The Killer Inside Them by A. S. French

Author:A. S. French
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: A. S. French

21 PANDORA: THE NOTEBOOK

The doorbell rang as I made notes about the previous night’s work. I knew it wasn’t wise to record what I’d done, but it was cathartic and helped me focus on the next step in the plan. I left the notebook on the table and went to see who the visitor was. Perhaps it was someone from work checking up on me after I’d phoned in sick. The chain was still on the door as I inched it open.

‘Pandora Lilly? I’m Sheila Smith from the Probation Services.’

‘What happened to Dave?’ I peered over Smith’s shoulder.

‘Dave left. I’ve taken over his clients.’

I shook my head. ‘Clients, not ex-cons? How modern.’

Then I asked to see some identification. Smith searched through her bag, bending her head so I noticed the small butterfly tattoo on the back of her neck. She was a tiny woman, Napoleon sized, wearing a jacket too big for her and a white shirt with an egg stain on the collar. Once Smith showed me the ID card, I let her in.

She gazed at me as if scrutinising something terrible under a microscope. I raised a hand to my cheek, wondering if she could tell I was a murderer from the bags under my eyes or the lines crisscrossing my face like a poorly designed rail network.

Then I realised it was because of my clothes.

I was wearing a dead woman’s top, something I’d picked up at the local charity shop. The sleeves were too short and they smelt of oranges. The jeans were as old as me and too tight, making my legs look as if they’d been transplanted from one of the Ramones. My slippers looked like hedgehogs and sent out a signal for people to keep away from me. Contact lenses had replaced thick glasses a year ago, but my teeth were still my own.

‘Would you like a drink?’ I said.

I gave Smith my best smile, trying to stay chipper until I saw my notebook on the table – my Murder Diary where I’d written everything I’d done to the social worker and the journalist. And my notes of what I was going to do next.

‘I’m fine, thanks.’ She inspected every inch of the room. ‘Are you settling in okay, getting along with the neighbours?’ Smith sat down on the sofa without an invitation, her hand close to the pages where I’d documented my murderous deeds. ‘Dave wrote you’d had problems in your previous residence.’

I sat opposite the probation officer, keeping one eye on the notebook.

‘Some people don’t like having convicted criminals living near them. Every day they tell you what they think about you, always brim-full of fire and brimstone. Sometimes they’d write their thoughts down and stuff the paper through the door. They were hard to read through the shit, but I got the gist of it.’

‘Well, that is unfortunate, but you’re here now.’

She might have heard my words, but I guess they meant little to her.

‘Yes, it’s much better here.’

I gripped my leg, desperate to keep my fingers from shaking.

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