Love. Lies. Dying. Page 8

  “Please.” Megan breathes. She is not uncomfortable now. Now all she wants is for Katherine to fill her with her fingers and fuck the living daylights out of her.

  Katherine feeds two more fingers into Megan’s cunt. It is not what Megan is expecting and she gasps, surprised by the way her cunt feels suddenly very full. It is a tight squeeze but she is very wet and taking a deep breath, she forces herself to relax, allowing Katherine the room to work her fingers around her vagina.

  “Lovely.” Katherine coos and kisses her arse, using her other hand to stroke Megan’s belly and fluff. Dipping a finger into the well of Megan’s pussy is rewarded with a deep satisfying groan. “Nice?” She asks, not expecting or getting an answer. “Such a sweet, little pussy you have. Such an eager little clit. Shall I rub it for you? Would you like that Megan? Would you like me to rub your clit whilst I fuck your juicy cunt?”

  Megan doesn’t have to think twice. “Yes!” She cries, “yes please! Fuck me Katherine. Make me come!”

  “Is that what you want?”

  “Yes! Yes! Of course it is!”

  “No. I don’t think I will.”

  And removing both of her hands, Katherine nudges Megan roughly aside and stands up. “And next time you have something for me.” She adds, striding towards the door, whilst Megan, completely bewildered turns to straighten up and stare after her, “make sure you give it to me straight away! Oh, and do get dressed sweetie, you’ll catch a chill.”

  Chapter Seven

  Sunday morning.

  The day has started out drab and grey and large moody looking clouds are scudding over a rapidly darkening sky. Katherine knows she should really go in but she doesn’t want to shift from the rickety old bench in the rear garden. It really is incredibly frail and she is very aware of the impact her weight is having on the fragile seat to the point she is half expecting it to crack and collapse under her at any moment. If it happens, she is ready to spring to her feet.

  Megan is indoors somewhere, still sulking over the way she was left wanting yesterday. The memory makes Katherine smile. Megan might have hated it, but she loved every minute. The power, the control, the look on her stupid face when she whipped out her fingers. She imagines poor Megan spent the entire night bringing herself off whilst cursing her name, and Katherine’s smile broadens into a grin. Let her curse if she wants, it makes little difference to her. The girl needed to be taught a lesson. And it was only a fuck she lost out on. The mood she’s been in recently, it could have been her life.

  There is still no news of Angela. She checked this morning. Twice.

  It is immensely satisfying news. The longer she’s left to molder the less chance there is of discovering who murdered her.

  Closing her eyes, Katherine shuts out the outside world and looks inside herself for any sign of remorse or horror at what she has done. Her brow creases in concentration and she sighs out loud but there is nothing. Not a flicker of anything.

  She looks again, trying to ascertain whether she feels different in any way, but again comes up empty. She has no mental image of how she might think a killer would look like and she certainly doesn’t view herself as one. It’s just something that happened and she wonders if that makes her strange? Or whether this is her minds way of squirreling things away until she is in a safer place in which to suffer a mental break down.

  I liked it though.

  The confession shoots through her head before she has time to stop it. It makes her shiver and her hands creep up to cradle her arms. The bench creaks alarmingly beneath her.

  Would I do it again?

  It’s a good question. And one she’s not that keen on answering, because she knows the answer isn’t no.

  God. I’m a monster!

  She shivers again and stares at the trees.

  Is that why I’m here then, she asks herself? Is that way I’m tucked away in the depths of nowhere and far away from the scene of the crime? Am I hiding or removing temptation?

  Her stomach rolls, but her pussy twitches and it is this she focuses on.

  It’s the need for sex that drives her. It’s as simple as that. Thinking of Angela and of the moment that spark of life died in her eyes, thrills her. She knows it’s wrong. God, does she ever! But it was such a turn on to feel such incredible power! And she wants it again. She wants to come feeling that immense energy!

