This is the third part of a fiction serial, in 1425 words.

Tabitha Khan and Mrs Wilkinson

Jenny slept late the next morning, leaving only twenty minutes to get packed and out before checkout time. No matter, as the long drive to where Tabitha lived would allow time for breakfast at the motorway service station. As she ate the all-day breakfast, surprised at her hunger, Jenny thought about her destination. A plush commuter suburb, known for its expensive property, and exclusive districts. It wasn’t going to be so easy this time. Tabitha had two kids, both at expensive schools nearby. She didn’t work, but had many interests. It was going to be hard to work out where it was best to do the deed.

As the prettiest girl on the netball team, Tabs exuded the confidence of someone who was always being told she was beautiful. The perfect combination of a handsome and rich Pakistani father, and a former glamour model English mother, she could easily have become a film star. But her temperament let her down. Bitchy, catty, and downright nasty, the only reason she was allowed into the top group was because her beauty attracted every hot boy in the town.

She despised anyone she thought was ugly, and barely tolerated any of the other girls in her set, including the late Phillipa.

Jenny had been a natural target for her spite. Frizzy hair, and a snub nose, that was all that was needed for Tabs to let herself give full rein. She called Jenny ‘The Pug’, ‘The Toy Dog’, and ‘The Hairy Bitch-Dog’. It seemed like every Monday, there was a new hateful name. The others always roared with laughter, terrified that Tabs would desert them, and start up her own set with the pretty girls. Jenny knew better. Tabs was a big fish in a small pond. If she started trying to hang around with the beauty queens, she would be average at best. With the netball gang, her foreign heritage was never mentioned, and nobody ever talked about her race or religion being different.

She was now called Tabitha Holloway, married to the leading estate agent in the region, a man who owned five successful branches around the area. Older than her, but not too old. And she had the kids quite late, apparently. At least going by their ages of six and eight, she hadn’t had the first one until she was thirty-five. An older mum, they called them. Career and marriage before children. Get the big house and money first, then have the sprogs.

The nearby accommodation was a run-down guest house that had seen better days. Days before the motorway had by-passed the sleepy town and adjacent villages, giving few people any reason to want to stay over. It seemed that she was the only guest, which was good. But the owner, Mrs Wilkinson, was a rather nosy woman who asked lots of questions, which was a shame. There was every chance that she would remember her, and even her nondescript car. She was that sort of woman. Jenny had to think seriously about the possibility of adding her to the list. A random kill wouldn’t hurt. Might throw them off the scent. The idea grew in her mind, and she smiled as she thought of what to do.

The afternoon was spent planning how to get to Tabs, without her noticing. She didn’t bother to go out to eat, settling for two sandwiches and a soft drink, bought at the motorway service station after breakfast. Deciding on her Plan A, she had a bath, and got an early night.

The next morning, after eating an average breakfast served by the snooty owner, Jenny drove a few miles to an industrial estate on the outskirts of the nearest town. In a large warehouse selling anything to do with home improvements, she bought two one-litre bottles of a well-known drain cleaner. Research had told her that it contained sulphuric acid, potentially lethal if ingested, and liable to cause terrible burns and scarring if applied to the skin. Adding some industrial safety gloves, two rolls of strong duct tape, some large scissors, and a small hammer, she took her basket to the checkout. The operator hardly looked at her as she bagged the goods, and took the cash payment without a word. There was CCTV in the shop of course, and in the car park. But she had parked out on the street, and was wearing cheap reading glasses over her contact lenses and a long blonde wig, bought well in advance.

It wouldn’t be a great idea to park so close to Tabitha’s house, but she had little choice. This was an area where any unusual activity in the village was likely to be noticed by everyone, so the privacy of the house was the only option. Jenny knew she drove a red Range Rover, so she would have to stay somewhere she could see it when Tabs returned home. With all her purchases stored in a small sports bag, she secreted her car in the lane next to the small mansion, where she could easily watch the entrance. Hopefully, she would not have either of the children with her, or Plan B would have to be used instead.

