Suspects by Lesley Pearse

Author:Lesley Pearse [Pearse, Lesley]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781405944625
Publisher: Penguin Books Ltd
Published: 2021-06-23T22:00:00+00:00

19

Sunday, 26 July, Day Nine

Jason Pickering turned into Willow Close at just after midnight. He’d planned his walking route meticulously from his home to the Pinewood estate, avoiding all roads with CCTV cameras. He had all he needed for the job in the pockets of his jacket, and he’d put his gloves on just before arriving at the close. He noted with pleasure that two of the streetlights weren’t working, and as there was only a sliver of moon, it was very dark.

There were no lights on at number eight, the third house on the right, and the Volvo was on the drive. Dee had said her husband didn’t take any notice of the drink-driving laws, so if the car was there, so was he.

Jason felt no guilt about what he was going to do. Guilt was something he’d left behind when his face was slashed twenty years ago. He’d changed his name, too, and learnt to live under the radar. There had been a time when he planned to save enough money for plastic surgery. But he’d grown to like being the man who could solve people’s problems for a price. Those who used him were far too scared of him and so far over their heads that they would never grass on him.

He put his hand over the side gate and slid the bolt out. Then, moving as silently and gracefully as a cat, he went to the back of the house. As Dee had said, the transom window above the main casement was open, but first he crept to the French windows to check. The big room was in darkness, so he returned to the kitchen window. A plastic garden chair stood beside it, an ashtray beneath.

By standing on the chair it was simple to put his arm through the small window and unlatch the bigger one below. Luckily there was a clear work surface inside ‒ so often he had to get over a sink piled high with dishes.

A few seconds later he was in. He crept to the hall and listened. He could hear loud snoring upstairs.

Pulling a small torch from his pocket he shone it into the lounge. There were a couple of newspapers on the sofa: he picked them up and placed them in a wicker waste-bin. Next, he poured the small bottle of petrol he’d brought with him over the papers and placed the bin at the bottom of the stairs where a denim jacket was hanging. There was a curtain at the window opposite the stairs ‒ that would soon catch too.

He backed up towards the kitchen and flicked a lit match towards the bin. It caught immediately. Turning, he was out of the window within seconds. He locked the side gate behind him and left the close to take a slightly different route home.

Dee had told him the smoke alarms didn’t work: her husband had taken the batteries out because they kept going off when she was cooking. Looking back before leaving the close, he could make out just a faint orange glow from the hall window.

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