Deadly Lies by Ann Girdharry (read me a book .TXT) 📕

The sun has come out and I whistle a little tune. I’ve always loved the Sussex countryside with the rolling South Downs and green fields and hedgerows. I missed it so much during my prison sentence. When I became a free man again, you wouldn’t believe it of a con like me but the sound of birdsong was enough to make me sentimental.

I take my time going down to Brighton. Firstly, I make sure I stick to minor roads without much traffic. Then, I stop often in lay-bys and remote spots to pass an hour or so and listen to the radio. I’ve got all day to waste. On the motorway, the journey would take an hour but with this route and the method I’m using it will last most of the day. And that’s the idea.

When one of the kids wants to pee I consider leaving them to do it in the van rather than take the risk of them being seen. There’s no one around, yet you can never be one hundred per cent certain, can you? Then again, is there DNA in piss? I don’t know and it might turn out to be a nuisance because I’d need to get the back cleaned and then what if a garage gets suspicious? I decide it’s better to let one of them out at a time. I find a quiet place and then the smaller one says she can’t do it unless she has the big sister with her.

I have to stop myself from smacking her around the head.

Half an hour later and we’re on our way again. No one saw us, I’m sure of it. I’ve never been so grateful for clusters of trees.

The tricky bit will be getting the kids inside the house once I arrive. Which is why I need to transfer them at night-time because there’s far less chance of being spotted by a nosey parker when it’s dark. Hence my dawdling.

On the outskirts of Brighton there’s a big park. I already sussed it out to see if the police have a habit of passing by, which they don’t, or if the various parking spots have attendants, which they haven’t. The park is packed at weekends and then deserted during the week, except for early morning when it’s full of dog walkers and joggers. I can’t stand sports fanatics – as far as I’m concerned they’re a bunch of losers. Anyway, weekday late afternoon is ideal for us to pass under the radar.

I take the turn into the park and drive to the remotest spot it can offer. I’ll wait here until it’s nightfall.

Several hours later and I’m getting impatient. I’ve tossed a packet of biscuits into the back which shut up the whimpering. Those kids are getting on my nerves. I can’t wait to lock them up and forget them. No more snivelling, no more piss stops.

I’m painfully aware how all it would take is for one of the kids to start screaming or bang on the side of the van and the game would be up. I’m betting they wouldn’t dare because I’ve scared them stupid. Though as time passes my nerves are fraying. After the biscuits, I taped their mouths as a precaution and I’ve bound their hands. The only thing they could do is bang and I don’t think they’ve got it in them. Thing is, I don’t trust that older one. What if she tried something? What if an innocent member of the public later remembered something odd which allowed the police to pick up my trail? I can’t risk being noticed.

Every couple of hours I move parking place. In that way I manage to hold out until dusk, then I can’t stand it any longer. I have to get them inside the house.

I picked out the property ages ago. You see, I’ve been planning this for years. First in my head and then in reality. The money makes all the difference. Without the previous pay-off, I’d never have been able to afford the rent for such a nice property. The thing is, the few thousand pounds I got isn’t enough. It was paltry given the length of sentence handed to me and I deserve much more for what I’ve suffered. And I’m going to make damn sure I get it.

It’s a two-storey, mid-terrace house on a Brighton street in an area an estate agent would call a desirable neighbourhood.

The neighbour on one side is an elderly man and on the other there’s a woman who leaves early and comes back late. I don’t assess either of them as being vigilant.

On the opposite side of the street there’s one neighbour who’s a different story. She’s got a disabled parking bay out front. When I first rented the house I put my van in it and she went berserk. She had the nerve to come and bang on my door. She shouted at me, her hair purple and standing on end in spikes. Bloody hell, who does she think she is? I had to stop from punching her in the face. Keep it together, I told myself, think of the end game. People like her should be shot.

I need to park right outside my place to pull it off. I’ve got a big canvas holdall I’m going to use to transport the brats. Clambering over the front seats, I grab the biggest kid and tell her to climb inside the bag.

‘If you don’t, I’ll cut your sister.’

When she hesitates, I wave the knife in her sister’s face. Bingo. She steps into the holdall and scrunches down small. As I zip it closed, I catch sight of her mutinous look. Didn’t I tell you she was trouble?

She doesn’t weigh much. I heft the holdall inside the house and dump it with my accomplice. Then I go back for the smaller kid, and not long after