Just after two, the big red car arrived. It was too early for the school run, and Jenny was glad to see that the kids were not in the car. She got out quickly, grabbing the sports bag and unzipping it as she walked around the corner onto the gravel driveway. Tabs was standing behind the car, leaning into the back to get something from inside. Elegantly dressed in a designer raincoat, tightly belted around her slim frame. The noise of Jenny’s shoes crunching on the gravel made her turn to see who was coming. But she turned a fraction too late to make any difference. There wasn’t the slightest hint of recognition on her face as she spotted Jenny, just the start of a bemused smile at the sight of someone wearing enormous industrial gloves in that situation.

It was the last time the corners of her mouth would ever turn up in the formation of a sneer.

Squeezing the bottle as hard as she could with her small hands, Jenny drenched Tabitha’s head and face with sprays of the corrosive fluid. Tabs screamed at first, then made bubbling sounds. Smoke of some kind seemed to be coming off her skin, and there was a fizzing sound, like you hear when you drop some Alka-Seltzer into a glass of water. She fell onto her back, and Jenny stood over her, emptying the contents of the container over Tabitha’s rapidly disappearing face.

So much for beauty.

Taking the second litre out of the bag, Jenny forced the spout through what was left of Tabitha’s lips, and squeezed hard. Squirming on the ground, the now unrecognisable woman could only stare through bulging eyes as the fluid destroyed her airways, and entered her stomach too. Before it was too late, Jenny leaned forward, meeting the terrified gaze. She wanted her to know, before she died. “Call me a pug now. Go on, try”. Tabs didn’t seem to register the twenty-five year old insult, which was disappointing.

She waited until Tabs was no longer moving before putting the empty containers back into the bag. With no intention of trying to disguise this as anything but a vicious attack, she turned around and walked back to the car. As she started the drive back to the guest house, she started to feel a little queasy. Not taking the medication was already beginning to show.

When she walked through the door of the guest house, Mrs Wilkinson looked up, surprised. “Oh, did you want another night?” She opened a leather bound journal on the small counter, pretending to check if she had a room available.

Jenny hit her once with the hammer, and her face rebounded off the woodwork as she slipped under the counter with a low groan.

Working fast, it was easy to secure the stout woman with the heavy duty tape. She made sure to wrap it around her mouth and nose in a haphazard fashion, which would leave her unable to breathe. Then she took the old-fashioned cash box from under the counter, and the journal with all the bookings written in it, including hers.

Placing them both in the sports bag with the hammer and tape, Jenny sat on the stairs for a while. Besides waiting for Mrs Wilkinson to stop breathing, she needed a rest.

Murder could actually be quite tiring.

This is the second part of a fiction serial, in 1377 words.

Phillipa Kennedy

Jenny drove the nondescript car into a space at the side of the Premier Inn. Small, and definitely non-trendy, it was only three years old, and had very low mileage. It should last the course, and do what she needed it for. The overweight young man at the desk gave her a form to fill out, and she lied on every line. He didn’t care, as she was paying cash up front. He slid the room key across the counter with not even a glance. Perfect. There would be CCTV in the foyer of course, but by the time anyone bothered to check that, it wouldn’t matter.

Phillipa had been chosen as number one for the simple reason that she lived the closest to home. Jenny had decided to work in an outward semicircle, and hers was the nearest address she had found. She wasn’t called Kennedy anymore, but that was how she would always be remembered. Tall, awkward, red hair. The sort of girl who might usually have been picked on, had she not had influential friends. The netball team was a big deal at the school, and the girls picked for it were legends in their own classrooms. The tallest girl was known as Phil, and nobody ever crossed her.

Despite the change of surname to Watson, Phil was no longer married, according to her profile. Twenty five years had not been kind to her, and the photos Jenny had seen suggested some surgical interference in her appearance. Strangely pert boobs, and swollen lips that had consumed too much Botox. The addition of extreme dieting had left her resembling a baby giraffe, with her stick-thin legs, long neck, and protruding knees. She was a forty-three year old woman trying to look twenty-five, and failing miserably.
She didn’t have any children either, which was a huge bonus.

