The Official Website of the Bestselling Author
Trisha Hughes
SERPENT
Chapter 1
Here’s how you destroy a life. You stand over his bed and watch him sleep. You know how long he’ll sleep because you’ve been watching him for weeks and you know his routine. You’ve prepared. You don’t take chances. There is no reason to rush. Anticipation is the spice of life. I remember my father saying that to me. It’s a cliché but it’s stuck with me. Not because it’s true but because it’s not far wrong.
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Because you are well prepared you know his girlfriend is working tonight and won’t be here. You also know he likes a Jack Daniels before he goes to bed. If he hadn’t had one tonight, you would have postponed. Don’t be in a rush. Don’t take chances. Don’t make mistakes. Be patient and get your target with little or no risk.
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It’s all about preparation and patience.
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Because you’ve been watching him, you know he has a dog that sleeps on the covered back veranda. You’re prepared for that. A large juicy steak full of drugs will put the dog to sleep for the night. And because you’ve been watching him, you know where the spare key is hidden. That’s how you gained access to the house this morning and spiked his whisky. That’s how you gained access again tonight while the dog and his owner sleep. Neither of them will be waking up for a long time.
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You are wearing gloves. He, of course, is not. You pull out a glass from the backpack you’re wearing and wrap his fingers around the glass in the right spots. You carefully put the glass in a sealed bag and put it back in the back pack. Then you pull out your tissues, you always carry them, and you dab the tissue against his mouth, making sure to get his spit on it. Then you put the tissue in another plastic bag and put it in the backpack with the glass. It may be overkill, and you may not need it, but overkill seems to work.
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He remains on his back snoring and you can’t help but smile. You enjoy this part as much as the kill. A kill is the end of the game but this, the set-up part, is a work of art.
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His mobile is on the night stand. You pick it up, put it on silent, then type her address in it so there’s a record of it in his map searches. Then you put that in your backpack as well. You leave his bedroom. His Audi keys are on the side table near the front door. He’s meticulous about that. He comes home, he puts the keys on the table. Every time.
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You grab the keys and you drive off in the Audi towards her. You know where she lives because you’ve been preparing.
You park on the street houses away. You break in by a window in the home office. You spill some potpourri but you clean up. This shouldn’t look like a break in. You get one of her tea towels and then you wait for her to come home. You know she’ll be home soon because you’re prepared. She is sitting in the bar of a hotel waiting for the client who will not show. She doesn’t know that client was me and that I am lying in wait for her to get home.
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You hear her come in and head into the kitchen. You hear the light switch click and you see the light threading under the office door. Another click means she is boiling a kettle. You take the time to peek through the crack of the door and there she is. You have a tea towel ready and you take a metal container out of your back pack and empty some of the contents onto the towel, careful not to bring it close to your face. Chloroform works fast.
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She sits alone at the table, with a cup of coffee about to open her mail. She’s a beautiful woman, even with her dirty blonde hair cut into a elfin style. She looks thin in the satin dress but that’s probably because of the stress. She is totally focussed on the letter.
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Slowly and carefully, you push the door open and step into the kitchen. And then she raises her eyes and sees you. Her eyes open wide in surprise and she is about to scream. You don’t want that.
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Careless. Despite all the planning, you almost made a mistake.
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You don’t hesitate. You charge her and grab her head, placing the towel over her face. Seconds pass as she desperately struggles but then she goes limp and drops into your arms. You drag her into the lounge room and tie her to a chair, both arms and legs. Then you place a gag in her mouth while she sleeps, taking care not to suffocate her. That would be another mistake. One is enough.
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You go back to the kitchen and pull the glass from the backpack with the man’s fingerprints perfectly placed on it and set it on the dish drainer. Then you take the tea towel and the tissue and drop them in the trash can. Juries love DNA. They’ve grown up with CSI and TV shows that exaggerate the miracles of technology. They expect it in a murder trial. If there’s no DNA evidence, a jury wonders about guilt and the defender concentrates on it.
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You are in and out of the house within minutes. There is no need to hang around. You hurry back to the car. You don’t worry about being seen. If worse comes to worst and someone remembers a man running away, it’ll be someone running back to an Audi registered to him.
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It will, if anything, help.
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You start to drive, feeling a little excited about getting back to her house to start the best part. You check the clock. He and his dog should be passed out for hours more. You arrive at his house and park the Audi where you found it.
You smile. This is the true rush you were waiting for. The Audi has a tracking system so the police will see where it went tonight. You enter the house. You drop the keys on the table. You head to his bedroom and take the phone off silent before placing it back on the night table. You even plug it in to the charger for him. Like with the Audi, the police will get a warrant for his phone locations that will prove he took the journey from here to her house and back again on the night of the murder.
The Audi. The phone. The tissue. The DNA. Any three will be enough to convict him.
When he eventually goes to her apartment, and you are sure he will, you will make an anonymous call to the police informing them of a break in and give his number as the contact.
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I touch the vial of tablets in my pocket. The chloroform is only a temporary anaesthetic. For what I have planned for her tonight, ketamine is the ideal drug. I want her helpless but fully conscious while I have my fun.
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For her, the horror is about to begin.
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For him, it’s not too far away.