  Her eyes roam the untidy garden, searching for somewhere to hide and slip her hand inside her jeans. She is reluctant to go inside the house and see to herself because Megan is in there and even if she promised her an orgasm big enough to blow her head off, she doubts if she would oblige.

  But there is nowhere to go, unless she crouches behind the bench and that’s just absurd.

  Surreptitiously, she slides her hand between her legs and squeezes herself through the denim. Her pussy tingles invitingly and her eyes dart towards the house and the windows that face out onto the garden. They are all empty and there is no sign of Megan, and if she was very quiet she could probably get away it, and yet..

  “Katherine!”

  Katherine jumps a mile and snatches her hand away from her crotch.

  Her face flushes pink and she takes a deep breath to steady herself before answering. Thank Christ she hadn’t gone any further. “What is it?”

  Megan is standing at the patio doors, waving an arm above her head. When Katherine catches her eye, she gestures for her to come inside. She doesn’t appear to have noticed where Katherine’s hand has been.

  “Alex.” She says by way of sullen explanation. “Some problem with staff holidays?”

  Alex has her panicked voice on. They all want to take the same weekend off, she worries down the phone. Lucy is getting married and they all want to be there, and that’ll mean there’ll no one to help her get the next addition out on time and can Katherine please stop pissing about in the bloody countryside and bloody come back to work before she gives birth to several kittens and a fucking hippo!”

  “Let me speak to Geoffrey.” Katherine says, her voice so calm it could act as a tranquilizer. “Then go to my desk drawer. The Valium is in the second one down.”

  In less than ten minutes its’ sorted. Of course it is. She’s Katherine Johnson and even if Alex has been suckered in, it is clear to her the staff are most definitely taking the piss over this wedding, which to be honest, she’s not even sure exists. Still it’s dealt with now and Alex is once again calm-ish. Geoffrey is in control. Megan, though, is looking at her as though she would like to bury something long and sharp between her shoulder blades.

  Katherine offers her a tight smile and tells her she is going to take a shower.

  “Going out?”

  In the history of most absurdly obvious questions, this one is most definitely hurtling its way towards the gold medal place.

  Not only is Katherine wearing her coat. She is carrying her handbag and her car keys are dangling from her fingers. Therefore, Megan’s question is so superfluous it qualifies as a complete waste of breath.

  “Yes.” Katherine says, shooting her a cool look and opening the front door. “Don’t wait up and please don’t lock me out.”

  “I wouldn’t dare.”

  “No. You wouldn’t. Enjoy your day, Megan. Whatever you do.”

  Katherine gets into her car, starts it, and sets the milometer to zero. After checking her lipstick, she pulls away to see Megan framed in the rear view mirror. She is standing at the front door, holding onto the jamb, and just for a moment a pang of sorrow stabs at Katherine’s heart. Hannah used to stand like that, watching until she was out of sight...

  She drives exactly twenty miles and then pulls over in a lay-by splattered with muddy tire tracks. The field beside it is home to several sheep who pay her no attention at all as she delves in the glove box for a map and then spreads it ou
t across the steering wheel.

  This is stupid, she thinks, trying to retrace her route and find the location of her house amid the vein like threads running through the countryside.

  She’s dressed down in faded black jeans and a mustard yellow sweater. Her hair, although freshly washed and more used to falling in soft curls around her shoulders, is currently stuffed inside a baseball hat. She looks like she’s ready to go shopping or hiking, perfect for eleven thirty in the morning. But where the hell does she think she’s actually going and why?

  I want to wrong foot Megan, she finally admits to herself. I want her to wonder where I’m going and I want her to worry I won’t be back till late. But why? I have no feelings for her. No loyalty. Why the fuck am I doing this?

  You’re covering yourself sweetie.

  The voice is strong. Adamant.

  Right.

  Her finger finds the nearest town and the tell tail sign that sits beside it.

