Kim & The Hitman, Sandie Baldry [red novels txt] 📗

‘You need to put the weapon down, dear,’ she said, going to move towards Vincent. I thought she wanted to help him, seeing the blood oozing from the wound.

‘Stay where you are. This is the hitman who tried to kill me.’

‘Assassin,’ Vincent corrected.

‘He was going to kill dad, then me,’ I said, shooting her a look. ‘And probably you.’

Vincent nodded in agreement as Mrs Brown looked at him.

‘Call the police,’ I said, not taking my eyes off the man on the floor. My hands shaking, my fingers wrapping tightly around the weapon.

‘I didn’t bring my phone,’ she said, staring at the hitman.

Reaching into my bag, I pulled mine out and tossed it over to her.

‘I’ll be out in no time,’ he grinned. ‘And you know I won’t forget you. You may even have a family by then, little kiddies.’

I knew what he was telling me. Lifting my arms and straightening them, I aimed. He was grinning at me and winked. I squeezed the trigger, not sure if it was on purpose. It wasn’t as if I had to squeeze it very hard. The bullet hit the cabinet next to his head, splinters flying out in all directions. Vincent yelled a few expletives. Mrs Brown fainted again, and my hand jerked with the exit of the bullet. Vincent was staring at me, his head moving out of the way of the dangerous end of the weapon. It went off again, hitting and smashing the glasses on the worktop, the glass flying everywhere. Vincent tried to drag himself off the floor. One hand on the worktop, his good leg struggling to get himself up. It was like my hand was out of my control. The gun waved around, going off again, and I swear I didn’t do it on purpose. This time getting him between the eyes. His head snapped back. Blood splatter spraying over me, the table, and Mrs Brown, showing signs of coming round before her eyes rolled, and she was out of it again.

For a long while, I stood there, staring at the man dead on the kitchen floor.

‘Try coming back from that,’ I murmured. Now I could sleep at night. I dropped the gun to the table and fell on the chair.

 10

I sat at the kitchen table in a trance, staring at the body, a puddle of blood forming around him. Mrs Brown had gone to make the call from the hall. Guessing she didn’t want to be in the same room as the dead man whose frozen eyes stared at me. Before leaving, she placed an arm around my shoulders.

‘Come with me, Kimberly,’ she whispered in my ear. ‘You don’t want to be looking at him. He’s gone and can’t hurt you anymore.’

I shrugged her off, resisting her pull. I wasn’t going anywhere. She hovered at the door as if loathed to leave me. But she did—someone needed to call the police. Just then, I was incapable, my fingers moving over the gun. I had killed a man, taken a life, and was processing the information. Should I have been sorry? I wasn’t. I was glad he was dead. Did that make me a bad person? Was I no better than him? Why didn’t I feel anything?

Within a few minutes, police sirens cut through the air—then vehicles squealed to a stop outside the house, followed by shouting. I found myself surrounded by armed police—a red dot piercing the kitchen window onto my chest. Which was funny since I tried to brush it off, confused before I realised they were marker dots. Then DI Handsome in a protected vest called me through the kitchen door to throw the gun, still on the table, away from me. I did as instructed. Then coming through the door, he took my hand, bending beside me, his eyes flickering over to Vincent. He held up a hand to the other officers.

‘All clear,’ he shouted.

Gently, he pulled me to my feet, walking me through the hall and out the door where police cars parked. Mrs Brown’s eyes followed me from her side of the low garden wall.

‘Everything will be alright, I promise,’ she said. That was what my mother would say when I scraped my knee. Her soft words would soothe me, ‘The pain will soon go away.’

I waited with two uniformed officers in the car while the house filled with forensic people in their white overalls. Mrs Brown was pacing on the path on her property, in between offering them cups of tea, voicing I had killed the wicked man in self-defence.

DI Hampton took her aside and listened to what she had to say. I met her gaze and had to turn away for fear of crying. Then dad arrived from the pub and stood around, not quite taking it in until our neighbour explained what had happened. Giving me an unreadable look, he turned to the officers demanding to know when he could get back into his house. I knew dad kept his feelings to himself, and clearly, he didn’t know what to do. In the end, Mrs Brown ushered him into her house.

DI Hampton came to the vehicle I waited in. Opening the door, he crouched so he could make direct eye contact with me, eyes that flashed with sympathy. His voice was soft, ignoring the uniformed officers beside me.

‘Can you tell me what happened?’ He paused. ‘Take your time.’

‘I killed him,’ I answered. ‘He came to kill dad and me,’ I said, staring ahead. I didn’t want to meet his eyes, afraid of breaking down.

 ‘I killed him, and I’m glad.’ I missed everything out in between. I didn’t want to talk.

‘Okay.’ He stood and closed the door again, then giving the roof a tap, I was driven away.

***

Once I had provided a statement, I was