Chameleon by Ken McClure Read Free Book Online Page B

Phillip Morton and had more luck. He explained the situation to Morton and the buck passed to him. Morton said that he would be there within fifteen minutes. In the meantime, Dean was instructed to start chemotherapy immediately on the assumption that it was a Pseudomonas infection like the others. 'Start her on Pyopen.'
    'And the pain?' asked the houseman.
    'Omnipon, usual dose,' said Morton.
     
    * * * * * *
     
    The door to the basement apartment opened and heavy curtains were drawn across rain splashed windows before it was closed again and locked twice from the inside. The man inside stood still for a moment in the darkness with his back against the door, listening to the sound of his own breathing and feeling the cold and damp surround him. A slight smile crossed his face for to him it felt good, it felt right. He clicked on the light, not that a forty watt bulb made much inroads into the gloom, and walked slowly through to the bathroom where a rubber apron hung over the bath and a row of surgical instruments were lined up along the back of the sink where he had left them. They were clean and dry and ready to be used again.
    He took down the apron and folded it neatly before packing it into a briefcase. The inside of the case was protected by a polythene lining because the man prided himself on detail. There were to be no tell-tale blood stains, no blood anywhere there did not have to be.
    In a separate compartment in the case he had a number of plastic bags. He counted them and decided to add a few more. There was still plenty of adhesive tape. He put down the case for a moment and went to the fridge in the kitchen to open the door. There, lying in two plastic bags was what he had removed from the Spooner woman. The man gave a satisfied grunt. There was one less bitch to spread her filth, one less to snare and entrap the unwary with her silks and perfumes. What fools men were not to realise what vile creatures lay hidden behind the smiling faces and the pretty clothes. But they were not entirely to blame. Nature had equipped the bitches well. It was so easy to succumb to their wiles. He knew that only too well.
    The man closed his eyes and shook as he relived a private agony. His mother, God bless her, had always brought him up to be aware of the deceit and artfulness of women and he in turn had always believed her but on that one night in the town when the bitch had come out at him from the doorway he had suddenly become weak. He had wanted to push her away but something inside had prevented him. He remembered standing there, breathing in her sweet smelling scent, feeling her body brush against him, feeling the hardness start and the yearning to squeeze the breasts that were thrusting up at him from the half-open blouse.
    The bitch had taken him by the hand, giggling and smiling, and pulled him into the darkness of the alley where she had gripped him between the legs and complemented him on what she felt there. 'You want me don't you,' she had crooned and the more she spoke the more he had wanted her.
    He had paid her what she had asked and she had taken him to a filthy room in a crumbling tenement where the bed had smelled of sweat and the sheets had hard stains on them. But at the time it hadn't mattered. Nothing had mattered. In the midst of all that squalor, he had still wanted her. He had been on fire. He had lost all self control in the desire to possess her. The whore had egged him on until he had taken her quickly and urgently like an animal in heat.
    Afterwards, he had lain there, with her laughter ringing in his ears. With passion spent, he had been able to see clearly that the bitch had trapped him. She had tricked him into doing something entirely against his will. All at once he had been able to see everything with crystal clarity. He had felt ashamed, dirty and very angry.
    He had beaten up the whore. He felt he had duty to. He had smashed her face with his fists and kicked her senseless. It would be a