Page 12 of Gone in the Night (Detective Morgan Brookes #16)

TWELVE

The silence was golden, as the saying went.

He was enjoying the alone time before it was broken.

He let out a huge yawn. He’d stayed up far too late last night and had walked for miles, but oh how it had been worth it.

Too wary to use a torch, he’d had to walk the paths that led to the campsite relying on the little light from the crescent moon.

It had been a relief the sky wasn’t cloudy; he’d even managed to catch a glimpse of the aurora borealis when an alert had flashed up on his phone.

He’d taken out his phone, put it onto night mode and spent five minutes staring at the muted colours of purple, pink and green through the camera on the screen.

He had been tempted to snap a couple of pictures, but he knew that was stupid.

If the police ever caught him, the first thing they would do is take his phone and send it off to get everything scrutinised.

If there were photos of the aura in this location, with a date and time stamp on them, he would be screwed.

It would literally be game over without even a confession, because he had no legitimate reason to be out here except…

he could state he was chasing the aurora; it could also work in his defence, he realised.

It was quite something standing on the little uneven path, alone, at midnight watching the night sky putting on a show of utter beauty.

He wondered how many people got to die under the beauty of the Northern Lights; it was a pity he’d never be able to talk about it.

It was even sadder that the woman would never know.

When he’d finally reached the campsite she was staying at, and she had taken her last breath, he’d wondered: would her soul see them when it left her body?

He smiled to himself, so many questions that he’d never be able to answer, and unless he could find an authentic psychic medium to ask her, it was impossible.

He’d reached the campsite an hour later than he’d liked.

It had been further than he’d anticipated, but thankfully there were only two cars parked up.

One with a tent was parked some way down the fell, a good distance from the car with the roof tent he was after.

He was going to need to be quick, not to mention silent.

The element of surprise was going to be difficult with this one because if her dog started to bark it would wake everyone up.

Taking the plastic sandwich bag of sausages out of his pocket, he unzipped it, wafting it outside of the roof tent.

He heard the dog stirring, snuffling about, and carefully standing on the bottom rung of the ladder, he reached up and unzipped the tent enough to let the dog out.

A wet nose poked out through the gap as he wafted a sausage in front of it.

He was holding his breath, more than a little nervous.

He was aware that this could all go horribly wrong at any moment.

If the dog began to bark, he’d have to leg it out of there.

He held the sausage out, and the dog took a bite.

Then it pushed itself out of the gap in the zip, and he swiftly grabbed it with both hands, dropping the sausages.

He put the dog down and it completely ignored him as it began to eat the chopped-up sausage and dog treats he’d thrown on the ground.

The dog taken care of, he’d withdrawn the knife in his belt and slid it from the sheath.

From inside the tent, he heard the woman murmur and some movement as she turned over.

He didn’t hesitate. He unzipped the opening more fully and leaned in and drew the knife across her throat.

It was dark inside of the tent, and he couldn’t see what was going on, but he felt the warm blood as it sprayed over his gloved hands and heard a wet gurgling sound that came from her mouth.

Her eyes had flown wide open, but the cut was a good one; he had cut deep and had severed the jugular.

She was bleeding out and didn’t even know what had happened to her.

The dog was sniffing around on the ground completely oblivious.

A full body shiver of delight ran through his veins, and he smiled to himself.

He was clever enough to know that if he went on to do more killing, he might not be so lucky and could lose the anonymity he currently had. He also thought that by mixing up the MOs in the next one it could cause the police to go into a serious meltdown of confusion.

Pushing the knife back into the sheath, he tucked it back into his belt.

His gloves were bloody, but he tugged the zip back up before he ripped them off and stuffed those into his pocket.

Looking around, he watched the tent at the far side of the site; but there was no sound or movement.

Finally, he looked down at the dog that was staring up at him with huge eyes, waiting for more treats.

He shrugged, bent down to rub behind its ears and whispered, ‘Sorry, bud, got nothing left.’ Then straightened up and hurried back the way he’d come, leaving the dog staring after him.

It realised it was free and began sniffing around the wheels of the car, not in the least bit bothered that its owner had just bled to death in the zipped-up tent above him and now it couldn’t get back up there. It carried on doing what dogs do and began to mooch around in the dark.

As he scurried back down the path, he hoped the dog wouldn’t follow him.

The last thing he needed was a dead woman’s pet dog.

He could say he found it wandering around on the fell, but that would be an added complication he didn’t need and cause so many questions.

He didn’t know how to look after a dog; it was better that it stayed where it was.

Someone would take it in, but as he hurried away, he felt a sensation of guilt about the animal that he’d never encountered before.

It was alien to him – he hadn’t felt guilty about his parents’ deaths, and he certainly felt no remorse for the woman he’d just killed inside the tent.

So, why was he feeling bad for a scruffy looking dog?

He almost got halfway down the path before he heard it scrabbling along behind him.

He swore then turned around, wishing he’d not given it the sausages.

It was probably not used to such a rich treat and now it was never going to leave him alone.

He stood still, hoping it would neither sense nor smell him, but he was wrong on so many levels as it came padding towards him, tail wagging as if he was its new best friend.

‘Go, get away from here. Go back to your owner.’ He waved his hands in its direction, and it just wagged its tail faster then sat down on the path.

‘Oh, for fuck’s sake, dog. I just killed your favourite person, bite me or chase me but do not think I’m taking you home, you stupid mutt.’

The dog stared at him with its big brown eyes. Christ, he shook his head, ignored it and carried on walking.

He didn’t turn around, but he could hear it trotting along behind him, and he didn’t know what the hell he was going to do about it.