Never Tell (May Moore Suspense Thriller 2)

CHAPTER NINETEEN

The killer knew who the next target was. A man who deserved to die just as much as the others. A terrible man, whose day of reckoning had finally come. He was the hotel’s personnel manager. He carried a burden of guilt. He was a criminal and a thief.

There he was. After a patient couple of days of waiting and stalking, this man was finally where he needed to be.

He’d been doing the staffing register at the hotel’s liquor warehouse, where the casual workers had just been paid.

He was alone now. A thickset man with spiky hair that stood off his scalp like he’d been electrocuted. Narrow, unpleasant eyes. Big hands.

A strong man, but the killer hoped he was not a fast man, or a suspicious person. At any rate, he was not expecting anyone to be following him. He was expecting to go about his business alone, as he always did.

Except he wasn’t. Not this afternoon.

The killer watched him with pleasure and anticipation, knowing that soon this man would be dead.

But not yet. The killer had a special plan for this man.

Now he was pacing the aisle of the warehouse. The killer knew this warehouse was used as a central point by a few of the company’s hotels. Although a busy place, it was seldom guarded, and once you were through the main door, there was no shortage of cover.

The killer followed the manager, staying in the shadows at first. Getting a feel for the space and the man.

It was a noisy, poorly lit, clanging area. The bulky piles of boxes provided cover and hiding places. Shelves lined the walls and bisected the space between.

The draft beer was transported in large barrels. Barrels that were large enough to hold a man’s head under while he drowned.

The killer was waiting patiently for him to go where he needed to be, into the small temporary office which he used to write up his records. The casual workers were paid in cash and the killer was sure that he skimmed some off, so that they lost and he won. That was the way he worked.

It would be the perfect time to make sure this miserable life was snuffed out.

The killer watched the manager pace between the stacks of boxes. A big, swaggering man, who thought he was hiding his sins.

The killer smiled. The manager had a lot to learn. He was convincing no one.

But the killer knew. And the killer would make him pay.

This man didn’t deserve to live after what he had done. He was the personification of the rottenness that lurked beneath the shiny, polished exterior of this hotel. That wasn’t only because he skimmed money from poor people who needed their wages.

Recently, the killer knew, the manager had gotten into a fight over a woman.

The man he’d fought with was already dead. Danny had died in the lake. Now it was the manager’s turn. The fight had been over a woman, that was true, but the full truth ran much deeper, an ugly seam that was hidden under the hotel’s shiny veneer. The truth was that they were both enablers. Both users.

It was the killer’s job to expose this seam. To punish the people involved. And to leave the message that was also the ultimate humiliation. The five-dollar bill stuffed into their throats.

Take that! Take that and let people remember forever what you did!

The killer followed him for a while, enjoying the way the manager took the time to glance around arrogantly, like he was someone to be feared.

Well, he was, the killer thought with a smile. But not for the reasons he thought.

The killer looked around. The warehouse was empty now. There was no movement in the distance. No sound. It was always a busier place in the morning. By late afternoon it was quiet, the orders fulfilled, the boxes moved to their destinations where the evening trade would begin. The workers paid and gone.

But now, it was necessary to be patient just a little longer.

The killer had thought that a wine bottle would be the best weapon to use, but a gleam of metal showed the way to an even better one.

In this busy warehouse, with its shelves and equipment and machinery, someone had left a metal wrench on the bottom shelf, near an open box of whiskey bottles. That would work perfectly. And it would not shatter.

Now the only thing that was needed was for the manager to go where he needed to be, where he would be sitting down with his back turned, perfectly positioned for the first stage of the kill.

The beer barrels were just outside the office and the killer felt confident that this semi-conscious man could easily be dragged to the heavy, waist-high vats once the deed was done. It would be a great pleasure to put him in the barrel.

It would be like drowning a rat.

The killer watched.

The manager had stopped pacing. He was looking around, as if expecting to see someone.

Quickly, the killer ducked out of sight. What was going on? The man was looking furtive now, his earlier confidence gone. The killer saw the manager’s face. It was creased in concentration, his brow furrowed as he touched the pockets of his jacket. Whatever he was looking for, he wasn’t finding.

And then the manager reached into his pants pocket and shook out a joint. The killer watched as he lit it and inhaled deeply.

The manager was high and that was good. It would make things easier. What a loser, taking drugs on the job. Just another indication of who he really was, as soon as everyone’s back was turned.

The killer smiled, preparing to go into action.

It would be a simple job once the first part was done. Then the second stage could begin.