Kill Who You Want

Chapter Eight

Plot reminder: The second recipient has been revealed to the reader (no spoilers). Featuring in this chapter are Lydia Collins, a colleague of Maureen Booth's at Ravensby Comprehensive (the high school), as well as Heather Gilchrist, the editor of the local newspaper who the previous day received a direct communication from the murderer...
Some votes/feedback really would be appreciated everyone...

~~~~~

Wednesday, February 14th

It was a cold and distant sun which dawned on Ravensby that Valentine's Day. Like a child exposed to adult ways, something about the place had changed. Grown darker, less self-knowing. Wye could feel it in the air - some kind of deeper chill beneath the purely climatic one, a gelid gnawing at her bones.

It had been almost eleven before she and Kubič had finally vacated the CID room the previous night. As the afternoon, so too the evening had proved frustrating. Following the re-run of the morning's press statement on the six o'clock local bulletin, there'd been another flurry of calls claiming that the large-nosed man was the same poor put-upon Mr Warren Tucker of Recreation Road, but little more. Despite the inspector's televisual plea, the second recipient had still to come forward. It had been both their opinions that if the person were indeed to do so, it was ninety per cent probable that they'd present themselves during the first twenty-four hours. The eventual switching off of the lights and closing of the office door had therefore felt like an admission of defeat.

Despite her tirednes and the breath-clouding temperature, she'd decided that morning to walk to the station. Winter with its centrally-heated inertia and its all-too-frequent bouts of comfort eating was never good for a girl's waistline, and despite the solemn new year's resolution she'd made to herself she still hadn't quite got round to signing up at the local gym. More than the exercise the walk would provide, she'd wished in some way to gauge public reaction. Her face still largely unknown, she was able to saunter anonymously past street corner discussions, sidle up behind waiting line debates at Starbucks, Croxley Street newsagents, the mini market next to the town hall. There was only one topic of conversation of course.

Though peppered with the occasional moments of black humour - One of these letters got my name on it, wouldn't have to think twice, would I? Mother-in-law, drop of arsenic in her tea - or stubborn over-optimism - All blow over in a couple of days, you'll see - the overwhelming majority of the eavesdropped conversations were solemn and muted in tone, the exchanges of glances wary, distrustful, even amongst acquaintanceships which obviously went back decades.

My neighbour and his missus have upped and offed already. Got one of those static caravan things somewhere on the coast. Not much fun this time of year but at least they're out of harm's way.

Not even from round here, you ask me. Someone'd have recognised him otherwise.

On my way up to that locksmith's place behind the bus station. Missus wants 'em all changing see.

If it were you, you'd take yourself into the cops, wouldn't you? What else you supposed to do? Actually go through with it?

Plenty of folk around not quite right in the head. Only take one of them to get the letter, be almost like a free hit, wouldn't it? Even if they got caught, they wouldn't get more than manslaughter. Mitigating circumstances, isn't it?*

Got a brother-in-law over in Leicester. Said he might be able to put us up for a while.

How does he decide who gets the letter, that's what I'd like to know? Puts all our names in a hat, pulls one out at random?