Scaredy Cat by Mark Billingham Read Free Book Online Page B

into the back of his car and take her back to his place.
    Then he'd made the phone cal , and put her in position. And now Helen wasn't quite so gobby.
    Again the gurgling, from somewhere deep down and desperate.
    'Ssh, Helen, just relax. It won't take long.'
    He positioned his thumbs, one at either side of the bony bump at the base of the skul and felt for the muscle, talking her through it... 'Feel these two pieces of muscle, Helen?'
    She groaned.
    'The sternocleidomastoid. I know, stupidly long word, don't worry. These muscles reach al the way down to your col ar-bone. Now what I'm after is underneath...' He gasped as he found it. 'There.'
    Slowly he wrapped his fingers, one at a time around the carotid artery and began to press.
    He closed his eyes and mental y counted off the seconds. Two minutes would do it. He felt something like a shudder run through her body and up through the thin surgical gloves into his fingers. He nodded respectful y, admiring the Herculean effortthat even so tiny a movement must have taken.

    He began to think about her body and about how he might have touched it. She was his to do with as he pleased. He could have slipped his hands from her head and slid them straight down the front of her and beneath her shirt in a second. He could turn her round and penetrate her
    SLEEPYHEAD 53
    mouth, pushing himself across her teeth. But he wouldn't. He'd thought about it with the others too, but this was not about sex.
    After considering such things at length he'd decided that his was a normal and healthy impulse. Wouldn't any man feel the same things with a woman at his mercy? So easily available?
    Of course. But it was not a good idea. He did not want them.., classifying this as a sex crime.
    That would be easy, would throw them too far off the scent. And he knew al about DNA.
    A growl came from somewhere deep in Helen's throat. She could feel everyxhing, was aware of everything and stil she fought it.
    'Not long now... Please be quiet.'
    He became aware of a drumming noise and, without moving his head, glanced down to where her fingers were beating spastical y against the floorboards. Adrenaline staging a hopeless rearguard action against the drug. She might make it, he thought, she wants to live so much.
    One minute forty-five seconds. His fingers locked in position, he leaned down, his lips on her ear, whispering:
    'Night-night, Sleepyhead...'
    She stopped breathing.
    Now was the critical time. His movements needed to be swift and precise. He eased the pressure on the artery and pushed her head roughly Ibrvard until chin was touching chest. He let it rest there for a few seconds before whipping it back the same way so that he was staring down at her face. Her eyes were open, her jaw slack, spittle running down her chin. He dismissed the urge to kiss her and moved her head back into the central position. Back into neutral. Then he took a firm grip and entwined his fingers in her long brown 54 MARK BILLINGHAM
    hair before twisting the head back over the left shoulder. And holding it.
    Then the right shoulder. Each twist splitting the inside of the vertebral artery. Now it was up to her.
    He laid her down gently and placed her body in the recovery position. He was sweating heavily. He reached for a glass of cold water and sat down on the chair to watch her. To wait for her to breathe.
    His mind was empty, as he focused, unblinking, on her face and chest. The breaths would be short and shal ow, and he watched and wil ed the smal est movement. Every few seconds he leaned forward and felt for a pulse. Helen's body was unmoving.
    He reached for the bag and mask. It was time to intervene. Ten minutes of frantic squeezing, shouting at her: 'Come on, Helen, help me!' Screaming into her face. 'I need you to be strong.'
    She wasn't strong enough.
    He slumped back into the chair, out of breath. He looked down at the lifeless body. A button was missing from her shirt. He looked across at the plain black shoes, neatly