The winter darkness gave her all the cover she needed. The isolation of the farmhouse did the rest. She slipped into the driver's seat of the old Ford electrocar and reached for the engine start button. As soon as she pressed it, the vehicle sprang to life, the needles on the dashboard dials jumping upwards, before demurely falling back on themselves. The engine was silent but the gravel ground crunched under the tyres as she pulled out of the stone barn and down the winding driveway.
It was necessary to keep this particular car locked away. It was the car she used to pick up her boyfriends, and of course, the car the police may have been looking for. Of course, since the last outing she had changed the number plate to fool the cameras. But she only used it for these very special occasions, just in case. The last time she used it was two years before, when she had picked up Adam. He had lasted over a year before she put him in the garden. There had been some rumblings in the news about a disappearance but nothing had come of it. And of course, there had been no visitors to the farmhouse. There were never any visitors. The only one who ever went in and out freely was herself. Her daughter went to school and came back again and nowhere else.
The boyfriends came in on their feet. They went out in a bag.
She waited until she had pulled onto the main road before turning on the headlights. A heavy fog had fallen over the countryside. It enveloped the winding country roads. Up ahead, an ancient windmill rose out of the grey veil. The full moon hung low.
She would use the same tactic again. It had worked twice before; it would work again now. All it would take was patience.
The indicators click-clicked as she signalled her intention to join the M11 and the car glided down the slip road, gradually picking up speed. She would travel down a few junctions, turn around and come a little way back up.
Then she would wait.
~oOo~
"Have a lovely trip, sir."
The car rental assistant's grin was pasted on but John returned the smile regardless.
"I will," he said.
He picked up his paperwork and walked towards the exit, stifling a yawn with the back of his hand. He had been expecting a middle of the road, mid-size saloon car. However, his father had outdone himself. By the time John arrived at the pick-up zone, his ride was waiting for him. He whistled; his breath clouded in the cold air.
"Wow-ee! That's a sweet looking car. I know he doesn't go in for Japanese cars, but even Alan would be jealous of this baby."
He accepted the offered key fob and shook his head. It was a brand new Toyota Avenger convertible, all sleek lines and tinted windows, with every conceivable bell and whistle inside.
"Enjoy," the attendant said. "You're the first one to take this model out."
John shivered, pulled open the passenger side door and hefted his suitcase onto the seat, for of course there was no trunk – or 'boot', as the Brits called it, he thought.
"I'm honoured," he said. "But also freezing."
"Not used to the cold, eh?" the man asked.
"Definitely not."
John slipped into the driver's seat, activated the engine and cranked the heat up to maximum. The voices on the radio chirped in their English accents. He programmed the sat nav, then tightened his fingers on the steering wheel.
"Okay, let's see what you can do."
~oOo~
She pulled off three junctions down the motorway at the exit for Saffron Walden, looped the roundabout and re-joined in the opposite direction. It was just past nine in the evening and the traffic was non-existent, lighter still as it was a Sunday. Sundays were best for this kind of work, especially in winter when no one wanted to be out in the cold. The natural thing was to stay inside, by the fire, snuggled up to your loved ones.
Well, soon enough she would have a loved one to snuggle again.
She knew this road well. It was the main thoroughfare from London to Cambridge and she had travelled along it thousands of times. She was an observant sort of person, so she knew where exactly all the cameras were. Waiting until she was between two of them yet out of sight of both, she flicked on her hazard lights and pulled over onto the hard shoulder, gently bringing the car to a stop. Popping the bonnet, she got out and opened it.
This was the ruse. It was easy. Eventually, some do-gooder would see her in distress, pull over and, if it was a he and she liked him, well... She would carry out her plan.
She bent over the exposed engine and rubbed at her arms through her thick wool coat. It was a cold night. Hopefully it wouldn't take too long.
~oOo~
Fatigue was catching up fast. John yawned and gave his head a shake. It had been a long day of travelling, though thanks to the Fireflash his travel time had been cut considerably.
"I don't know how many time zones I've passed through. All I know is that I'm looking forward to bed!"
The journey from Heathrow to Cambridge wasn't short, but at least the Sunday night lull in traffic would be a mercy. I wish Fireflash flew in via Stansted, he said. That would have been a lot easier! At least I'm nearly there. He had checked in with the island as soon as he had mastered the car's controls. That hadn't taken long.
"Just like riding a bike," he had said to his father. "You never forget."
"Well just make sure you remember what side of the road you're meant to be on," Jeff had replied with a grin.