  Half and hour later she rings Megan from the railway platform and tells her she’s going into town. Megan has trouble hearing her. A train is just arriving at the station and the announcer is beyond excitement, his voice causing Katherine to really raise her voice. It is something she thoroughly dislikes having to do, a calm, quiet voice is always more menacing to her mind, and why are the people here frowning at her like they’ve never seen a mobile before?

  An elderly man carrying two supermarket carrier bags openly tuts at her. Katherine shoots him a look and hopes he chokes on his chicken soup.

  Eventually Megan gets the message and Katherine hangs up, slipping the mobile into her bag. Then, leaving the station, she walks back to her car, gets in and drives away.

  At twelve thirty, she stops to eat. The pub she has chosen is probably gorgeous in summer with its hanging baskets, now full of nothing but earth, and its benches huddled on a grassy area next to a small pond, but today it looks neglected and sad. Not even the strand of trees whose branches are heavy with birds singing loudly to each other is enough to lift the spirits and the sun is nothing more than a weak orb that manages to provide light but little substance in the way of heat.

  Still, it seems a reasonable place to stop and getting out of the car, Katherine hurries to the door and pushes it open.

  Immediately a rush of warm, food- drenched air washes over her, and she sniffs appreciatively, pulling down her cap to ask the young man behind the bar where she should sit to eat.

  “Round corner.” He says, pointing to her right. “Plenty of tables there. Might even be one by fire if you’re lucky.”

  Katherine shuns the fire to sit in the corner. There is a small window at her side and a vase of pretty but clearly artificial flowers sitting on the ledge. She feels safe here and although it is slow to fully register in her mind, it is something she is starting to actively cultivate since killing Angela, because little alarms bells are starting to ring; subconsciously warning her that someone, somewhere might recognize her. They might not be able to immediately place her, but if questions are asked, by the police?, it is still likely that some bright spark might speak up and say, ‘oh yes! Her! I knew I recognized that face!’

  Therefore the table, tucked away as it is, suits her perfectly, especially as she can still see the whole room. Not that it’s all that busy. An elderly couple are tucking into roast beef, clearly what she can smell, about ten feet to her right, whilst another three elderly ladies, who are sitting beyond them, are loudly lamenting the state of Britain’s youth. Their conversation is difficult to avoid and Katherine cannot help but overhear.

  “.. under his bed. A whole pile of them!”

  “A whole pile of what dear?” Asks the one under the hat.

  “Dirty magazines!”

  There is a collective gasp and one of the old ladies clutches her throat in horror. Katherine is reminded of Angela.

  “What did you do?” Hat lady says. “Did you tell Carol?”

  “Lord, no!” The other lady smiles. “Why would I do that? I read ‘em!”

  The gasps turn into laughter and all three reach for their drinks at the same time. Katherine smiles. She and Hannah would have grown old like that. Disgracefully and proud of it. Fuck, she misses her.

  A waitress approaches her table. She is tall and thin. Her dark blonde hair is pulled back in a ponytail and her eyes are a soft blue. She smiles at Katherine and in a foreign accent asks her if she is ready to order?

  “The roast beef please.”

  “And to drink?”

  “Cola. No ice, no lemon.”

  The waitress writes it all down. “Anything else?”

  “No. Thank you.”

  The roast dinner is tasty, hot and filling. Katherine eats everything but the sprouts and gazes out of the window. The waitress drifts in and out throughout, bringing dessert to the disgraceful three and the bill for the other two. Eventually Katherine is the only one left, nursing half a glass of cola and slight indigestion. The waitress has already enquired whether she would like dessert and she has declined. Sticky toffee pudding on top of that lot would only make her fart.

  After a few minutes, the waitress again returns to wipe the tables. She briefly looks Katherine’s way and then slumps in a chair to rub her back.

  “Long day?”

  The waitress glances at her and grimaces. “No. Bad back. I have it often. Not so much in summer, but in winter..” She lets the sentence trail off.

