Rebel in Time

Her eyes and her mouth opened wide, but she never uttered a sound as the steel bar of the poker caught her across the throat. Crushing her larynx. She dropped, heavily, like a bag of sand, the coffee cup falling from her hand. The blow was a deliberately destructive one and the chances were that she was dead before she hit the carpet. But he did not believe in taking chances. He struck again and again at the top of her skull until he was absolutely sure.

Wes was not surprised to find himself breathing heavily when he was done. Killing like this was not quite the same as firing an M16 at a gook. This was more personal. But just as important. He stood there for a long minute, until the rapid beating of his heart had slowed down, forcing himself to remember what he had touched in the room. Nothing, yes, he was sure of that. Other than the poker. He took out his handkerchief and wiped the poker carefully, as far down as the mess of blood, hair and bits of scalp. He dropped it onto her body.

Then he took the thin leather gloves out of his pocket and put them on. It was just twenty to one. Unbelievably, only a few minutes had passed. Seemed like an hour. He went to examine the windows, carefully, one by one.

The curtains were all closed and he was careful to open them just a slit when he looked through. He found the fire-escape outside the bathroom window.

'Just perfect, Wes,' he said to himself, then turned off the bathroom lights. The window was over the bathtub so he put the bathmat inside the tub before he stepped into it. Be careful, think of everything. No fingerprints or footprints that might identify him. This was going to be a burglary by person or persons unknown.

But the window had not been opened for years and it refused to budge even a fraction of an inch after he had unlocked it. He hammered at it with the heel of his hand until, finally, it squeaked upwards. It stuck again, only half open, but that was good enough. A slim burglar should be able to wriggle through an opening that size. He groped for the towels in the darkness and found the largest one. It was big enough to drape down over the inside of the window, with still enough left to bunch up over his fist when he poked his arm outside. The glass broke with the first hard punch, a few shards tinkling down into the tub, a sound that had to be too small to be heard by anyone outside the room. He stepped carefully back out of the tub, kicking the bathmat to one side, before he lowered the towel and shook its load of broken glass into the bottom of the tub.

It was all very logical; he put the mat back on the floor and dropped the bath towel into the tub. An intruder had broken the window and climbed through. The towel was there in the tub, sloppy girls, that would explain the shards of glass in it. Now he was in the apartment. What would the intruder do next?

He would go into the living-room. Search for valuables. Very quietly because the walls were like paper in some of these buildings. Ease the drawers from the desk, dump them silently onto the rug. Then the books. He stepped over the corpse, scarcely noticing it, as he systematically vandalized the apartment. There was some jewellery in a dresser drawer, not worth a lot, and he stuffed it into his jacket pocket. Burglars need money. In the drawer, further back behind the jewel box, he found her diary.

It was fun to read. But how could anyone write such stupid stuff? This guy and this girl and I saw someone else and I got a permanent today. He flipped quickly through the pages until he noticed his name. He scowled as he read her secret thoughts. She had her goddamned nerve. Penny-pinching, him! She had really got what she deserved. He slipped the thin book into his pocket. Her purse was on the bed; he stripped the money from it then threw it onto the kitchen floor. It was only then that he noticed the cup of coffee cooling on the counter.

Christ, he was being stupid! She was out there in the other room, lying on top of one cup. So why coffee for two? Had she been getting chummy with the burglar or something? The police would not ignore a clue like this. He cursed himself for forgetting such an obvious thing as he carefully poured the coffee down the drain, then rinsed out the cup, saucer and spoon. Drying them and putting them away.

It was almost one before he was finished. It took an effort, but he forced himself to ignore the time. She had said Tricia would not be back until one at the earliest. He had to be thorough, had to check carefully, then check everything again. He went through the apartment slowly, room by room, until he was absolutely sure that there were no clues present to mark his presence. This had been a simple break-in, a robbery, then murder on the spur of the moment when the girl suddenly appeared. With no evidence to the contrary. It was perfect.