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Never leave the obvious behind. You'll get caught. But then the real thrill is... untangling yourself and getting away with it.

Why is it when you think you've covered your tracks pretty well something comes back to bite you? Doesn't matter now I guess (I'm currently sat in a holding cell) but I really wish I'd picked up the netbook.

Two days earlier.


Jennifer had slid down the seat quite gently. We'd been travelling home from London on the night bus, moving through Brixton at the time, when my life (and certainly Jennifers) changed. One minute she'd been propped against me, tired from the evening, the next her head had followed the rest of her body downwards so that she was stuck awkwardly between her seat and the one in front.

I looked at Jennifer, reached forward and hooked my hands under her arms. "Jenny. Jenny" I whispered. "Pack it in I'm knackered".

She wouldn't stay in her seat and I began to panic, pinched her hard and then shook her even harder as she remained deadly limp. It was only then that the I noticed the growing red stain on the front of her shirt. Stone cold sober I checked for a pulse.

Jennifer Hemguard was warm but perfectly dead and I left her there on the top deck getting off the bus at the next request stop and into the cold Streatham night.

Sliding my phone open I dialled Seb and left a message. "Seb. It's Mark, Jennifer's dead. I'm heading for the safehouse."

The End

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