Dead on Demand (A DCI Morton Crime Novel) by Sean Campbell, Daniel Campbell Page B
Book: Dead on Demand (A DCI Morton Crime Novel) by Sean Campbell, Daniel Campbell
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Authors: Sean Campbell, Daniel Campbell
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Vanhi turned away, picking the magazine back up to shield herself from the awkwardness of the conversation.
Strikeout. Barry had overdone it, and he would have to try again another time.
***
Barry tried the laundrette again the following week. Same time of day, same day of the week, and there she was sitting doing her laundry like clockwork.
He needed to play it cool. She hadn't responded to his sexual advances, and he knew he'd need to try a more platonic approach to get her to open up.
'Remembered my soap powder this time.' Barry indicated his box as he took a seat nearby and flicked open a magazine.
When she didn't respond Barry decided to give her a few moments. If he pushed too hard, she would clam up and he'd never get anything out of her.
'You got change for a five? Seems the machine doesn't like my pound coin.' It was plausible. He had seen a television show on Channel Four once that said almost a quarter of all pound coins in London were counterfeit.
'Sure. Here you go.' There was the hint of a smile as she passed him the coins. He hoped it was amusement at his misfortune – he could work with that.
He feigned trying another coin.
'Damn it! This one doesn't work either.'
Vanhi began to giggle. The poor man was having no luck that evening.
'Not your night, is it?'
'Naw, nothing's gone right for me since I moved to London.'
'Where you from then?'
'Kent.'
'Nice part of the country.'
'Yeah, and much easier to find my way around. With mostly fields around, the houses stick out more,' Barry joked.
'Well, if you're still having trouble finding your feet, I can show you the sights, such as they are.'
'Really? That would be awesome, though knowing my luck, I'd probably get mugged.' Barry decided to play up the hapless loser; that persona would lower her defences and get her talking.
'Ha-ha, I promise not to mug you. You ever been to the One Eyed Dog?'
'Nope. Pub?'
'Yup. I work there.'
With that, Barry knew where she would die. He would get to know her shift pattern, and shoot her at closing. The only witnesses would be too drunk to remember a thing.
***
Morton's witness was right. The suspect who ditched the bag did board the 133 bus. CCTV showed that he boarded the bus at the Brixton Road stop, then rode all the way to Liverpool Street Station before heading for the underground. From there, he took a train north. Morton had ordered Ayala to follow the suspect on the CCTV footage at subsequent stations. Once Ayala had the suspect's home location down, Morton would take the e-fit out and show it around. Hopefully it would get a hit.
***
Vanhi worked most nights, but only Tuesday was really quiet enough for Barry to take his shot. He would be seen, that much was guaranteed. Barry had slowly become a regular late-night drinker in the area, and he would keep up that pretence after the kill to avoid arousing suspicion.
The gun was secured inside his overcoat. It was the thick padded kind, as only that could conceal the lumps and bumps of the shotgun. At least the weather was cold, so it didn't look out of place. The cold was also a great excuse for wearing gloves. It made the gun cumbersome, and Barry would have to ditch them after pulling the trigger as they would be covered in gunshot residue, a dead giveaway if the police pulled him for being in the area; but it avoided Barry's risking exposure by fingerprint.
At closing time on Tuesday night, two 'clock in the morning, Barry leant against the wall in the alley adjacent to the pub.
He held a lit cigarette in one hand and a bottle of cola in the other. He didn't normally smoke, but it was good camouflage. He avoided talking to other customers by pretending to be outrageously drunk.
The truth was that no alcohol had passed his lips that evening. Each of the shots he had bought was carefully tipped down his shirt to make him smell of alcohol. He'd even gargled a double vodka so that his breath matched the rest of his persona.
The Coca-Cola was
Strikeout. Barry had overdone it, and he would have to try again another time.
***
Barry tried the laundrette again the following week. Same time of day, same day of the week, and there she was sitting doing her laundry like clockwork.
He needed to play it cool. She hadn't responded to his sexual advances, and he knew he'd need to try a more platonic approach to get her to open up.
'Remembered my soap powder this time.' Barry indicated his box as he took a seat nearby and flicked open a magazine.
When she didn't respond Barry decided to give her a few moments. If he pushed too hard, she would clam up and he'd never get anything out of her.
'You got change for a five? Seems the machine doesn't like my pound coin.' It was plausible. He had seen a television show on Channel Four once that said almost a quarter of all pound coins in London were counterfeit.
'Sure. Here you go.' There was the hint of a smile as she passed him the coins. He hoped it was amusement at his misfortune – he could work with that.
He feigned trying another coin.
'Damn it! This one doesn't work either.'
Vanhi began to giggle. The poor man was having no luck that evening.
'Not your night, is it?'
'Naw, nothing's gone right for me since I moved to London.'
'Where you from then?'
'Kent.'
'Nice part of the country.'
'Yeah, and much easier to find my way around. With mostly fields around, the houses stick out more,' Barry joked.
'Well, if you're still having trouble finding your feet, I can show you the sights, such as they are.'
'Really? That would be awesome, though knowing my luck, I'd probably get mugged.' Barry decided to play up the hapless loser; that persona would lower her defences and get her talking.
'Ha-ha, I promise not to mug you. You ever been to the One Eyed Dog?'
'Nope. Pub?'
'Yup. I work there.'
With that, Barry knew where she would die. He would get to know her shift pattern, and shoot her at closing. The only witnesses would be too drunk to remember a thing.
***
Morton's witness was right. The suspect who ditched the bag did board the 133 bus. CCTV showed that he boarded the bus at the Brixton Road stop, then rode all the way to Liverpool Street Station before heading for the underground. From there, he took a train north. Morton had ordered Ayala to follow the suspect on the CCTV footage at subsequent stations. Once Ayala had the suspect's home location down, Morton would take the e-fit out and show it around. Hopefully it would get a hit.
***
Vanhi worked most nights, but only Tuesday was really quiet enough for Barry to take his shot. He would be seen, that much was guaranteed. Barry had slowly become a regular late-night drinker in the area, and he would keep up that pretence after the kill to avoid arousing suspicion.
The gun was secured inside his overcoat. It was the thick padded kind, as only that could conceal the lumps and bumps of the shotgun. At least the weather was cold, so it didn't look out of place. The cold was also a great excuse for wearing gloves. It made the gun cumbersome, and Barry would have to ditch them after pulling the trigger as they would be covered in gunshot residue, a dead giveaway if the police pulled him for being in the area; but it avoided Barry's risking exposure by fingerprint.
At closing time on Tuesday night, two 'clock in the morning, Barry leant against the wall in the alley adjacent to the pub.
He held a lit cigarette in one hand and a bottle of cola in the other. He didn't normally smoke, but it was good camouflage. He avoided talking to other customers by pretending to be outrageously drunk.
The truth was that no alcohol had passed his lips that evening. Each of the shots he had bought was carefully tipped down his shirt to make him smell of alcohol. He'd even gargled a double vodka so that his breath matched the rest of his persona.
The Coca-Cola was
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