Definitely Dead by Kate Bendelow (howl and other poems TXT) 📕

time inside, Geoffrey had grown forensically aware, picking up tips from his fellow prisoners. It was quite the education. He learnt so much more than the Open University or Ted Talks could ever offer.

Geoffrey found that since he had reached a certain age, it was easier to con the elderly and minimise the risk of getting caught. They were more trusting of him than they would have been with someone in their twenties or thirties. He was well-groomed and dressed conservatively. The red paisley handkerchief which always protruded neatly from his jacket pocket screamed honest and dependable. He became the older son they’d never had. Or, was the son they had, who was now too busy with his own life to tolerate infirm, needy parents.

Once he had identified his wealthy victims, he spent time checking for nosy neighbours and CCTV. He masked his footwear, wore a trilby hat and carried leather driving gloves as part of his ‘older gentleman’ disguise. He never, ever left his DNA again, always ensuring he washed any cups he had used and removed any potential fingerprints. He would con his victims so effectively that he was long gone before they realised their life savings had disappeared.

The best part of all was most of them didn’t even tell their friends and family, let alone report it. They felt embarrassed for being so naïve. They blamed themselves and as result, believed the insurance would never pay out, so what was the point in calling the police for a crime number? Surely allowing him into their property counted as legitimate access, which meant there would be no case to answer.

Geoffrey chuckled to himself as he thought about the clueless old woman. Even if she did contact the police, her hearing and eyesight were so bad, she’d make a terrible witness. He’d done well selecting her. He was confident his next victim would be just as gullible and easy to manipulate. He loosened his tie and undid his top button. God, he hated smelling of old people’s houses. Still, it was nice to be outside now. He breathed in the sweet, fresh air as he strolled along the country road, swinging his briefcase cheerily.

It was a quiet, peaceful stretch. Sparrows darted in and out of the hedgerows whilst up above, swifts twisted and turned, diving for flies. Geoffrey felt relaxed. Rich and relaxed. He’d taken care to park his car at a pub thirty minutes’ walk away and was looking forward to rewarding himself with a refreshing, cool pint once he got there. After that he would treat himself to a few glasses of their most expensive Scotch. He could afford it after all.

He could hear a car approaching from behind and moved towards the hedgerow. As the sound grew closer, he became aware that it seemed to be travelling at some speed. He stopped, waiting for it to pass by. Geoffrey’s eyes widened with shock as the blue Citroen came into sight. Not only was the car travelling at speed, but it was also heading right towards him. It had veered away from the centre of the road. As it sped towards the verge he realised he had nowhere to go.

He let out a scream as he braced himself for the impact. His legs were flipped up over the bonnet, sending his face smashing into the windscreen. The car pulled sharply to the right and stopped with a squeal of brakes. He was in agony. He had never felt pain like it. Where his forehead and face had so recently felt clammy with sweat, he could now feel the syrupiness of fresh blood stream down his face.

From the crooked angle at which he lay, Geoffrey could see the vehicle. He watched as the driver climbed out and looked at him. It took every effort for him to raise his hand and signal that he needed help. He couldn’t compute what he was seeing, though, as the driver let out a laugh and climbed back in the driver’s seat. The engine started up and Geoffrey let out an inaudible sound.

Although the blood streaming down his face was blurring his vision, he could just about make out the lights on the vehicle. He heard a crunching of gears as the reversing lights came on. Tears began to stream down his face as he heard the engine revving threateningly. He tried frantically to move. Tried to roll out of the way. But he couldn’t feel his legs and his arms hurt far too much.

His eyes widened with shock as the car reversed at speed back towards him. The engine whined as the rear wheels crushed his skull into the tarmac. Had he not lost consciousness at that point, he would have known that the vehicle then drove forward before reversing back over him a second time. Somebody wanted to make sure he was definitely dead.

Geoffrey’s body was eventually discovered by a passing motorist who initially assumed the rags on the floor were a discarded scarecrow. By then, the Citroen had been abandoned on waste ground, doused in petrol and consumed by flames. Any latent forensic evidence which may have led to identifying the driver, had well and truly gone up in smoke.

31

Spence had arrived for his shift at The Eagle earlier than he needed to. Lisa, who he was taking over from, had been effusive at the opportunity to leave an hour early. If truth be known, Spence was the grateful one. As lovely as his sister and her family were, he hated intruding on them.

‘Has it been busy?’ he asked Lisa.

‘Not too bad. The usual stream of regulars, a heavy-petting couple dressed in office clobber who are clearly having an affair and Sloth, who’s been nursing the same pint of Guinness for nearly two hours.’

‘Sloth?’

‘Yeah, you remember from The Goonies? He’s sat over there by the door.’

Spence glanced discreetly over. He spotted him straight away and understood what Lisa meant; he was an unfortunate-looking man.

‘Blimey, he’s a big bastard,