I went to it and pulled it away, revealing the object underneath it. It made me gasp and jump back. I swore crudely. The helmet. The f*****g crash helmet. Yellow and red fire motif. It was there, sitting on my worktop. Intact.
helmetThat f*****g guy had been back here. Christ knew how the fucker had got in, but he’d been here again. It must have been him. Who else knew about this?
Something else occurred to me. It hit me like a fist and I almost gagged at the thought. The helmet. It was upside down, lying on its curved dome. When the biker had crashed, he’d been decapitated. Don’t say the head was inside it. That would be too f*****g sick.
It was a while before I had the guts to creep forward and look. I couldn’t see anything. Better still, I couldn’t smell anything. I put my hand on th
