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the quivering pink blancmanges of her sagging breasts from sternum to pubic mound. It would not be an autopsy as such. After all she was alive, not dead. This would be more of a pre mortem inspection. She wanted to see inside his mind and examine it. He would see inside her body, sink his hands into her hot, slimy guts and pelvic organs, before dissecting her. He would negate her arrogant, condescending attitude. The bitch would be flopping around the bath like a dying cod on a trawler’s deck. He wondered at what point she would manage to escape into unconsciousness, before the spark of whatever life was, fizzled out.
    As he imagined dismembering the raw meat, bagging it up and packing the resulting parcels into the boot of his car for dispersal at several sites, the buzzer snapped his attention back to reality. Jesus! He could still smell the illusory warm, coppery stench of her blood. He could even taste it; a little salty, and of course flavoured by the garlic that the fat cow undoubtedly chewed whole cloves of.
    The buzzer sounded again, like an irate wasp in a bottle. He could have answered the intercom on the wall and pressed the button to disengage the lock on the outer door, but elected to go down to let her in. It seemed more mannerly.
    The Clozapine was kicking in. He felt relaxed, and the hallucinatory episode of butchering the nurse had helped him to internalise his anger. He was now mellow, primed to play her pathetic mind games.
    “And how are we today?” Marion asked, almost pushing past him as he opened the door to greet her with what he felt to be an amiable smile.
    Always the royal we . As if that somehow inferred they were Team Noon. “I’m feeling well, Marion. How are you?” he replied, not caring how she was.
    “I’m fine, Gary. Thank you for asking,” she said, heading for the stairs. He followed, marvelling at how her massive buttocks were somehow contained within the too-tight skirt she wore.
    She entered the flat as though she owned it, and lowered herself into one of the armchairs, testing the creaking frame to its limit.
    “Would you like a cup of tea?” he asked.
    “That would be nice, Gary,” she said, opening a buff document wallet to withdraw his personal notes and care plan details.
    He went into the kitchen, a smile on his face as he filled the kettle and switched it on. She was so transparent. Her eyes had flitted over the front of his shorts, feasting on the bulge at his crotch that was enhanced by the wearing of a cock ring that tightly encompassed his genitals. And no doubt as he turned away, she had also eyeballed his tight buns. Should he incite her to seduce him? Screwing her was something he had deliberated over for months. She would be a worthwhile ally, who he could manipulate even more if she was infatuated with him. He determined to set up his old video camera in the bedroom to record their antics through a gap he would leave between two doors of the wall-length wardrobe. That would put the shoe firmly on the other foot. With the control shifted, he would dictate all future aspects of their relationship.
    “There you go, Marion,” he said, placing the freshly brewed cup of Earl Grey on the glass-topped coffee table in front of her, before sitting down on the settee with his legs open to allow her to make what she would of the provocative pose. He was surprised to feel aroused to the point of discomfort beneath the stretched denim.
     
     
     
     

CHAPTER FOUR

 
    THERE were eight beds in the main area of the ICU, all in sight of the nurses from the semicircular station at the rear of the unit. Matt was one of the patients, attached to a cardiac monitor, intravenous drips that provided him with antibiotics and glucose, and a bifurcated oxygen tube clipped to his septum. He was unconscious. His skin was slate grey, eyes sunken and underlined by puce, crescent smudges. He looked dead.
    The young male nurse brought a plastic contour chair for Linda. Tom accompanied