Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR

Somewhere in the Dark

The blood would never come out of the clothes. Too bad. It had been a favorite pair of slacks.

The driver turned the windshield wipers on high and drove through the darkened streets, every thought, every memory, hidden by the curtain of rain. It was peaceful, soothing. Just as tightening the garrote around his neck had been, feeling the body jerk in reaction, feeling a surge of power akin to an electrical current.

The garrote had been only the beginning of a cat and mouse game that used every tool in the workshop to its fullest advantage. The victim fought. Oh, how he fought. But hornet spray in his eyes, the knife slashes across his arms, and the screwdriver wedged into his left thigh made it impossible for him to land a solid blow or pin his assailant down.

The hooded raincoat, plastic rain pants, and rain boots had provided protection from much of the blood. But the amount on the floor and walls had been more satisfying than sitting down to a banquet table and eating every single item on it.

Who knew killing could be such a natural high?

The urge to share the jubilation was so great it almost burst through the driver’s skin, almost spilled over and turned the expressionless face into a maniacal grin.

It had been a slick job. A secluded house. An unsuspecting man. A perfect alibi.

Nobody would ever find the killer or the victim. Ever.