  “Where are you from?” Katherine asks. Normally she wouldn’t be interested, staff are staff, but there is something about this girl. Something she would like to grab hold of and snog. She hasn’t forgotten how much she needs a fuck.

  “Poland. I come here to work. And suffer with my back. I think soon I will go home.”

  “Back to Poland?”

  The waitress smiles. “No, back to my flat. Where are you from? Here?”

  “London.”

  “Big place.”

  “It is. Would you like a lift home? If you’re back is hurting you that much?”

  The waitress eyes her with caution whilst Katherine tries to work out why the hell she offered? Shit!

  “It’s okay if you’d rather not.” She quickly adds, trying to get out of the situation fast. “I understand..”

  The waitress interrupts her. “No. It’s okay. I accept. But I pay petrol, ok?”

  Katherine leaves the pub. The waitress, who’s name is Petra, doesn’t finish work for another hour, which suits Katherine fine. She doesn’t want anyone seeing them leave the pub together and maybe remembering later. Settling the bill she tells Petra she has an errand to run and will be back to collect her at 3. It is obvious from the way she shrugs her shoulders that she doesn’t expect Katherine to keep her word.

  Her face when Katherine pulls up in her car is a picture. So is Katherine’s. All she’s done for the past hour is drive around, wondering why the hell she isn’t just heading home? Megan wouldn’t care if she returned early, and she certainly doesn’t have to explain herself to her, plus Alex would undoubtedly be calling soon, so why is she doing this?

  “You came back.” Petra says now, opening the car door before Katherine can come to her senses and pull away. “You are very kind.”

  “Of course.” Katherine smiles tightly. “Did you think I wouldn’t?”

  Petra lives in a house converted into four flats, each with its own kitchen and bathroom, or so she tells her. She also tells Katherine, on the half hour drive, all about her family in Poland, the pets she’s left behind and how, one day, she hopes to be a secretary and earn good money to send back to her parents.

  Steering through the narrow lanes, Katherine tries not to yawn, laugh or roll her eyes. Mostly she is successful. When she isn’t, Petra appears not to notice.

  Stopping the car outside the house is a blessed r
elief.

  “You want coffee?” Petra smiles. “As payment for lift?”

  So. No petrol money then.

  “Sure.” Katherine smiles. “Why not?”

  Because she is boring you silly, that’s why not?!

  Yes, but I really want to be fucked. And she’ll do.

  The flat is warm, comfortable. The sofas are soft grey with darker grey cushions to match and are divided by a low coffee table holding two coasters and a stack of magazines in Polish. Bunches of flowers are held in vases and there are pictures of coastal scenes on the walls. There is not a spot of dust to be seen.

  Taking off her coat, Katherine asks to use the bathroom and almost chokes on the smell of bleach. A single toothbrush rests in the holder. So there’s no flat mate then.

  The coffee is ready by the time she emerges. Petra serves it in a mug with purple flowers on it. Katherine takes it, sits on the sofa and re examines the room. A fake coal fire crouches beneath a mantelpiece holding framed photos and candles. A television sits on a black glass stand. The sofa Petra sits on has another small table beside it. Katherine imagines the burnt ring mark embedded in the wood must drive her mad.

  “So. What do you do?” Petra is making polite conversation.

  “I work in an office.” Katherine lies, even though it’s clear she hasn’t been recognized. “Secretary.”

  Petra’s face breaks into a smile. “Oh! Like I want!”

  “Yes. Spooky isn’t it?”

  “Spooky? Why spooky? I don’t understand.”

  “Coincidence.”

  “Yes, I know coincidence. Would you like something to eat?”

  “After that lunch?” Katherine smiles. “I think not.”

  They finish their coffee. Petra asks her about London again and working in the city. Then she asks how Katherine gets her hair so curly at the ends. Her own hair is so straight and boring, she sighs. There is nothing she can do with it. She looks quite crestfallen.

  “Have you tried?” Is Katherine’s response. “Do you have curlers? Curling tongs?”