Requiem Mass Read Online Free PDF Page B

gaze.
    Deborah felt a sudden shudder of fear as she realised she knew nothing about this strange, compelling man bending over her with such sense of purpose. She tried to remove her hand from his. In that instant, his grip tightened. His left hand came over and he smoothly inserted the needle into the soft vein on the back of her hand. She had time to murmur a soft ‘No’, before the fast-acting tranquilliser hit her nervous system and plunged her into semi-consciousness.
    He had given her the maximum dose he could based on her height and weight, so obligingly provided in her application. The whole episode had lasted less than a minute. He gently redistributed her unconscious body, reclined the seat and refastened her seat belt. From the back seat, he took a small cushion and placed it behind her neck, supporting her head and preventing it from lolling to the side. His peaked cap and chauffeur’s jacket went into the holdall in the boot of the car.
    As he drove back out of the mews, they looked a perfect couple; she tired and solicitously cushioned for the journey, he smart in a white shirt and dark tie, perfectly in control of the steady, stately BMW. He had originally contemplated carrying her in the boot but had dismissed the idea. With the random road blocks in London and police stop and search powers, there was always the risk, however remote, that he could be pulled up by a routine patrol. A sleeping wife whilst he responded to questioning would not be unusual; an unconscious woman in the boot of the car would be hard to explain.
    He calculated that he had six to eight hours before she started to come round, ample time to reach their destination. Driving quickly and confidently on the speed limit, he continued along Kensington High Street, out past Olympia and on to Hammersmith. He took the M4 west and within two hours was well past Reading. Deborah was still unconscious when he left the motorway and Severn Bridge behind and was making his way down a rutted track in the Black Hills beyond Monmouth. After a few more miles, a small holiday cottage came into view.
    During the ride west, the sky had clouded over and darkened to a storm grey in front of them. The first heavy drops of what promised to be a sustained downpour fell on his bare head as he unlocked the cottage front door.
    Returning to the car he replaced his leather driving gloves with thin, skin-tight latex ones and then put a similar pair on to Deborah’s hands. He lifted his passenger out gently and carried her into a small downstairs bedroom at the back of the cottage, laid her on the bed, and returned to collect the remainder of his supplies before concealing the BMW in a nearby barn.
    Within an hour, he had completed all the necessary arrangements with an economy of effort natural after years of training. The bed had been stripped and large, thick plastic sheets spread on top and underneath it. Deborah’s inert body had been stripped naked except for a shower cap on her head and the rubber gloves on her hands. Her wrists and ankles were secured to the heavy iron bedframe with nylon ropes. The curtains were drawn and what little light there was came from a 40-watt bulb inside an incongruous frilly pink shade hanging from the centre of the low ceiling.
    On a solid, crudely crafted chest of drawers, he had laid out commercial paper towels, a fresh pair of gloves, an apron, a gag in case it was needed and a large jug of cold water. There was no heat in the room and the rising storm wind whistled through cracks in the wooden window frame. On the bedside table, where her waking eyes would see them, he finally placed his instruments – scalpels, a filleting knife, a thin piece of cheese wire with wooden handles, pliers.
    When all was ready he settled down to a strong mug of fresh coffee in the pretty country kitchen and prepared a light meal from his stock of provisions. About now, she should start to come round. She was completely secured, the door was