Rupert Henderson started having doubts as soon as New Mount was a safe distance behind. He wondered suddenly whether he had planned it all wrong.
This wasn’t the first murder he had committed, but it certainly was one which demanded the most efficiency. He was a killer, and he had long accepted that flaw in his trait as a human.
He was not the kind of man that would have qualms about shooting a man in the back or placing a man at an undue advantage. To him, the best kill was to empty a gun into one’s target.
Had he made this Chris Bawa kill too complicated?
Suppose they had just shot Chris Bawa full of lead and dumped him into the river? They could’ve taken the man’s things and buried them.
And even if Crankson descended on Little Rock the man’s body would’ve been food for the fishes