The English countryside flew by, unseen in the darkness as John opened up the throttle a little more - staying within the speed limit, of course. The sports car took the M25 and M11 with ease; its acceleration was impressive for a fully electric vehicle. Only vintage cars ran on gasoline, but electric engines had never quite managed to pack the same punch as a turbo V8. John could still remember his grandfather's 1968 Charger, a relic even when he had been a child. That thing is over 100 years old, now, he thought. I'm sure Dad must have it in storage somewhere.
He passed the junction for Saffron Walden and chuckled.
"The English have some strange place names," he said. Then he paused. "Though I guess we're not much better, considering there's a town called 'Pretty Prairie' back in Kansas."
When he hit a long straight, John decided to push the engine a little harder. However, up ahead, he could see a car pulled over at the side of the road with its four-ways flashing and he eased off the throttle. He glanced in the rear-view mirror. There were no other cars on the road. Then he glanced at the temperature reading on the dash computer. Minus three Celsius – or, as he automatically converted it, around 27 Fahrenheit. That's cold…
He slowed a little more and saw that there was a female figure standing beside the car, waving.
That did it.
He flicked on the turn signal and pulled over. It took a while to stop safely, so he ended up a lot further on than he had anticipated. John turned off the engine, zipped his jacket up to his neck, and waved at the woman beside the car.
Steeling himself against the cold and jamming his hands into his pockets, he jogged towards her.
~oOo~
It wasn't working. It wasn't working. She clenched her fists so hard her arms shook. Her teeth ground against each other. It. Wasn't. Working. Five cars had passed her. Five cars had ignored her. It burned her from the inside out; her rage protected her from the cold.
But then the sports car slowed down. It passed. It pulled over. A man got out. She grinned.
Oh, yes.
A tall man, somewhere in his twenties, jogged along the hard shoulder with his hands in his pockets. Rage ebbed and desire flowed. Her heartbeat quickened and her breath caught. This was it. She stood on the precipice of action, but did not hesitate because of anxiety. She waited because she knew exactly what to do. First step: become the damsel in distress.
"Oh, thank you!" she said as the man approached. "I didn't think anyone would stop!"
"No problem, ma'am," he said as he reached her side. "What seems to be the trouble?"
His American twang fuelled her excitement. Neither of the others had been American. She turned to the engine and pointed.
"I don't know what's wrong with this thing," she said. "Everything was fine and then suddenly the engine cut out."
She got a good look at his face and hid her glee. This yank was the epitome of what the movies said an American should be: tall, blond, handsome, athletic, friendly. A real boy-next-door. For the first time, she was glad that the other cars had not stopped. The universe had delivered her a wonderful surprise. Patience is a virtue, after all.
He bent over the engine.
"Nothing looks obviously out of whack," he said. "Do you have a torch? Then I can take a closer look."
There it was again, the universe dealing her the fourth ace she needed. What a perfect excuse. She hadn't even had to suggest it herself this time.
"I might have one in the glove compartment," she said. "Let me check for you."
The handle was icy as she pulled the passenger side door open and pretended to rummage around. What she needed was already laid out. She picked up her baton and climbed back out of the car. Her feet were silent on the ground. She didn't close the door, lest it catch his attention. She looked up and down the road; there was no-one around.
He was still bent over the engine as she flicked open the baton. He did look up at the sound, but it was too late.
~oOo~
Playing Good Samaritan hadn't been on the cards when he left Heathrow and in truth, part of him had been sorely tempted to drive on by. But the isolation and the freezing temperature had tugged at his heartstrings and hadn't let go. I am a softie, all right, he thought.
The woman was older than him, mid-forties maybe, with brown hair that reached her shoulders. The look of joy and relief on her face when he appeared made it worth fighting against the cold and fatigue.
He bent over the engine. It was remarkably clean for an older model car. He ran his eyes over the system. He was no expert but nothing seemed amiss – although it was very dark at the side of the lonely road.
"Nothing looks obviously out of whack," he said. "Do you have a torch? Then I can take a closer look."
"I might have one in the glove compartment," the woman replied. "Let me check for you."
She went to have a look and John returned his attention to the engine. Everything looks perfectly fine, he said. I hope she knows the number of a tow truck because I don't think I'll be much of a knight in shining armour today!
He was expecting to hear the light click of the torch as it was turned on. But he didn't. Instead, he heard a soft whoosh followed by a click, almost like the sound of a mag slipping into a handgun.
He did look up at the sound, but it was too late.
"What the –"
The woman moved with incredible speed, bringing something long and dark down at his head. He didn't have time to move. He didn't have time to think. He didn't have long to wait before the weapon was brought down on his skull.
Then there was nothing.