After much study, Jenny had concluded that the gym would be the perfect spot. It seemed that Phil was there every night after work, and at weekends too. It was easy to find, as the website provided the postcode, and also had lots of nice photos. Using Google Maps Streetview, she had even been able to tour around the building, choosing some good spots. On the way to her cheap hotel she had passed it, noticing that there were lots of visible CCTV cameras covering the car park. That might mean a change of venue, perhaps follow Phil home. Time would tell.

Phil was on the list for a very good reason. Most of the girls who had bullied and teased Jenny until she was suicidal were just following the lead of a few in their group. Philipa Kennedy was one of the few, and one of the cruelest. Perhaps because she feared them turning on her for being too tall, too skinny, and having ginger hair, she made sure they kept their attention on Jenny as much as possible. Everything from wearing glasses, to starting her periods late, and having what they decided were arms that were ‘too hairy’. She coined the name ‘The Four-Eyed Chimp’ that became widely used throughout the school. Then when she didn’t get her period, she started the rumour that Jenny was really a boy.

She definitely had it coming.

After drinking some mineral water and eating a few dry crackers, Jenny dressed in what she jokingly referred to as her ‘action outfit’. A one-piece workman’s overall, black wool cap, and heavy boots. With her hair up under the cap, and no make-up on, she could pass for a man at a quick glance. Ironic really, as Phil had never stopped alleging she was really a male. No point getting to the gym too early, as according to her numerous statuses on Facebook, Phil rarely left there before eight. Jenny already knew what car to look out for, as that was on many of the photos posted on Instagram. A pink Fiat 500, with stupid stick-on eyelashes over the headlights. She had tutted upon seeing those photos, shaking her head. “Come on Phil, you’re forty-three for Christ’s sake”.

It was easy to find that silly car in the car park, and Jenny parked in sight of it, but not too close. On her passenger seat rested a huge Monkey Wrench, tightly wrapped in a plastic carrier bag. The giant adjustable spanner was bought second-hand from a street market, and paid for in cash. The bloke on the stall had made a joke when she bought it, something about her plumbing in a new toilet. She hadn’t said a word, and looked down as she handed over the money. It seemed appropriate that Phil should meet her end at the hand of that four-eyed monkey, wielding a monkey wrench.

She came out at just after eight-thirty, later than expected. The grey and pink leotard and leggings matched of course, and the red hair was tied back tightly in a pony tail. The gym bag was pink too, what the hell was she thinking? Oh no! The trainers were grey and pink too. Too much, Phil! Jenny followed her out of the car park. When she indicated left, it was a fair guess that she was heading for home, and not for some bar in the town centre. Maybe her age was beginning to tell. All day at work, followed by two hours at the gym. Phil must be feeling it, she was sure.

Sure enough, the rest of the journey was nicely predictable. Homeward-bound, to the small two-bed terrace that she had rented since her divorce. Jenny waited until the silly little car swept up onto the space outside the house, then parked in a nearby side street. Two minutes later, and she was at the front door, ringing the ‘ding-dong’ bell. Phil opened the door with a smile. Perhaps she was expecting someone?

She wasn’t expecting a huge wrench to smack her between the eyes, that was for sure.

Jenny had surprised herself by how hard she had managed to strike the hated woman. No hesitation, a full swing, with her wrist jarring at the force of the contact. Phil went down like a puppet with her strings cut, and Jenny walked in quickly, closing the door behind her. Despite the stupid woman being unresponsive, Jenny knew instinctively that it wasn’t enough. Raising her arm as far as it would reach, she brought down the heavy spanner again and again, until she was too weary for more blows.

Phil’s head was like a squashed melon. She wasn’t coming back from that. Time to make it look like a burglary gone wrong. Motive.

Jenny ransacked the house, overturning drawers, and spilling out the contents of cupboards. She took Phil’s handbag, with all the cash and cards in her purse. Under her arms, she stashed a laptop, DVD player, and an Alexa speaker. In the kitchen, she found a black plastic bin bag, and dropped everything inside. Up in the bedroom, she emptied the jewellery box into that, even though most of the stuff was costume crap. As an afterthought, she went back and pulled the rings off Phil’s fingers, and the gold necklace from around her neck.

No need for gloves, or worrying about prints. She had never been in trouble, so had never had them taken.

