ONE HUNDRED TWENTY-TWO
He had not expected the Swanbitch to call the police or that they would arrive so quickly. Or that the bastard dwarf DS Horton would get to her so promptly even though he lived nearby. How could she sense he was watching? How could she suspect that he was somewhere nearby?
Women’s’ intuition?
Who the f**k knew?
She might have escaped his clutches this time, but there would be other opportunities.
Of that he was certain.
Disrespect cannot go unavenged.
He peeled off the rubber mask he was wearing, weighted it with a stone and dropped it into the river as he crossed over the Redemption Bridge.
