Letting out the Worms: Guilty or not? If not then the alternative is terrifying (Kitty Thomas Book 1 by Sue Nicholls (primary phonics .txt) 📕

for their date. In his bag he carried champagne and two portions of pigeon casserole, provided by an obliging ‘outside-caterer-with-benefits.’

His seduction was magnificent. He played it cool, teased her, refused her advances until she was panting for him. It was like commanding a willing puppy.

Once they were both satisfied, it was late – or early. Max drove Millie back, dropping her outside the silent Feast and waiting with artificial thoughtfulness until she nosed her car from its spot behind the gloomy building.

62 MAX 1995

On such a beautiful autumn day, what could be better than to visit an art show at Oxford Castle? Max decided to take his bike, to road test it after adjusting his seating position. But so far, the experience had been less than relaxing. On the ring road, cars and lorries thundered past and cut him up at traffic lights, and the smell of diesel got into his nose and throat. Feeling increasingly grumpy, he took to a side road to avoid further hassle. Here, cars were parked nose to tail on both sides, and he congratulated himself that at least on his bike, he could park where he wished. Some way up the road ahead, a dark green car, a people carrier, swerved onto his lane and into a parking space. He muttered under his breath to the anonymous driver, ‘A few minutes later and you would have hit me.’

Pushing on, he came alongside the front of this same car. The woman inside was shuffling across the car for some reason, and without looking, she threw open the passenger door into his face. Without much hope, but acting on instinct, Max clenched both brakes on and swung his bike sideways in a futile attempt to avoid the heavy metal door. With a scrape and clatter, he and the bike crumpled onto the road in a twisted mess.

He lay on the tarmac, shaken, and the woman’s face appeared at the window, her nose pressed to the glass and a look of fear and horror on her face.

By now he knew that he could not move. His legs were tangled in the bike frame and the weight of his body, prevented him from releasing them.

The woman opened the door a crack and he realised he knew her; well he knew her face. This was Twitch, the wicked woman who had ruined Maurice’s life. How ironic that she should be punishing him rather than the other way around.

By the time she had escaped from her car and helped him to his feet, he had made a quick plan and managed to tell her that he was a social worker with little money and that this expensive bike represented a major investment.

She was mortified and without hesitation, offered to reimburse him for the cost of the bike’s repair or replacement.

This ruination of his bike gave Max the opportunity to contact Twitch again and by this time, he had worked out exactly who his character would be. Instinct told him that she would seek a man with sensitivity. He already knew she was artistic, and of course, she had been raped by Paul. She would need to be played with delicacy.

In a different life, Max might well have sought out a girl like Twitch. Not the depressed person she had become, but the creative, slender, and beautiful woman she must have been when she first met Maurice. Her artistry gave them something in common. Although he had never pursued a creative career, Max’s ability with a paintbrush had been commented upon by his teachers at school. Of course, his mother had poo pooed his talent. Her son would not be permitted to attract the attention that was her life blood. So Max was reduced to hiding his drawings and paintings behind a chest of drawers in his bedroom.

When Paul mentioned in one of their sessions that Twitch had begun taking an art class somewhere, Max travelled to every college, hall, and school to find her. He was about to lose hope, when he found her in a secondary school, miles from his home, and joined the class. She was astonished to see him but seemed to accept his explanation that he liked to cycle after work, to clear his head, and had come upon the class by accident.

He took care not to be remembered by the plummy woman in charge, or his fellow students, keeping his voice low and avoiding conversation. He and Twitch began a friendship, which although awkward to begin with, grew over time into intimacy.

When he seduced her, on the bank of Little Callun Lake, her abandonment to the pleasure of their coupling, surprised and delighted him.

63 PAUL

Paul’s solicitor turned out to be not a ‘he’ but a ‘she. Miss Christabel Lynch of Brocket Neville, Solicitors sat beside Paul, facing DI Poulton and DS Mann.

Poulton was all business. ‘So, Mr Thomas, perhaps now you can explain how this witness, Mr Jerome Casson, managed to recognise you from your photograph in the paper and identified you as Mrs Owen’s killer.’

‘No idea, Inspector. Mistaken identity?’ He tried to put sincerity into his voice but still, he sounded as if he was lying. Beside him, Christabel gave his arm a warning squeeze. In her forties she wore black rimmed reading glasses that she popped on and off her nose as she studied first the officers, then her notes.

Poulton sat back and threw his pen onto the table. ‘It would be difficult to mistake you for Mr Owen, I think. Your builds are quite different and your hair at that time was sandy, I believe, and cropped short. Mr Owen on the other hand was taller, 6ft, with brown hair cut on the long side.

Paul ran a hand over his silvering head. ‘No comment.’

The female officer, Jennifer Mann, leaned towards him over her crossed arms. ‘Come on, Paul. It