It was rather hollow, when all was said and done. She hadn’t had a chance to say who she was. That would have been the icing on the cake.

Back in her car, she put the overalls, hat, and boots into a big holdall. Then she added everything she had stolen from Phil, and the house, as well as the spanner, still inside the bloodied carrier bag. She didn’t want anything to do with any of it, it was all about motive. She was left wearing a sweatshirt and jeans, with some flip-flops already left in the car.

There was no chance she was going to use the restaurant attached to the hotel. So in the town centre, she bought fish and chips for cash, eating them in her car outside. Back in her room later, she lay in the bath, feeling a little deflated. Perhaps it had been too easy?

Anyway. One down.

This is the first part of a fiction serial, in 767 words.

The letter was unambiguous. The consultant wanted to see her urgently, to discuss the results of the last mammogram. Jenny had no doubt that the news would be bad. After all, she could feel the lumps easily, and one of them was becoming noticeable on her left breast. She had long thought about the outcome. Surgery, radiotherapy, chemotherapy.
Months recovering, numerous stays in hospital, visits to clinics.

And the pain of course. No getting away from that.

So Jenny made a decision, and put the letter away in a drawer.

Facebook would be good. She would find them on there. All the hateful bullies and bitches who had made her life a misery. She had enough time, and now their time had come.

It was much easier than she had ever expected. They put everything out there, even using their maiden names, and old school photographs. Not that Jenny would ever have appeared in any they had taken. Photos of their houses, and the streets where they lived. Groups of friends, their kids’ schools, and where they worked. If they had to work of course. A lot of them had married well, evidenced by photos of them sitting in smart convertibles, or by their swimming pools in obscenely large houses. Not all though. A few looked like they had drawn the short straw. Numerous divorces, struggling to get by. Even asking for handouts online.

No time to feel sorry for any of them though. The cuts had been too deep for sympathy.

Later that evening, she checked off her list. She had been looking for nine, and had found seven. The other two didn’t seem to be on Facebook, and would require more investigation. She phoned her boss at home, and told her the bad news. She would be off sick for the foreseeable future, and a medical certificate would arrive eventually. Meanwhile, she would use all her accrued holiday time. Pat had been sympathetic, but couldn’t disguise the coldness in her tone. Jenny knew that she would be thinking about getting cover for the Stoneman project, and that wouldn’t be easy.

Tough luck, Pat. Swivel on this, for all I care.

Online banking meant she could transfer all her savings into the current account. She would need cash to buy a car. One that she wouldn’t bother to register in her name. Then there would be the travelling money. Cheap hotels that took cash, and no need for credit cards. After that, Jenny threw away all the drugs she had been taking. They only made her feel sick anyway, and she was no longer going to prolong the inevitable.

A bath was more soothing than a shower, and she sat back into the fragrant hot water, thinking about her plans. She thought of the old fable of The Tortoise and The Hare.

Slow and steady wins the race.

Careful planning. Lots of preparation, and no stupid mistakes. Fortunately, she was bright enough for all that, and her mind was still sharp.

Sleep came easy that night. Something about making such a huge decision was actually comforting, and the worries of those last months seemed to all be behind her now. Not that there weren’t a few doubts swirling around in her mind as she drifted off. She wasn’t that young anymore, and her fitness level was poor. That would have to be factored in. But thanks to the wonders of the Internet, most things could be accomplished.

The next morning she put her hair up, slipped on a sweatshirt and jogging pants, then got busy. Maps to explore, directions to write down. Landmarks in new towns and villages she had never visited, nearby hotels and guest houses where nobody would take any notice of a woman alone. She smiled as she thought of all those books she had read during her life, the key to solving any crime.
Method, Motive, and Opportunity.

Well she certainly had a motive, but would it be that obvious to an outsider? A police detective trying to solve random cases might hit on such a motive as revenge, that was obvious. But how far back would they go? The opportunity would have to be created given any appropriate circumstances, and the method would be dictated by those.

Being caught was not a problem, not when you had nothing to lose. But being caught before she completed her task was the worry. It had to be all of them, or none of them.

Jenny didn’t feel up to eating any lunch.

Instead, she had a chocolate milkshake, and then went for an afternoon nap.