Free Chameleon - A City of London Thriller by J Jackson Bentley Page B
Authors: J Jackson Bentley
file in the system, which
contained codes allowing nuclear submarines to ‘go dark’ and change
their rules of engagement to include initiating a
launch.
Of course,
Gillian did not know any of this, and so her task was simple. Kill
him, leave false clues, mislead the police and ensure the crime is
never solved.
***
Gillian
entered the tower through the bin store at ground floor level. The
bins or refuse skips were large plastic containers with wheels,
which allowed the refuse collectors to move them into position for
the truck to lift them. Gillian walked behind the empty containers
and came to a metal door; it was locked and protected by a key
code. Gillian typed in the key code, which was hardly a secret as
every refuse truck in the city had a list of the key codes for each
tower block.
She was now
inside the refuse bay where the skips in use were placed. There
were two skips, one green and one blue, each one situated under a
galvanised metal chute. As she picked the simple lock leading to
the emergency staircase a black bag came hurtling down the chute,
crashing into the almost empty green skip.
She left the
door closed but unlocked. The emergency stairs were bare concrete
and at ground floor they smelled of refuse and rotting food,
courtesy of the bin store. Gillian ran up the stairs to the third
floor and removed her jumpsuit and cap, letting her hair fall
loosely around her face. She took a quick look in the compact
mirror and touched up her make-up. She left the jumpsuit and the
cap in the emergency stairwell, which was rarely used, and placed
her makeup back into her shoulder bag.
Happy that she
was looking her best, she stepped into the corridor and knocked on
the door to apartment 314. A slightly overweight man answered the
door; he was in his thirties with thinning blonde hair. His eyes
dropped immediately to the ample cleavage his visitor displayed,
and then eventually his eyes rose and met hers. Gillian smiled, and
in her best Sloan Ranger voice said, “Hi, I’m Mandy. I’m staying
with the oldies down the corridor and they said you were a computer
genius. Can you help me?”
Jensen stepped
aside and invited the beautiful woman inside, closing the door
behind her. As she walked in, appraising the apartment and its show
home appearance, Jensen was rubbing his hands with anticipation and
checking out her butt.
“ Do you have
a problem with your laptop, is that it? I can see that your
software is in good order,” he quipped, looking again at her
chest.
Gillian smiled
sweetly and then threw out her hand so swiftly it was a blur. Her
fingers were curled into her palm and the heel of her hand hit
Jensen in the centre of his forehead.
His head
rocked backwards and then rebounded forwards. He was unconscious
and concussed by the time he hit the floor. The simple martial arts
technique that Gillian had utilised was intended to shake the brain
around in the skull so that it collided front and back, shutting
down to protect itself.
Gillian took a
pair of yellow Marigold plastic gloves out of her bag and slipped
them on. If her mother could see what her daughter got up to in her
marigolds she would have a fit. In the kitchen she found what she
needed - a large pair of scissors - in an unused knife block.
Taking the scissors firmly in her right hand, she plunged them deep
into Jensen’s chest, puncturing his heart. His body jerked,
expelled some air and collapsed flat on the floor again.
Now Gillian
had time for some fun.
She found a
banana in the fruit bowl and snapped off half of it, eating the
piece in her hand, and the remaining half she left on the TV table.
Moving to the cupboards, she removed a wine glass and two whisky
tumblers. She put a splash of whisky from the spirits shelf in one
glass and a healthy serving of sherry in the other. She then took
two different lipsticks from her make-up bag and smeared Boots No.7
Red Crystal on the rim of one glass, and then she smeared L’Oreal
Purple Pearl on
contained codes allowing nuclear submarines to ‘go dark’ and change
their rules of engagement to include initiating a
launch.
Of course,
Gillian did not know any of this, and so her task was simple. Kill
him, leave false clues, mislead the police and ensure the crime is
never solved.
***
Gillian
entered the tower through the bin store at ground floor level. The
bins or refuse skips were large plastic containers with wheels,
which allowed the refuse collectors to move them into position for
the truck to lift them. Gillian walked behind the empty containers
and came to a metal door; it was locked and protected by a key
code. Gillian typed in the key code, which was hardly a secret as
every refuse truck in the city had a list of the key codes for each
tower block.
She was now
inside the refuse bay where the skips in use were placed. There
were two skips, one green and one blue, each one situated under a
galvanised metal chute. As she picked the simple lock leading to
the emergency staircase a black bag came hurtling down the chute,
crashing into the almost empty green skip.
She left the
door closed but unlocked. The emergency stairs were bare concrete
and at ground floor they smelled of refuse and rotting food,
courtesy of the bin store. Gillian ran up the stairs to the third
floor and removed her jumpsuit and cap, letting her hair fall
loosely around her face. She took a quick look in the compact
mirror and touched up her make-up. She left the jumpsuit and the
cap in the emergency stairwell, which was rarely used, and placed
her makeup back into her shoulder bag.
Happy that she
was looking her best, she stepped into the corridor and knocked on
the door to apartment 314. A slightly overweight man answered the
door; he was in his thirties with thinning blonde hair. His eyes
dropped immediately to the ample cleavage his visitor displayed,
and then eventually his eyes rose and met hers. Gillian smiled, and
in her best Sloan Ranger voice said, “Hi, I’m Mandy. I’m staying
with the oldies down the corridor and they said you were a computer
genius. Can you help me?”
Jensen stepped
aside and invited the beautiful woman inside, closing the door
behind her. As she walked in, appraising the apartment and its show
home appearance, Jensen was rubbing his hands with anticipation and
checking out her butt.
“ Do you have
a problem with your laptop, is that it? I can see that your
software is in good order,” he quipped, looking again at her
chest.
Gillian smiled
sweetly and then threw out her hand so swiftly it was a blur. Her
fingers were curled into her palm and the heel of her hand hit
Jensen in the centre of his forehead.
His head
rocked backwards and then rebounded forwards. He was unconscious
and concussed by the time he hit the floor. The simple martial arts
technique that Gillian had utilised was intended to shake the brain
around in the skull so that it collided front and back, shutting
down to protect itself.
Gillian took a
pair of yellow Marigold plastic gloves out of her bag and slipped
them on. If her mother could see what her daughter got up to in her
marigolds she would have a fit. In the kitchen she found what she
needed - a large pair of scissors - in an unused knife block.
Taking the scissors firmly in her right hand, she plunged them deep
into Jensen’s chest, puncturing his heart. His body jerked,
expelled some air and collapsed flat on the floor again.
Now Gillian
had time for some fun.
She found a
banana in the fruit bowl and snapped off half of it, eating the
piece in her hand, and the remaining half she left on the TV table.
Moving to the cupboards, she removed a wine glass and two whisky
tumblers. She put a splash of whisky from the spirits shelf in one
glass and a healthy serving of sherry in the other. She then took
two different lipsticks from her make-up bag and smeared Boots No.7
Red Crystal on the rim of one glass, and then she smeared L’Oreal
Purple Pearl on