigid muscles which locked the top of his spine.
He was obviously stressed.
She imagined him swearing under his breath. He took a step back and his gaze shot up to her window, boring into the gap between the curtains. He seemed to stare straight into her face, but she didn’t blink.
A tingling feeling sprang across her bare skin, racing in waves across her shoulders and trickling across her small, freckled breasts. Only her chest moved, rising and falling ever quicker; trying to keep pace with her heartbeat.
Lorna waited for him to knock again, but instead he stepped away and out of sight of her little spyhole. She moved closer to the gap and crept around until she had a view of the closed end of the cul-de-sac. She soon located him again. He stood on the edge of the kerb with his hands on his hips.
‘Go away. Go on, get in your car and drive away,’ she whispered down to him.
His attention had settled on the rows of parked vehicles flanking each side of the road. She knew he wouldn’t recognize any of them.
Then he left, walking briskly towards his own car at the end of the street. He’d accepted what she already knew: that he had no reason to believe she was at home.
She waited. He started the engine and let the postman pass without cross-examination. Then he pulled away and drove out of sight. But she still waited, watching the road until she’d counted