Simon Kernick - Deadline

When his girlfriend greeted him at the doordressed only in a T-shirt and thong, then kissedhim hard on the mouth without a word beforepulling him into her ground-floor bedroom, shewas so worked up she didn't even notice that hewas wearing gloves. They'd talked on the phonefive minutes earlier and in that conversation he'dexplained in intimate detail what he planned todo with her when he got to her place. So it waswith a hint of regret that, as her hands headedsouthwards, he kicked shut the bedroom door,slipped the knife from the concealed sheathbeneath his cheap suit jacket, and drove it silentlybetween her ribs and directly into her heart. In theshort time he'd known her, the girl had proved tobe adept and enthusiastic in bed, and it wouldhave been a pleasant distraction to have had sexwith her one last time. But that would have meantleaving behind incriminating evidence, and hewas a professional who didn't let the desire forcheap gratification get in the way of business.

He clasped her close to him while she died. Thesingle blow had been enough, as he knew itwould be, having used this method of killing onseveral occasions in the past. The girl made barelya sound. There was the surprised, pained gasp asthe blade went in, of course, which was accompaniedby a single juddering spasm, not unlike anorgasm, as her muscles tensed for a final time andher fingernails dug into the material of his suitjacket, but it didn't last long and was quicklyfollowed by the long, slow release of breath as sherelaxed in his arms.

He counted to ten in his head, then, still holdingon to her, reached into the inside pocket of his jacketwith his knife hand and produced a handkerchief.The blade made a strange hissing sound as it wasslowly withdrawn, and he used a well-practisedcombination of both hands to wipe it clean, beforereplacing it in its sheath. When this was done, heplaced the body on the carpet next to the unmadebed and briefly admired his handiwork. Becauseshe'd died so quickly, there was very little blood,and she looked remarkably peaceful lying therewith her eyes closed. It was the quietest he'd seenher. In life, she'd been quite a talker.

Leaning down, he tried to push her under thebed, but there wasn't enough of a gap between thebottom of the frame and the floor, so he squeezedher in as far as she would go, then covered the restof the body with one end of the duvet cover. Itwas only a tidying-up gesture. Concealing thebody would do nothing to mask the smell thatwould soon be coming from it, but he wasn'toverly concerned about that. He doubted if she'dbe discovered for a while. She lived alone in hertiny ground-floor flat, and had few friends in thecity, which had always been one of her complaintsabout it. He knew she spoke to her mother backhome once a week but that was always on aSunday, so it would be another six days before themother had a reason to worry about her daughter,and several days more, at least, before anyone didanything about it.

No one had ever seen him with her. Their fewclandestine meetings had always been in this flat.As far as he knew, she hadn't told anyone abouthim either, although even if she had it wouldmake no difference. He'd given her a false nameand background, one of four different identitieshe periodically used in order always to keep onestep ahead of the authorities. His DNA would bein this room, of course, but then so would theDNA of those few friends the girl had, and sincethey were mainly illegals, it would be difficult totrace them.

He saw the girl's pink Nokia mobile phone onthe bedside table. He picked it up and put it in hispocket to be disposed of later, then took a last lookround. Seeing nothing else that might incriminatehim, he left the bedroom, shutting the doorbehind him, leaving the girl in her makeshifttomb.

As he stepped out of the front door and into thebright sunlight, he looked at his watch.

It was time.