A RUSH TO KILL

Kate is on the edge of the platform. One quick push and it would be done. Easy! Suicide of hard working civil servant. Rafferty would create a suitable background - pressure of work, family problems, a hitherto unknown history of scarcely believable perversions - to make sure that the stench of it would expunge the truth.

Kate King looked ordinary, but she was employed by the department because she was extraordinary, her delicate demeanour concealing a tough single mindedness.
Rafferty was the department’s man who ‘dealt’ with problem people. This was a rush job. He had tried to refuse, but was briefed that Kate had been cooperating and assisting terrorists for years and had to go. Today.

Rafferty was the one in the dept. working against the system, and this was a perfect way out. He could take early retirement.

For this reason he accepted a job he would normally have refused. Rush jobs were sloppy, unprofessional. Rafferty’s jobs went unnoticed, as mysterious disappearances, suicides, DIY accidents, a grotesque disease, or the result of some bizarre sexual practice that went wrong.

He had no compunction about executing a woman. Anyhow, this nasty business is no place for a bloody woman.

The train rattles and rumbles in and everyone moves forward expectantly. A woman slides a huge suitcase in front of him and he misses the opportunity to give Kate that push. He swears.

He drives to Kate’s home. It’s already getting messy. Kate would have to change trains at least twice. He knew the layout of the house. He made it his business to familiarise himself with the homes his colleagues lived in; he knew their habits, their hobbies, and their routines, all their private, conscience piercing, indulgences.

There is an unused alcove covered by a curtain behind the high backed chair. Rafferty waits. In addition to a variety of innocent everyday things he could use as a lethal weapon, he has pistols, carefully chosen. One of them is a Rafferty designed special of limited power. He would shoot Kate through the back of the chair. The bullet would come to rest inside her skull. There would be no messy wallpaper. No messing about with knives, or struggling with cords. She wasn’t very big, but he knew from experience that the condemned struggle violently.

A grating, squeaking noise. Kate’s key in the door. Normally sure footed he’s uneasy - troubled with a feeling of worry. It was this rush-hurry - rush-hurry. It should have been planned and perfected.

Kate behaves as predicted. The kettle boils. The spoon kisses the cup with a tinkle as she swirls the sugar in the cup.

She enters her study and settles in her chair. He could smell her now, like a beast of prey at the moment of a kill.

He levels his weapon at the calculated point on the back of the chair. The chair swivels round. Rafferty drops to the floor. There is a small, neat hole in his forehead.




published on Col Bury's THRILLERS KILLERS n CHILLERS and Daily Flash Anthology [PillHill]