Free Urge to Kill (1) by JJ Franklin Page B

more use to him alive as a pathway to her husband. He decided he could afford to keep the options open, for the moment.
    Mother twittered on but he was only half listening.
    ‘Clive. Are you listening to me?’
    ‘Yes, Mother.’
    ‘Don’t lie, Clive, it is unbecoming of a gentleman. I was asking if you would have to be a witness.’
    ‘I wouldn’t think so. There were a lot of other people about.’
    ‘Yes, but the police would recognise an intelligent man. One who would notice anything amiss. And I shall expect you to do your civic duty if called upon, Clive.’
    He almost laughed aloud and part of him wanted to tell her that her dutiful son was a murderer. How would her social niceties deal with that? No, maybe one day, when she was dying perhaps, he would take his time and enjoy it. Not today, he had too much to do. Today he pacified her because he needed her to play a role in his next outing. ‘Of course, Mother,’ he acquiesced to her demand.
    The deed would have to be done under the hours of darkness, leaving him with a problem, since on the odd occasion, like this morning when he had taken a day owing to him, his sessions at the spa were fitted in straight after work on the nights when Mrs Sinclair could stay that bit longer with Mother. Sometimes, he went there on Saturday mornings, but for this task, darkness was going to be his biggest ally.
    Although the autumn nights were now drawing in, he would need to dispatch his next victim later in the evening when it was fully dark and when most of the guests would be happy to stay cosy and warm indoors, and out of his way.
    Clive would need a legitimate reason to be at the health spa during the evening. Last year he had tried to persuade Mother that the occasional massage might help the blood flow in her legs, in the vain hope that it might stop her constant grumbling in the mornings.
    Although she hadn’t taken to the idea then, he decided to revise the theme again. If he disguised it as a treat for her to have dinner in the restaurant, where the new French chef was attracting rave reviews, she might be persuaded to talk to a masseuse during the evening. This would leave him with about fifteen minutes, more than enough time to do his work.
    With this in mind, he decided to call into the club later in the week to book Mother an appointment to talk to the masseuse and to arrange for them to have dinner there. Saturday would probably be best; that would give him time to persuade Mother that he had her best interests at heart.
    His choice of victim he would leave until later.

CHAPTER 13
    S he was used to preparing meals for her dad, but Eppie wanted this one to be special. It must convey everything she wanted to say to Matt. She knew there would be times when his job would have to come first, and she accepted this, since she loved him. In return, she hoped he would be able to listen to her concerns. She suspected that he might hold some old fashioned ideas about marriage. That is, if he had thought about it at all.
    Eppie had chosen the Parma ham to remind him of Italy, a large slice of spinach quiche, his favourite, rocket salad, little new potatoes, cherry tomatoes, and two of the crusty rolls from the Italian delicatessen. As she covered the plate with cling film, she wondered if he would get home at all.
    The murder had been highlighted on the local and national news and, although the details were not given, the grave police superintendent had stated that the victim was a young woman in her early twenties. Matt was on the front line and would have had to view her body. Eppie felt a surge of pride that he and his team would be the ones who would catch the murderer.
    After tidying the kitchen, Eppie went into the living room where the new scatter cushions were attempting a brave fight against the dullness. She felt at a loss as to what to do for the rest of the evening. She had spent many evenings like this, marooned in some impersonal hotel room, waiting for her