Killer Plan by Leigh Russell Page A

stepping out of the house and enjoying the fresh air, as though she was somehow being disloyal to her husband’s memory. She glanced up and down the street but there was no sign of Brian. No cars were driving past and the pavements were deserted. She hurried the twins into the back seat and drove off round the block to the park. Hearing the excitement in the boys’ voices as they neared the ground, she felt reassured that she had made the right decision. The twins fell quiet as they arrived, and were subdued leaving the car, but before long they were busy kicking balls around. There was no need for any of the boys to speak beyond calling out for the ball to be passed, cheering raucously, and bandying muttered insults. It was an appropriate reintroduction into the society of their peers.
    A few parents were scattered around the periphery of the makeshift pitch, where the grass wasn’t so muddy. Most of them drifted over to express their condolences before moving away again along the sideline. The air was fresh with the scent of new mown grass, and a few birds flittered overhead, black against the bright lightness of the sky. A group of mothers sat huddled on the bench, gossiping, while others stood as close to the play as they could, shouting encouragement or criticism to their sons. One father, notorious for his zeal, clapped his gloved hands in an accompanying rhythm as he shouted out.
    ‘Come on, Zak!’
    A few women sniggered.
    ‘Listen to him.’
    ‘Thinks he’s at bloody Arsenal.’
    He carried on yelling, impervious to their catty remarks. The boys finished their training exercises and were divided into teams. A few stood at the side observing, waiting their turn to play. The loudmouthed father watched, alert, to make sure his son was selected. Normally, Caroline would have joined the chattering mothers. Today she walked away from the pitch, alienated from the eager supporters and the gossiping spectators alike. She felt a little awkward, and hoped the other parents would appreciate she was only there because it had seemed best for the twins to return to some sort of normality. She wasn’t ready to socialise.
    The fresh air seemed to crystallise her thoughts. As soon as she had dropped the boys at school on Monday morning, she would go to the police and tell them everything she knew. What she had said to Brian was true. She would never have told him where to find Dave if she had suspected his intentions. It was insane. Armed with nothing more than an address, no one in their right mind would kill a complete stranger. He was a psychopath. Moral considerations aside, someone might have seen her and Brian together. She had to go to the police and exonerate herself, before they caught up with her.
    The more she mulled over the situation, the less responsible she felt for what had transpired. ‘You can’t foresee insanity,’ she muttered to a non-existent audience, rehearsing her interview with the police. But whichever way she imagined the conversation, it didn’t go well.
    ‘Why did you come up with this plan to have your husband killed in your shed?’
    ‘That’s not what happened. He was only going there to make Dave jealous.’
    ‘Jealous?’
    ‘Yes. He was going to make out he fancied me. It was just a bit of fun. How was I to know he was a psychopath?’
    Even to her own ears the truth sounded ludicrous. No one in their right mind would believe her. She wouldn’t, if she hadn’t encountered Brian herself. She would have given anything to be able to walk away and forget all about her involvement in her husband’s death. It should never have happened. She needed someone to advise her, and wondered whether she ought to hire a lawyer. The loudmouthed father watching the game was a solicitor. He had stopped shouting encouragement to his son and was now yelling out instructions.
    ‘Don’t pass, keep the ball! It’s your shot. Your goal. Go on, you can do it!’
    Geraldine turned and watched. The boy